Fortune Finds Florist

He nearly burst his zipper. Abruptly, he guided the truck off the trail to the left, hoping that the buck and bounce of crossing rough ground would prove an adequate distraction for both of them.

Sierra pushed back into her seat. “What are you doing?”

“Just trying to get the lay of the land.”

So much for honesty.

“I’m not sure I should’ve let you talk me into this,” Sierra murmured, stepping up into the bank lobby with Sam at her side.

“The door swings both ways,” he reminded her succinctly. “I don’t know what you’re carping about, though. It’s my credit.”

“But I’m supposed to provide the capital.”

“You are. You’re securing my credit with your capital and reestablishing your own in the process. Without risking your precious home, I might add.”

Sierra sighed, convinced again but still not liking it. He was taking a huge chance by putting his own credit rating on the line like this. For her dream. She wasn’t entirely persuaded that it was going to work out, though. Surely no one would loan such a young man the kind of money they were seeking.

Zeke Ontario came out of his office and strode toward them, hand outstretched. “Sam. Sierra. I’m surprised to see you two here together.”

Sam spoke up before Sierra had a chance to do so. “Sierra and I have entered into a partnership, Zeke.”

“Not that flower thing,” the banker said impatiently.

“That very promising flower thing,” Sam confirmed, nodding at Sierra, “and we’ve got the figures to prove it.”

Sierra held out the large envelope that contained their papers and lifted her chin. “What would you say to an initial profit of twenty-five thousand per acre?”

Zeke Ontario’s bushy gray eyebrows went straight up, but to Sierra’s irritation, he looked to Sam for confirmation. “Is this true?”

“You know I like to err on the conservative side, Zeke,” Sam drawled.

“Well,” the elderly banker said, sweeping an arm toward his office, “let’s have us a little chat then.”

“Thought you’d say that,” Sam teased, laying his hand in the small of Sierra’s back and ushering her forward.

Sierra felt a little thrill of victory. Or was it something else?

She tried to push that aside as she preceded the men into the office. To her deep personal embarrassment, she was beginning to feel too much attraction to her young partner, and she could just imagine what her father would say to that if he should ever learn of it. He still hadn’t forgiven her for eloping with Dennis Carlton ten years ago, and it didn’t help that he’d been right about Dennis, either.

She’d been a foolish nineteen-year-old, at odds with her father since the death of her mother some seven years earlier. She’d been so sure that Dennis would give her the affection and approval that her father hadn’t, but she’d been nothing more to Dennis than his ticket to the easy life. By the time Dennis realized that marrying the boss’s daughter had actually achieved the opposite of what he’d hoped, Sierra had been pregnant with Tyree. When it had become apparent that not even the birth of his granddaughter would soften Frank’s intractable disapproval, Dennis had split for greener pastures and only kept in contact with Tyree intermittently until news of Sierra’s inheritance had reached him. Now both her father and her ex were tugging at her again. Her father was trying to dictate her life while Dennis was doing his best to squeeze money out of her via their daughter.

Sam seated her in front of Mr. Ontario’s desk and dropped down into the chair next to her while Zeke made his lumbering way to his own place. Sierra removed papers from the portfolio, placed them on the desk and explained each one. The banker studied the papers, listened attentively, then looked to Sam. Again.

“Did you put this together, Sam?”

“Yes. They’re solid figures, Zeke. I’ve cited my sources carefully.”

“Of course. Hmm.” He studied the papers a few minutes longer, then hit the intercom on his desk and asked for a loan officer to be sent in before kicking back in his chair. “I had no idea flowers could be so profitable. You’ve put together a good business plan. We’ll check your sources, and if they pan out, which I’m sure they will, I don’t see any problem, especially with Sierra’s backing.”

Sierra stiffened, but she’d barely gotten her mouth open before Sam said firmly, “Sierra’s not ‘backing me,’ Zeke. I told you already. We’re partners. This whole thing was Sierra’s idea, as you well know.”

The old banker had the good grace to look chagrined. He actually tried to smile at Sierra. She looked down her nose at the old chauvinist, then flashed Sam a grateful smile. He winked, patiently awaiting the loan officer.

Sam was feeling pretty good when they walked out of the bank. The sun was shining, the ambient temperature had risen to almost forty degrees, and the first installment of a considerable sum of money had been deposited into his and Sierra’s joint business account—S & S Farms. They’d pulled the name out of thin air on the spur of the moment, joking about whose initial should come first. Zeke had suggested that they look into incorporation, and they’d agreed to discuss the idea with her attorney, Corbett Johnson. This thing was coming together. He had a good feeling about it, and from the way Sierra was smiling at him, he’d say she did, too.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, surprised.

“Zeke Ontario would never have given me that loan.”

Sam shrugged negligently. The truth was that he hadn’t much liked the dismissive manner in which the man had treated Sierra. So she hadn’t done the smartest thing when it came to her house; she could’ve done worse. Besides, he figured it was understandable. A single mother with a child to raise would do almost anything to secure her home. Maybe she need not have spent so much, but the shock of all that money must’ve gone to her head. Heck, he’d spent that much and more on farming equipment.

“Zeke’s a good guy, but he’s pretty old school,” Sam told her.

“Meaning that he thinks women make good tellers and not much more.”

Sam chuckled. “True, but he gave me a break when I needed it most, and I have to be grateful for that.”

“Yes, of course you do. And so do I since you’re my partner now.”

He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Can’t wait to get started, frankly.”

“When do you intend to start breaking ground or whatever it is you do first?”

Sam looked up at the bright winter sky, then down at the even brighter woman strolling along at his side. “Now seems like a pretty good time.”

Sierra stopped in her tracks. “You mean this very minute.”

He squinted at the sun overhead. “I think I can get a load of fertilizer and most of the equipment out to the farm by dark.” Impulsively, he tapped her on the end of her nose. “By the time you get home tomorrow evening, I might even have that little bottom patch tilled.”

“It’ll be a real farm then.”

“So it will.”

She laughed and shook her head, and for one heart-stopping moment he thought she might actually throw her arms around him, but then she just clapped them on her sides and laughed some more. He laughed, too, as he walked her the rest of the way to her storefront, and somehow the sun seemed to shine even brighter, as bright as the future. Their future.

Frank McAfree dumped his coat on the living room sofa and brought his hands to his hips in what Sierra thought of as his classical “rant” pose.

“What the devil is going on?”

“Well, hello, Dad, nice to see you, too. Glad you could drop by.”

“Don’t change the subject, Sierra. I asked you a question.”

Sierra folded her arms protectively. His carrot-red hair had turned yellow-white in the last few years, and his square face was sagging a bit at the jawline, but he’d lost none of his imposing authority. He’d always seemed larger than life.

“I assume you are referring to the plowing and the greenhouse.”