Zach sprang down from the tractor with a welcoming smile for his neighbor. He did not, Bett noticed, even glance her way. As he strode forward, she couldn’t help but notice that his shirt had dried in a disastrously wrinkled fashion since his dunking some three hours before. She was about to inquire innocently about his disgraceful appearance when she felt a solid slap on her backside, followed by the welcome weight of his arm around her shoulders. She returned the hug. Grady, as usual, ignored any hint of a personal exchange between them.

“What’s up?” Zach asked him.

“O-rings. Damn Brown can’t get his till tomorrow, and I got a field needs spraying tonight. And the only tractor I got free-”

“Your John Deere or the Massey?” Zach questioned.

“The John Deere.” Grady paused, jutting a wiry leg forward. “And I wanted to tell you those young peaches look good. You keep a fresh mow like I told you. Don’t want weeds leaching any moisture in this weather.”

Bett only half listened to the farmer talk, more interested in the feel of Zach’s arm on her shoulders, the graze of his shirt against hers. Her husband radiated warmth, strength and the exhaustion of a man who took too few ten-minute breaks-plus a purely virile message that raised her blood pressure. He still hadn’t looked her in the eye.

“Can you give me some idea of what time you want dinner, Zach?” she interrupted them finally.

“I’ll be in as soon as we’ve fixed up Grady’s tractor. Bett.”

She was about to make for the house when he hooked an arm around her waist and turned her. He was definitely looking her in the eye this time, from about four inches away. Those eyes of his were promising endless retribution for her mischief at the pond.

“You go in, take a shower and relax with an iced tea,” he ordered. “You were up before I was this morning. I’ll worry about dinner.”