True Love, Inc.

Cameron Foley could hardly believe his eyes. Maddie Daniels was kneeling in the dirt. The woman had fallen, just as his daughter had claimed when she’d come tearing down one of the rows of tart cherries he’d been walking along with a worker. Cam almost smiled at the picture the woman presented. Dust covered her navy slacks and a wave of dark hair dangled in front of her eyes. He never would have taken the cool, competent Miss Daniels for such a klutz.

“She fell, Daddy. I told you,” Caroline chirped, clearly perplexed by her father’s short memory.

“I see that, honey. Now, why don’t you run back to the house and tell Mrs. Haversham to put on a fresh pot of coffee. We’ll be along shortly.”

When his daughter was out of hearing range, he said, “I hope you’re not going to sue me. I’d hate to have to turn my farm into a condo development to pay out a personal injury settlement to some clumsy female.”

“Your concern is truly enough to make me weep,” Maddie replied, her tone as dry as the dusty patch of earth beneath her knees. Cam gave her points for dignity. Her stiff upper lip appeared unaffected, which probably was more than could be said for her dust-covered derriere.

“Yeah, well, why don’t we head back to the house? Less chance for you to get hurt sitting in my kitchen. I hope.”

It was a cheap shot, but he wasn’t feeling particularly cordial at the moment. He didn’t have time for this today. He didn’t have time for her any day. How he wished he’d never let pride push him into this foolish bargain.

He glanced around the orchard and suppressed the urge to sigh. It was not quite July, but a warm spring had caused the cherries to ripen early. The sweets were almost two weeks ahead of schedule, and the tarts were right behind them. If some of the trees weren’t shaken soon the fruit would spoil. He’d lost some of his help to better-paying jobs, three of his best workers in the past month alone. The good economy made it hard to keep employees, especially when the same economy didn’t do much for the price that cherries brought at market.

“We’ll have to make this quick. Daylight is dollars to a farmer, Miss Daniels.” He snatched up the briefcase and started off for the house.

“Mr. Foley.”

She brought him up short when she called his name in that formal, Southern-sounding way of hers.

What now? He blew out an exasperated breath before turning around, but the pithy comment he planned died on his lips when he realized she had not moved. She was still on the ground, one leg pulled beneath her as if she had tried to stand. The other one, however, was bent at a rather awkward angle out to the side.

“I’m afraid I can’t get up on my own.” The words were issued in a stilted whisper and her gaze slid away as she said them. A blush the color of ripe tart cherries darkened her fair cheeks.

Still not looking directly at him, she extended the scarred hand and Cam’s memory stirred. That day in her office her movements had seemed stiff and hesitant, painful even. Clearly, whatever accident had left her hand so marred had done far more serious damage to her leg. And he’d left her sitting in the dirt. He closed his eyes briefly, ashamed that his rude behavior had forced her to all but beg for his help.

Cam clasped the hand Maddie held out and, as gently as possible, helped her to her feet, apologizing profusely as he did so.

“You know, I’m not usually such a jerk.”

She was gracious enough to let him off the hook easily. “It’s all right, really.” She reached for the briefcase he still held.

“I’ll carry it for you. Is your leg...how did...?” He let the questions trail away on a hastily expelled breath. “Sorry. It’s really none of my business.”

She answered him, anyway, unintentionally creating more questions with her vague explanation. “I was in an accident. Sometimes it’s hard to get up.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Relax, Mr. Foley. I won’t be suing you, if that’s what’s got you worried.”

Cam winced. “I was only joking when I said that.”

“Really? And here I was already picking out colors for my condominium.” She brushed the dust from her clothes, and, inclining her head in the direction of the house, she said, “Shall we?”

Cam walked slowly this time, moderating his usually brisk stride to match her more halting one. It seemed to take forever to reach the house on their silent, slow walk back, giving him plenty of time to feel like a proper heel. They entered through a screened-in back porch, and the homey scents of apples and cinnamon greeted them.

“Mmm. It smells wonderful in here,” Maddie said.

“Mrs. Haversham promised Caroline apple pie for dessert. In the three years she’s worked for me, she’s never broken a promise to my daughter. I make sure her paycheck reflects my appreciation.” He motioned toward the table. “Why don’t we have a seat in here?”

Gratefully, he noticed his housekeeper and daughter were nowhere to be found, and hopefully they would stay that way for the duration of his interview with Maddie. As it was, Mrs. H. was already too eager for him to start dating again, and who knew what embarrassing things Caroline would blurt out. She was six, after all. That made her old enough to express her thoughts clearly and too young to censor the more inappropriate ones.

“I see the coffee is ready. Would you care for a cup?”

“Please. I take it black. Before we get started, is there someplace I could freshen up?”

“Just down that hallway on the left.” Despite her composed demeanor, Cam could almost feel her discomfort.

While he waited for her to return, he poured them both a steaming mug of coffee, lacing his own with a spoonful of sugar. When she reentered the kitchen, the last physical traces of her ordeal in the orchard had been wiped away.

“I’ll try to take up as little of your time as possible,” she said, slowly lowering herself onto the chair across from him. “I’ll need a photograph, just for my records, really. I brought my Polaroid.”

She pulled it from the interior of her briefcase, and before he had a chance to protest, she snapped his picture. While she waited for the image to develop, she surprised him by slipping a pair of glasses onto the slim bridge of her nose. They should have made her look even more professional, but Cam had long considered glasses scholarly and...sexy. He chased the thought away with a gulp of coffee, scalding his tongue in the process. Maddie glanced up in question when he hissed out a breath.

“Ready when you are,” he managed to say.

“Why don’t we start with the basics? Age?”

“Thirty-six. I’ll be thirty-seven in March.”

She wrote his response on a yellow legal pad. Other notes had already been jotted down in her no-nonsense script. He couldn’t quite make out the words, which were upside-down from his vantage point, but he thought he caught something about “well built and attractive.” He felt his face heat.

“Height?”

“Just a hair over six feet.” For some reason, he straightened in his chair as he said it.

“Weight?”

Cam sipped his coffee, blowing on it beforehand this time, and thought about what the scale had said just that morning. “Um, one-eighty.”

She glanced up. One eyebrow lifted over the top rim of her glasses, leaving that little mole hidden.

“Give or take a few,” he amended. “Caroline has been on a pizza kick lately and it’s easier to cave in than to argue with her.” When Maddie just kept staring at him, he added, “She’s six, but she’s good.”

One-eighty, give or take a few pounds, Maddie mused, and probably all muscle. As interesting as she found it that a man would hedge about his weight, she was more intrigued by the way this man looked. A faded Cherry Republic T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, and she recalled that softly molded denim had hugged a pair of well-formed thighs when he’d walked.

She cleared her throat, perplexed by the inappropriate direction her thoughts kept taking. Her voice was an embarrassing squeak when she asked her next pitifully obvious question.

“Occupation?”

“I’m a cherry farmer, Miss Daniels.” He grinned, a flash of white teeth in an otherwise bronze face, and nodded toward the window and the start of the orchard visible through it. “Foleys have farmed this land for three generations. My dad met my mother here. She was a migrant worker, one of the thousands of Mexicans who came to Michigan each summer to harvest the cherries before modern technology made hand-picking obsolete.”

Maddie studied his features. His hair was a light, sun-kissed brown, but the warm hue of his skin and the coffee-colored eyes that peered at her from below a slash of dark brows hinted at his heritage.

She broke off her gaze and pretended to jot down more notes.

“Do you smoke?”