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“Not much better,” she muttered.
He moved toward the door, tossing a wry smile over his shoulder on the way. “You’re the one who wanted to be a farmer. Of course, daylight comes a lot earlier in spring and summer, which is when the real work is done.”
Completely willing to humiliate herself in order to foster the easygoing banter, she made an exaggerated face of distaste.
Laughing, Sam reached into his coat pocket, extracted the agreement and saluted her with it. “See you Saturday. Partner.”
Partner. It sounded even better than she’d imagined.
Sam gazed around the high-ceilinged, octagonal foyer without expression. Sierra watched him take in the little artistic setbacks displaying vases of fresh flowers, naturally, and the open, sweeping staircase before he looked pointedly at the mug in her hands.
“Coffee smells good.”
Sierra tried not to show her surprise, though why she should be surprised by the fact that Sam enjoyed a cup of coffee early of a morning she didn’t know. Coffee was “in” with the younger generation these days. Funny, the longer she knew him, the older Sam seemed.
“Come on in, and I’ll get you a cup,” she said, turning down the central hall.
Glancing over her shoulder, she caught him looking from room to room as they passed, but her smile of pride died when she saw the frown he was wearing. So, he didn’t approve of her house, either. For Pete’s sake, it wasn’t as if she’d built a replica of the Taj Mahal. A quarter-million dollars happened to buy a lot in their corner of Texas, but not that much. The house was only 3,500 square feet, with three bedrooms and a study upstairs, where Tyree and Bette’s teenage daughter, Chelsea, now slept, and the living areas all downstairs.
The house looked elegant and expensive, much like the house in which she’d grown up, but with contrast-colored picture-framing on the walls and lots of arches and display niches and plenty of ceramic tile and lush carpeting on the floors. She’d put her money into the infrastructure, believing that it was best to build to last, and cut some corners on the fixtures, going for unique rather than expensive, but still she’d caught major flak from her father and bankers for spending too much.
She led Sam into the bright, white-tile-and-natural-woods kitchen with its cheery yellow-and-orange accents, took a cup from the cabinet and filled it with the best freshly brewed coffee that money could buy. “Take anything in it?”
“No, thanks.” He gestured toward the breakfast nook, pulling papers from his coat pocket. “Why don’t we sit and take a look at what I’ve come up with?”
“Sure.”
While he shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the back of a chair at the table, she placed his mug in front of him and sat down on his right. He sat, unfolded the papers and reached for his cup.
“Mmm, excellent. Now these are planting guides for the dozen blooms you stipulated and about ten more that lend themselves easily to our climate.” He shifted a specific paper toward her and added, “These are the bestselling exotics, but we’ll get into those later.”
“How many acres do you propose we plant?”
“I’ll know better when I get a look at the fields, but I suspect we’ll only want to put about a third of our—that is, your—acreage into cultivation.”
Sierra frowned. She’d envisioned the whole 160 acres ablaze in summer blooms. “Why is that?”
“It’s just good land management. Flowers and vegetables take lots of soil preparation. They require lots of nutrients. By rotating our fields, we can protect the viability of the soil and the quality of our crops. We’ll plant some cover crops and plow those under in order to feed the soil, but a third of the fields will simply lie fallow year to year. Fortunately, flowers are a high-yield, high-return product, so our acreage is more than sufficient. In fact, it’s quite abundant.”
“You’ve really done your research,” she observed.
He nodded, drank from his cup and went on. “We’ll need help initially. Flower farming, like vegetable farming, is a labor-intensive operation. Bear that in mind when you look over the cost estimates. Overall, the amount of soil preparation needed this first year will dictate how much initial profit we make, but I think a conservative estimate is twenty to twenty-five thousand.”
Sierra tried not to gasp in dismay. “That’s all?”
“Per acre.”
“Oh.” What she really meant was “Wow!”
“That’ll rise after we get over the hump of initial investment and figure out exactly what our soil will best support,” he went on. “The worst areas should probably go into lavender. It’s hardy, practically grows itself and is useful for sachets, perfumes, dried flowers and filler. Sunflowers are another hardy pick with multiple uses. The showier blooms are the more profitable, of course, so our best fields will go to those. We’ll be planting strips of rye and wheat around the perimeters of those fields to protect the blooms from the wind and get those nice, straight stems that you floral designers are so crazy about.”
“I never even thought of that,” she admitted.
