One corner of her cute little mouth turned up. “If Kinsey and Betsy found out you were in there all by yourself, they’d take you away from me. And I don’t play well with others.”

“Not damn likely.” He grinned.

She pointed toward the stove. “Look at the children.”

They each had a paw on a section of the frayed and ragged ribbon, as if protecting their interests while they slept.

“Play hard. Sleep hard,” Sawyer said.

“Like babies. Too bad the Gallaghers and Brennans haven’t learned to play well with others and then plop down and fall asleep,” she said. “Got to get changed into my barroom hussy clothes. I left my bra hanging on the doorknob over in your room.”

He held his breath when she stood up and headed in that direction.

“Oh my!” Her hand shot up and covered her mouth.

Then there was silence. He waited and waited, started to get up twice, and then sat back down. His hands got all clammy again and his pulse quickened. He waited for laughter at the poem or at least some reaction. But there was nothing for five of the longest minutes he’d ever spent in his life.

* * *

Jill touched each daisy. They were so bright and beautiful, lying there on the bed as if they’d grown from the stitches that held the quilt together. Then she found the poem and sat down in the rocking chair to read. It was both funny and sweet, tugging at her heartstrings when it talked about how she made every morning as bright as the blue daisy, that the sun was brighter than the yellow ones, and that all he had to do was look across the room at her and she filled his heart with so much color there weren’t words to describe it.

Tears ran down her eyes and dripped onto the ink, smearing when she tried to wipe it. When she looked up, Sawyer filled the doorway.

“This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” she said.

“I didn’t mean for you to cry.”

“I know, but it’s so damn sweet. Now help me gather up these daisies before they wilt. There’s enough for the kitchen table and the coffee table and for the nightstand beside your bed. I want them everywhere, so I can see them no matter where I am,” she said.

Together they picked up the flowers. “I saw some of those half-pint jars in the cabinet. We’ll divide them into three bouquets. They are so bright and pretty, Sawyer. The colors remind me of sunsets. There’s nothing more beautiful than a Texas sunset or sunrise. And I’m framing this poem and keeping it forever,” she said.

“You won’t let anyone else read it, will you? It’s kind of corny.”

She tiptoed and pressed her lips against his. Their hands were filled with flowers, so they couldn’t touch each other, but the kiss was deep and sweet at the same time.

“I wouldn’t share this with anyone, Sawyer. It’s personal, and it’s mine. I’ll put it on the nightstand beside my bed. I love it, and I love the flowers.”

She stopped short of saying that she loved him. Words were words, and they needed to be heard, but she didn’t want to say them until she was absolutely sure that she meant every single one.

* * *

She laughed. “You are a prophet.”

The parking lot at the Burnt Boot Bar and Grill already had a dozen trucks, and there were people huddled up next to the door, waiting to get inside.

He smiled. “I told you so.”

“This isn’t even normal for Friday and Saturday.” She pulled the keys to the bar from her purse. “Get ready. If they’re here this early, it means they’ll want food as well as beer and whiskey.”

“It’s not every day the Gallaghers have to buy back their cattle from Salt Holler. Since they are blaming the Brennans for stealing them, they’ll all come in here with chips on their shoulders tonight. And the other folks will come to see the show. Maybe we should charge admission.”

“Not a bad idea. Do you ever wish there was another gathering place for the folks, other than Polly’s?”

“Never thought of it. Maybe the Gallaghers should build their own bar. I don’t think the Brennans would want to own one, with their religious background, but they could continue to visit Polly’s,” he said.

“Let’s get the doors open, but I’ll tell you one thing for sure, that shotgun will stay loaded and ready.”

“I’ll fire up the grill. Keep them eatin’, and maybe they won’t be so quick to want to fight,” he said.

Thirty minutes later, he finally looked up and said, “You are the prophet, Jillian Cleary, not me. That is my fortieth onion burger since I walked in the door. And we’ve used six bags of frozen fries.”

A rush of cold air took her eye to the next customers, and she smiled.

“What’s so funny?” Sawyer asked.

“Nothing.” She fished in her purse and brought out a bright purple daisy affixed to a hair clip, pulled her hair back on one side with her fingertips, and fastened the daisy right there above her ear. The smile on her face widened when Kinsey and Quaid Brennan claimed a couple of bar stools.

“What can I get you this evening?” Jill asked sweetly.

“Nice touch in the hair there. Looks like you’ve been to the islands. Hey, Sawyer, you want to fly down to the islands this weekend with me?” Kinsey asked. “We can leave on Saturday night and be home early Monday morning.”

“No, thank you. Y’all want something from the grill?”

“No, just a pitcher of margaritas and one of Coors.”

“Thank you for the roses, Quaid,” Jill said. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

“They are beautiful, but not as beautiful as you are. I was hoping you’d see that I’m serious about getting to know you better.” His flirting was deliberate and practiced.

“Where’d you get that daisy in your hair anyway?” Kinsey asked.

“Sawyer gave me two dozen today. I picked out the brightest one for my hair.” She smiled.

“So you like daisies, Sawyer?” Kinsey asked.

He set two pitchers in front of her. “I like Jill.”

She put a bill in his hand. “As in you are dating, or as in you are friends?”

He laid her change on the bar. “As in what I said. The rest is our private business.”

“Well, you don’t have to get pissy about it,” Kinsey said and flounced off to claim a table not far from the jukebox.

As luck would have it, Betsy and Tyrell were the next two to let a little fresh air into the bar. Betsy raised an eyebrow at the daisy in Jill’s hair. “Is it beach night at Polly’s or what?”

“Nope, it’s nothing but a normal Monday night. Y’all get those cows back yet?” Jill asked.

“We’re negotiating a deal,” Tyrell answered quickly.

“Oh, thank you for the roses,” Jill said.

“Just a little thank-you for all the help. They weren’t as pretty as you, but then nothing is that gorgeous.” He winked.

“So what’s with the flower? Sawyer, darlin’, would you fix us up six cheeseburger baskets and a couple of pitchers of beer?”

“Comin’ right up,” he said.

Betsy’s eyes had trouble staying above his belt buckle, and the expression on her face told the whole story about what she’d like to do if she ever got past the buckle and zipper.

Jill drew up two pitchers of beer and set them on the bar. Tyrell put a couple of bills in her hand, and she made change. He grabbed her hand and bent over the bar to kiss her fingertips.

“Darlin’, I’ll put red roses on every flat surface in my house if you’ll agree to let me cook supper for you. You choose the menu, and there’s no strings attached,” he whispered.

The very picture in her mind made her feel like she was smothering. That many red roses in one place. She’d feel like they were coming after her, like zombies in the apocalypse.

Betsy picked up the beer and started back to the table. She stopped after a few feet and looked over her shoulder. “Tyrell, bring the cups, please. And why do you have that flower in your hair, Jill?”

“Sawyer gave me daisies today, and they were so bright and pretty that I brought one to work with me.”