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“Stealing my delivery boy is unconscionable.”
    â€œUnconscionable,” he echoed. “Shockingly unfair. Unjust. Unscrupulous. But unconscionable? Kinda strong word for a simple matter of hiring a free agent to do a job.”
    Behind her she heard a spurt of laughter from Noralee Ness.
    â€œBilly isn’t a free agent,” Jessamine countered. “He belongs to me.”
    Cole liked it when she got angry. Her cheeks turned rosy and she bit her lips until they were swollen and the color of ripe raspberries. He was finding it hard to look away from her mouth.
    â€œOn the contrary, Jessamine, Billy Rowell doesn’t belong to you or anybody else in this town except maybe his momma, who, by the way, seems mighty grateful for the extra money her son’s bringing home each week.”
    Jessamine’s raspberry-bitten lips opened and then closed. And opened again. “Of course,” she said in an even tone. “You are correct. I do beg your pardon for the use of ‘unconscionable.’ What about just ‘unfair’?”
    â€œSeems to me, Miss Jessamine, you go off half-cocked a lot.”
    â€œThat, Mr. Sanders, is entirely your fault.”
    â€œFor God’s sake, we’ve been squabbling for weeks now. About time for first names, isn’t it?”
    Another snort of laughter from Noralee.
    â€œNow,” he continued, noticing how Jessamine’s breasts were swelling against the buttons of her white shirtwaist, “what is it exactly that is my fault? Other than running my newspaper office across the street from yours?”
    She actually stamped her foot on the plank floor. “For one thing, you are—”
    Jess stopped midsentence. He was what? A competitor, yes. A man, with all the maddeningly masculine habits of men, a lazy, confident swagger when he walked; a slow, suggestive smile that made her insides turn mushy; a mouth that... Oh, she didn’t know what, but his lips too often drew her gaze and she just knew that he noticed.
    â€œI am...?” he prompted.
    â€œYou disregard, um, propriety. You...drink. You...are backing that snake Conway Arbuckle for judge.”
    â€œIt’s true, I do drink. I consider the Golden Partridge part of my news beat. But propriety? I don’t disregard propriety, Jessamine. I have never—”
    He broke off and swallowed hard. Yes, he had disregarded propriety. He’d swept Maryann off her feet right under the nose of her stepfather and run away with her before the old man could unearth his shotgun.
    â€œAlso,” he continued, “Mr. Arbuckle asked for my support. Besides that, since I took him on, my subscriptions have increased almost twofold.”
    She sniffed. “That’s because people sense a fight between the Sentinel and the Lark over the election.” She sniffed again.
    â€œNaturally. We both want to sell newspapers, right? Competition brings in more customers, Jessamine.”
    She said nothing, just chewed some more on her lips. If she didn’t stop, he’d have trouble hiding his body’s reaction.
    Too late. He stepped sideways, out of both Jessamine’s and Noralee’s field of view, and surreptitiously adjusted his jeans.
    â€œCustomers,” she murmured at last. “I see. Well, I suppose you are correct. I wonder why I didn’t consider that before.”
    â€œSeems to me you often speak first and consider later.”
    That elicited a choked laugh from Noralee.
    Jessamine said nothing for so long Cole thought maybe he’d gone too far. She stood motionless, studying her shoe tops and worrying her bottom lip.
    Jessamine realized she was standing tongue-tied in Cole’s office and couldn’t for the life of her remember what she’d come for. Think of something. Anything .
    â€œI...um...”
    â€œYes? Something else on your mind?”
    â€œYes, there is,” she admitted. “But now I can’t remember