He just shrugged and went on, his enthusiasm positively infectious. “We may have to do some irrigating, but I actually own a few sections of aboveground irrigation equipment that I took in trade for some work I did last year, and we have our own well here, so that’s not a major concern.”
Sierra sat back and regarded him frankly. “I have to say, I’m impressed.”
“Good,” he said. “That means you’ll listen while I make this next proposal.”
She would’ve listened to him read the weather report, but then realized that was very likely to happen, considering the business they were now in. “Let’s hear it.”
“Greenhouses. They’ll add to the initial outlay, but not as much as you may think. We’ll need two for start. One we’ll use to germinate seedlings. The other will allow us to grow the more exotic blooms that our general climate prohibits. I can design and build them myself. They’re very simple structures, actually, but I won’t lie to you. They could be expensive to operate. We’ll have to keep the lights on sixteen hours a day, control the climate 24/7 and do lots of watering. But the returns can be very substantial.”
Sierra bit her lip, excited but leery. One thing she’d learned the hard way was that money spent fast. “Let’s take a look at the cost estimates.”
They put their heads together over the numbers, and Sierra found herself dismayed. “Sam, that’s nearly all of my capital.”
“Surely you weren’t thinking of pouring cash into this,” he said.
“Why take out loans when you have cash?” she demanded.
“Because it’s smarter,” he explained. “Look. If you take out a loan and the proposition fails, you’re going to lose some property and some money, but you’ll also have money left. Once money’s spent, though, it’s gone. Yours should be tied up in long-term investment.”
“Most of it is.”
“It should stay that way.”
“But you pay interest on borrowed money.”
“And you make interest on invested money, which you use as a kind of collateral to secure your loans.”
“Tell that to the bankers,” Sierra retorted. “They won’t loan me money.”
“Well, that doesn’t make any sense.”
She glanced around her uneasily and admitted, “It’s this house.”
He hooked an elbow over the back of his chair and looked around. “It’s quite a house, but I don’t see the problem unless you owe more against it than it’s worth.”
“That’s the thing,” she said warily. “I don’t owe anything against this house, and I absolutely refuse to use it as collateral.”
He stared at her for a moment. “You actually paid cash for this house?”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “Yes. A quarter of a million dollars. And I’d do it again.”
He just shook his head. “Women!”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Don’t get your shorts in a twist, er, panties.” He waved that away, too. “What I mean is that women seem to have a peculiar anxiety about the security of their homes. My mom was the same way.”
At the mention of his mother, his voice became wistful. It completely destroyed whatever resentment his earlier exclamation had dealt Sierra.
“What happened to your mother was a truly awful thing, Sam.”
His light green eyes met hers. “She stayed married to him because she was afraid to be without a home and, I guess, because he convinced her that she deserved what he dished out.” He looked away, and a muscle flexed in the hollow of his jaw. “Nothing I could say or do seemed to make any difference.”
She reached out instinctively and curled her fingers around his. “I’m so sorry, Sam. That’s such a tough thing you and your sisters have had to go through.”
He gripped her hand and smiled thinly. “The only good thing my father ever did in his whole miserable life was give us those girls.” His grin broadened, and the light of genuine affection and pride lit his eyes with a warmth she hadn’t seen before. “Seeing them happy, it makes up for so much.”
Sierra thought of Tyree and said, “I know what you mean.” The problem was that Tyree didn’t seem happy anymore.
“I see so much of Mom in them,” Sam was saying, “and no matter how screwed up her head was about Jonah, she protected them with her very life.”
“Oh, Sam,” Sierra heard herself saying even as she watched her hand rise and settle gently against the curve of his jaw. Their eyes met again. And held. Awareness flared in those fascinating green eyes, like miniature sunbursts, and Sierra realized with jolting certainty that this was no boy sitting here next to her. This was a man, very much a man, and a rare one at that.
As amazing at it seemed, she may have picked the right man at the right time. For once.
Chapter Three
Sam sat back, aware that he’d nearly made a very bad mistake. He’d actually thought about kissing her. Even in the best of circumstances, Sierra Carlton was not the sort of woman with whom he could afford to fool around. She was his business partner. Business and romance never mixed well. The repercussions could be fatal, at least to the enterprise. Only a fool would jeopardize a financial setup this good, even if she hadn’t been so smart with her money in the past.
