She took a long shower, washed her hair, then blow-dried it. She got out her new white cotton dress with the Battenberg lace along the bottom of the skirt and knew it would be perfect for tonight. While still in her robe, she heated her little travel iron, then set about ironing every wrinkle out of the cotton. Miss Edi had been a stickler for well-ironed clothes. She didn’t believe in permanent press or even knitwear. “You can tell a lady by the quality of her clothing and how well it’s maintained,” she’d said many times.
When Jocelyn finished dressing, she thought, Now what do I do? Her only thought was to see if Sara had come home. She’d left Sara’s dishes and sewing box in her own hall, so maybe she should take them back now.
Minutes later, she was in Sara’s apartment—she’d left the back door unlocked—but she wasn’t home. Just as Jocelyn put the dishes down, there was a knock on the front door. She wasn’t sure she should answer it. After all, it was Sara’s house. But then it was also her own house.
Jocelyn opened the door to see a tall, dark-haired man standing there. He had on jeans and a dirty T-shirt, and he hadn’t shaved in days, but these things didn’t detract from his beauty. He had dark green eyes above a nose that could only b
e described as patrician, and his full lips were finely chiseled above a well-formed chin. Sara had said he was “beautiful” and he was.
“You’re the new owner.” It was a statement, not a question.
His voice was deep and rich, just as it had been on the telephone, and she was sure she’d never seen a man she was more attracted to. “Yes, I am. And you’re Ramsey.”
“Ramsey? Lord no! He’s a lawyer. Do I look like a lawyer?”
“Oh,” she said, disappointed. She looked away to try to conceal her attraction to him. “No, I guess you don’t look like a lawyer. You’re here to see Sara, aren’t you? She’s not here.”
“I know. I saw her leave.”
She turned back to look at him, still standing in the doorway. “If you know she’s not here, why did you knock on the door?”
“I’m your gardener, Luke Connor.” He was watching her closely, as though he was trying to figure her out.
Before she could reply, she heard a noise outside, to her right, then he leaned back, looked toward the front of the house, and waved his hand, as though to tell someone to go away. In the next second, he pushed his way past her and into the house.
“Would you mind!” Jocelyn said. “You can’t come barging in here like this and—”
“Don’t get your pin feathers ruffled,” he said as he shut the front door behind him.
“This isn’t my place and I don’t think you should be in here.”
“Yes it is.”
“Is what?”
“Your house.”
“Yes, technically, it is, but this part is rented to Sara Shaw. She—”
“She’s my cousin,” he said over his shoulder as he went to the kitchen.
Jocelyn was close behind him. “If you’re Sara’s cousin, does that mean you’re Ramsey’s brother?”
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. As he leaned back against the counter, he looked her up and down in a way that Jocelyn had never liked. It was the way all men who knew they were good-looking looked at women, as though they knew the women belonged to them—if they wanted them.
“What is it with you and ol’ Cousin Rams? You two have something going already?”
She took a step back from him. Her first attraction to him was fading. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve never met him. Sara told me he was her cousin, and if you’re also her cousin, then I assumed you were related to Ramsey.”
“I am. But then, we’re all cousins. Sara, Rams, Charlie, Ken, and me. We have the same great-grandparents.”
There was something about his attitude that she didn’t like. He was laughing at her, but she had no idea what she was doing to amuse him. As far as she could tell, the entire town seemed to be related to one another. “What about Ramsey’s sister? Is she a cousin too?”
He looked puzzled. “Of course she is. She’s…” He stopped because he realized she was teasing him. He’d left some people off the list of cousins. He often found that people not from the South laughed when relatives were mentioned. “Are you a—”
“So help me, if you ask me if I’m a Yankee, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in interest.