He could do without the cake after the heat today while he’d sprayed for bugs in the direct sun. It was the jam he was after. After watching Kara a few hours earlier, he’d been waiting to finish up so he could be back and have some. The whole house had been scented of sweetened berries when he’d come through. Then he walked in the kitchen and all but swallowed his tongue. She’d worn loose-fitting cutoff shorts. Hips had been swaying and circling as she’d washed dishes and then stirred the pot on the stove. The apron strings had hung and danced around her thighs as she moved. He had been seconds from screwing his patience, crossing the room and talking her into moving a little faster in their friendship-relationship thing. It had only been the phone ringing in the house that had saved him, had him backing out to write her a note instead. And that note had been hell to write. What he’d wanted to write about was how her ass looked in those shorts and how much he wanted to see if his hands would fit under the leg of them like that other pair she’d worn in the orchard.