Quickly retreating to the safety of business, Sam said, “We’re burning daylight here. I’d better get out and take a good look at those fields.”
Sierra set down her coffee cup as she rose from her chair. “Finish your coffee while I grab my coat, and we’ll take off.”
He gulped. “You don’t have to go.”
“Oh, I want to. I’ve been looking forward to it.”
He tried not to sound panicked when he asked, “What about your daughter?”
“She’s taken care of. I had Chelsea Grouper stay over last night.”
Sam smiled weakly as she spun out of the room, then hunkered down over his cup. What was wrong with him? He knew how a man had to behave in a business situation. The fact that his partner was a woman shouldn’t make any difference.
Maybe he should start paying some attention to his social life. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. Shoot, he’d never been with a woman. He’d been with his share of grownup girls, but not in some time, and he’d never been with a real woman, at least not one the caliber of Sierra Carlton. Somehow, she had a way of making him supremely aware of that fact. He rubbed his brow and chugged back the remaining brew in his cup.
Sierra reappeared wearing a bright yellow down jacket over her long-sleeved knit top and jeans. She was a woman who looked as good in jeans and boots and a fat, bushy ponytail as designer suits and more elaborate hairstyles. He wondered if she permed her hair and suppressed the urge to wrap a corkscrew curl at the nape of her neck around his finger as he followed her to the back door. They stepped down into a three-car garage that was empty except for her expensive sedan.
“We should take my truck,” he pointed out belatedly.
“Oh. Right. Should’ve thought of that. This way, then.” She led him through a side door and around the house to the front, where he’d parked his truck at the top of the graveled, circular drive.
He hadn’t bothered to lock up, and she was inside before he even had the chance to go for her door, which irked him mildly, though he told himself that equals didn’t bother opening doors for one another, even if one of them was female.
“Where’s the gate?” he asked, settling behind the wheel.
“Gate? The property’s only fenced on two sides. Is that a problem?”
“Naw, not really. Barbed wire will only keep the big critters out, anyway. We may want to string some chicken wire, though.”
“I’m beginning to realize how much I don’t know,” she muttered, reaching for her safety belt.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
He slid the key into the ignition and started the truck, but before he could put the transmission into gear, she reached across and clapped a hand over his forearm.
“Put on your seat belt first.”
The admonition flew through him. Before he could think, certainly before he could reason, he had shaken off her hand and snapped, “You may be my partner, but you aren’t my mother!”
Her mouth dropped open, and matching ire flashed in her blue-green eyes. “I’m not trying to be!”
“Aren’t you?”
“No! You’re in the car, you put a belt on.”
“You have to get over this age thing, Sierra, or we just can’t work together.”
“What has this got to do with age?” She threw up her hands. “You’ve spent the morning proving how invaluable you are. Is it so surprising that I don’t want you taking unnecessary chances with your personal safety?”
“We aren’t going to drive on the interstate.”
“If your sisters were in this truck, wouldn’t you expect them to buckle up?”
That set him back. If the girls had been in the truck, he’d have buckled his seat belt without even thinking about it, because he always did when they were with him and because he always insisted that they do the same. Maybe he’d gotten in the habit of not fastening the thing when he was working on the farm, but that was no excuse. He tamped down his unreasonable anger and felt embarrassment rise in its place. He closed his eyes, set his jaw, then made himself relax it again.
“You’re right.” He pulled the seat belt across him and shoved the hasp into the clip next to his hip, then he yanked the transmission into gear and set off down a track alongside the house, probably worn down during construction.
“You’re the one who has a problem with your age,” she grumbled.
“Well, if I do,” he retorted, “it’s because so many other people have shown me that it’s a problem for them.”
“I understand that,” she told him, “but I’m not one of them. So far you’ve demonstrated great maturity—despite that little outburst just now.”
He pointed a look at her. “And you didn’t have a little outburst just now?”
She looked away, one hand going to a curl that had worked its way free in front of her ear. “Well, yeah, I did.” She turned an impish smile on him. “But nobody’s ever accused me of demonstrating maturity.”
He laughed, resentment waning. “I like honesty in a woman.”
She cut her eyes at him. “I’ll try always to be honest with you, Sam.”
Desire slugged him straight in the groin. He jerked his gaze forward, then hunched over the wheel, silently cursing the restrictions of that belt. “Th-that’s good. Partners should be honest with one another.”
“We’re going to be good together. I know we are.”
