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By Terry Irene Blain

Copyright 2012 Terry Irene Blain
Smashwords Edition


He took a step forward, causing her to take a step back. “Mrs. Peterson was right, you know. I’m not the type of person you should talk to.”

“Really, Mr. Westmoreland.” She sounded indignant. “I’m a grown woman. I’m capable of deciding with whom to talk.”

He liked the way her back went up when challenged. He took another small step. Her retreat brought her shoulders up against the high side of a wagon. He wanted to hear her say his name. “Well, if you’re going to talk to me, call me Wes.”

She looked puzzled. “Wes Westmoreland? Surely Wes isn’t your first name?”

“No, but I’ve always been called Wes.” He didn’t want to discuss why. He moved closer again, her skirts brushing his boots. “What should I call you?” He wanted her to say her first name, wanted to hear clearly what he’d only half-heard Mrs. Peterson call her. Wanted a name for his thoughts, something warmer, more real than Miss Lawson. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

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