Page 18 of The Honorable Texan
She gasped.“Really?”
“Sometimes a man doesn’t appreciate what he’s got until some other man wants it.Or he thinks another man wants it.”Mrs.Hardy’s eyes twinkled.“We’ll see, won’t we, dear?”
Violet colored prettily and suggested a television program.
* * *
She didn’t sleep.All night long, she saw Blake Kemp’s eyes drilling into her own, she heard his voice, felt thetouch of his fingers on her face.She tried on everything in her closet the next morning before she finally decided on a nice ankle-length sky-blue knit jumper with a white blouse under it and her embroidered denim jacket over it.She left her hair long.
“You look fine,” Mrs.Hardy said from her bed when Violet went in to say goodbye.
“Are you sure you feel all right?”Violet worried.
“I’m just going to have a lazy Sunday,” the older woman replied, smiling.“I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“All right.But if you need me…”
“The phone’s right here, darling.”Mrs.Hardy indicated it on the bedside table.“Now go and have a good time.I won’t expect my trout anytime soon, by the way, and I’ve already had my breakfast.”
“I’ll bring you back something nice,” Violet promised.
“Drive carefully.”
Violet kissed her.“Always!”
She stopped on the front porch and looked down at her black loafers, worn with knee-high hose.She grimaced, because one of them was scuffed.But, she reasoned, Kemp was going to be more interested in the rest of her than in her shoes.She straightened her purse’s shoulder strap over her shoulder and walked resolutely to her old but reliable car.
* * *
Kemp was onthe front porch of his house when she drove up.It was a Victorian, with gingerbread patterned woodwork and a real turret room.The whole thing was painted white, brilliant and new-looking, and there was a porch swing and rocking chairs on the long, wide front porch.There were bird feeders everywhere.In theflower gardens flanking the porch, seeds were sprouting and rosebushes were putting out buds.
Violet took her purse and locked the car involuntarily before she pocketed her car key and walked up the steps.
“You like birds!”she exclaimed.
He laughed.He was dressed casually, as she was, in khaki slacks and a blue knit designer shirt darker than the shade of his eyes behind the metal rims of his glasses.
“Yes, I like birds.But so do Mee and Yow, so I have to make sure they’re both inside before I fill the feeders,” he said on a chuckle.
“I have bird feeders at our place, too,” Violet replied shyly.“I especially like the little birds, like the wrens and titmice.”
“I prefer cardinals and blue jays.”
“They’re still birds,” Violet said on a laugh.
He felt as if his feet were off the floor as he looked at her.Smiles transformed her oval face, made it bright and radiant—almost beautiful.
“Do you hire a gardener, or do you work in the yard yourself?”she asked, enthusiastic about the mass of flowering shrubs around the front yard.
“I do it,” he replied.“I need to unwind from time to time.”
“Yes, gardening is good for stress,” she admitted.“I go through a lot of it myself.But I plant vegetables in our little garden, and I can or freeze them for the winter.”She stopped suddenly, embarrassed, because the garden was a necessity for Violet and her mother, who had to budget furiously just to make ends meet.She doubted seriously if Kemp had ever budgeted in his life.
“I don’t grow vegetables,” he confessed.“Unlessyou count catnip, for the cats, and some herbs.I enjoy cooking.”
“Me, too,” she said.“Mama can do it, but I don’t like to let her.She favors cast iron cookware, and it’s heavy.”
“She shouldn’t be lifting it,” he agreed.“I hope you’re hungry.”
