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"What, you've never known a man to like flowers. I planted these myself," he said quietly as he brought the water hose around from the side of the house and continued to water them. Turning the water off minutes later, he looked up at her.
"A big tough Sheriff like you plants flowers?"
"Something wrong with that?" He asked moving to stand beside her, intimidating her with his size.
"No, of course not. You just don't look like the type to do something like that." She moved away quickly.
Ben nodded. "I guess I have my Mama to blame for that. We used to plant flowers together every spring."
"Used to?" she watched him closely.
"Yeah, she's dead, has been for a long time."
"I'm sorry." She flushed and seemed embarrassed to have blurted out so. "I shouldn't have pried."
"No reason to be sorry. My life's pretty much an open book. I have a younger sister at home, she lives with my dad."
"I have a brother and two sisters."
"Where you from?"
"Dallas."
"Big city, huh?" He asked leading her back across the porch by the elbow. A touch that sent signals to his brain to lay off touching. Why this particular woman was affecting him so, he didn't understand. It was new to him and curious all at the same time.
"Never thought of it like that, but yes, I guess so." she said, her tone much lighter, almost friendly.
"What are you doing out here?" He needed some answers, not idle conversation.
"A person doesn't plan where they are going when they are running away, Sheriff?"
"Then you really are a runaway bride?" He regarded her carefully, watching her every move.
"In a matter of speaking," she muttered, flicking an imaginary piece of fuzz from her t-shirt. She went inside, he followed. "But I did let at least one person know where I was going. If that's any consolation. I watch the news and I'm not silly enough to run off without a little thought. I wouldn't want search parties after me, too."
He dragged a chair out for her at the table. She hesitated, looking at him strangely. "And just who did you leave word with?"
"The groom." she uttered.
He let that information soak in. At least she had confronted the groom before she ran out on him. He had to give her credit, she had guts.
"What do you photograph, with your camera?" he asked passing her the chicken as he pulled up a chair beside her. He'd have to notify authorities and let them know she was okay.
"I do animal photography, mostly." she answered, taking the chicken eagerly and motioning for the salad. "I've worked with magazines some."
"I'm impressed. But looking at you, I figured you'd be in front of the camera, not behind it," he said casually.
Her head jerked about and those ultra grey-green eyes narrowed on him with nothing short of surprise. "Me?"
"Yeah, I mean you've certainly got the—the figure and face for it," he said so matter-of-factly she nearly dropped her fork.
"Boy, you've been out here in the boonies too long, Sheriff."
"I only meant it as a compliment."
"Really, well stick me in front of a camera and you might think otherwise. One of the first things a model learns is that the camera adds about ten to twelve pounds every time you step in front of it."
"Well, I don't think ten or twelve pounds would hurt you a bit." He eyed her for a minute, sizing up the honesty of that statement. After all, all he saw was curves and more curves, how could that be bad, camera or no. "So, do you have any plans?"
