Fate!

That’s exactly what it was. The bouquet was almost exactly what Ellie Mae had described, and Mitzi beamed with pride at the magnificent work they’d done. “I’d like to keep this one back for a week. Could you make another one for the mannequin on Monday, maybe in pink so it would be different than this one?”

“Why?” Dixie asked.

“Because one of my customers may want to buy this one, and if she does she may also want you girls to do the corsages and the rest of the flowers,” Mitzi answered.

“You’re serious? It’s that good? It looks a little oversized and gaudy to me,” Graham whispered.

“I’m dead serious. See you girls on Monday. We’ll get you measured then. Paula is looking for a pattern that we can adapt for your dresses,” Mitzi said.

“Can Daddy see the sketches you made?” Dixie asked.

“And are you tellin’ us that we might get a job doin’ this?” Tabby asked.

“I’d sure like it if you girls could work for me from three to five each day this summer. We can talk more about it when you get here Monday. Your dad is waiting to take you to supper right now.” She picked up a pad. “The sketches are right here.” She flipped it open so Graham could see.

His hand brushed hers as he took it from her, sending waves of tingles through her body. She had to get a firm grip on this silly schoolgirl crush. She’d be seeing him often if the twins were at the shop every day. Besides, if he was still attracted to the same kind of woman as Rita, he’d never see Mitzi as anything but an overweight woman who was good to his kids.

“Those are very nice, girls. I’m glad you didn’t get crazy,” he said.

“We wanted to,” Tabby said.

“But we decided to be classy.” Dixie took the bouquet from her sister and tinkered with a few of the flowers before laying it on the coffee table. “When I get married, I want one just like this.”

“On that note, I’m getting both of you out of here,” Graham laughed. “I don’t want to walk you down the aisle for at least ten years. Fifteen would be better.”

Mitzi locked up after them and plopped down on the pink sofa. A thirty-two-year-old woman should be over a crush she’d had when she was fifteen, so why was there a picture in her mind of herself in a white dress walking down the aisle toward Graham? She blinked several times to get the visual from her head. She’d have a better chance of waking up a short, skinny blonde tomorrow morning than of Graham ever being attracted to her.

Chapter Four

Lyle, I’m home, and we need to talk,” Jody called out as she entered the trailer that Friday night. “Whatever is making you act like a jackass is going to stop, and we’re not selling this trailer to Quincy. It’s our home. It’s paid for. And I’ve worked my butt off to make us a nice garden spot.”

No answer.

She knocked on the bathroom door and it swung open. She flipped back the shower curtain and he wasn’t there. She checked the bedroom and looked out the kitchen window to see if he was in the garden, then went back to the front door and opened it. His motorcycle wasn’t there, so that meant he wasn’t home from work.

“Dammit!” she fumed as she threw herself down on the sofa and shut her eyes. At midnight she awoke to find him still not there, so she took a quick shower and got into bed.

In her dreams she stood on the front porch of the trailer, looking southwest across the tops of the trees at the dark clouds. As the eerie quietness surrounded her, she had the feeling that the coming storm was going to be the one that ripped her mobile home apart. Then the tornado alert sirens began to sound. The sky took on a strange greenish color, and suddenly the wind started grabbing everything that it could pick up. She tried to get back into the trailer but froze.

She opened her eyes to find sweat covering her body and the alarm ringing right beside her ear. She quickly turned it off and reached over to shake Lyle awake. But he wasn’t there. She sat up so quick that it made her dizzy. Pictures of him lying in a ditch with his motorcycle on top of him flashed through her mind. She threw the covers to the side and ran to the living room, expecting to find him on the sofa, but no. She quickly dug through her purse for her phone—no calls or messages, which only meant if he was hurt, he wasn’t in the hospital. He had to be unconscious.

She hit the speed dial for his number, and it went straight to voice mail. She jerked on a pair of jeans, didn’t even bother with a beaded headband or braiding her long hair, and pulled a T-shirt over her head as she went out the door. She was inside the truck when she realized she hadn’t gotten her purse, so she raced back inside, grabbed it, and ran back to the vehicle. She tried calling Lyle again every three minutes, but it went to voice mail each time.

Driving slowly and stopping every time she saw a black skid mark veering off the road, she just knew that she’d find him dead somewhere between Celeste and Greenville. When she reached the outskirts of town, she drove straight to the ranch where he’d worked as a hired hand for the past eighteen months. The only time she’d been there was for the Christmas party last year, but it wasn’t hard to find. A few times he’d worked very late and then stayed in the bunkhouse with the guys. She hoped that was the case this time, but his motorcycle wasn’t there, either. Still, she parked in front of a long, low building where three guys were sitting on the porch, having their morning coffee. They all waved when she rolled down the window.