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He read on, and she waited with foreboding for the attack she knew was coming. But it didn’t happen. As Charles continued, she suddenly realized how wrong she’d been. How terribly wrong. Her heart in her throat, she turned toward him. Charles went on, reading a direct quote from David Bloomfield in which he told of the changes he’d made over the years to aid migrant workers.

At first Steffie was convinced she’d misunderstood. Nor was she entirely sure she could believe Charles. He might be making it up as he went along, she thought wildly, instead of actually reading the article. She reached for the newspaper and snatched it away from him.

It only took her a moment to locate the paragraph he’d just read. He hadn’t made it up! There, bold as could be, was the quote from her father, followed by two long paragraphs that reported the progressive measures Bloomfield Orchards had implemented over the years.

Her stomach plummeted, and she began to feel as though she were sitting in a deck chair on the Titanic. That feeling intensified as she finished reading the article. Because she soon discovered that not only was her father quoted—approvingly—several times, but their family orchard was used as a model for other local orchards to follow.

Steffie drew in a deep breath before she looked up at Charles. Once again, she’d made a fool of herself in front of him. She cringed in acute embarrassment and self-contempt. What a jerk she’d been. What a total jerk.

She’d known that meeting Charles again was inevitable. She’d hoped that on her return he’d view her—from afar, of course—as mature. Sophisticated. She’d wanted him to see her as cosmopolitan and cultured, unlike the lovesick twenty-two-year-old who’d left Orchard Valley three years before.

She’d imagined their first meeting. She’d step forward, a serene smile on her face, and hold out her hand politely. She’d murmur ever so sweetly that it was lovely to see him again, but unfortunately she couldn’t quite recall his name. Charles Something-or-other, wasn’t it?

“It looks like I owe you an apology,” she said instead, her voice quavering a bit despite her efforts to keep it even.

“Yeah, I’d say you owe me an apology!” he flung back. “I’d assumed you might have changed in three years. Instead you’re an even bigger…nuisance.”

His words felt like a slap across the face, and she flinched involuntarily. There wasn’t a thing she could say in her own defense, nothing that would take away the shame of what she’d done. No words would erase the way she’d stomped into his office and created a scene in front of his entire staff.

“So it seems,” she said as steadily as her crumbling poise would allow.

“You scared me, taking off like that,” he raged. “You might have killed yourself.”

Again, there was nothing she could say. Had she been in any other frame of mind, she would have recognized that with a horse like Fury, she was heading for trouble.

“You’re a crazy woman!” he shouted, his anger fully ignited now. “How do you think I would’ve felt if you’d been hurt? What about your father? You accuse me of causing his heart attack! What do you think would’ve happened to him if you’d killed yourself?”

“I—I…” Hating the telltale action, she bit her lip to stop its trembling.

To Steffie’s dismay, he reached down and pulled her to her feet. His hands clasped her shoulders and he drew her into his arms.

Before she had a chance to react, she was completely caught in his embrace, her hands trapped against his heaving chest.

One hand left her shoulder and slid into her long, tangled hair.

“Do you even have a clue what I was thinking?” he whispered. “Do you have any idea what was going through my mind?”

Her heart thundered. She should fight her way out of his embrace. She should demand that he release her, tell him he had no right to take her in his arms. But Steffie couldn’t make herself move, couldn’t make herself speak.

She didn’t try to stop him even when it became obvious that he was going to kiss her. Mentally she braced herself, closing her eyes.

When his mouth found hers, it was a gentle brushing of lips. Her eyes opened in wonder and surprise.

Charles kissed her again, longer this time, his mouth gliding over hers. Before she realized what she was doing, she moved her arms upward and timidly locked them behind his neck. Her lips parted to his and he pressed her closer.

But only for a moment. “No, Steffie,” he said in a raw whisper, clasping both wrists and breaking her hold. He stepped back. Their eyes met for several seconds before he turned and hurried away.

He left as abruptly as he’d arrived, his sports car spitting dirt and small stones as he roared off. She sighed and prepared to mount Fury for the long journey home.

* * *

Steffie took a nap that afternoon, waking sometime in the early evening. The sun was setting, dousing the orchards in a lovely shade of pink. Not knowing what time it was, she came downstairs to find Norah in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher.

“Hi,” Norah greeted her, smiling brightly when she saw Steffie. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake up. You must’ve been exhausted.”

Steffie nodded.

“There’s a plate for you in the oven. I bet you’re famished.”