Yesterday's Love Read Free Page A

Most of them can’t resist browsing through antiques.”
    â€œDo they buy anything?”
    She shrugged. “Sometimes. More often than not, they drink a cup of coffee, chat awhile and then go on. That’s part of the fun of owning an antique shop…meeting new people.”
    â€œYou give your customers coffee?”
    The look she gave him was withering. “Usually I have a homemade cake, too,” she said defensively. “Yesterday I had apple pie, but the crust was soggy. I haven’t quite mastered pie crusts yet. I’m not sure what the problem is. Maybe the shortening.”
    Tate shook his head. He’d obviously been dealing with powerful, cold-blooded corporations too long. He was not prepared to deal with someone who spent more money most days feeding her customers than she took in and then worried about the quality of her cooking on top of it.
    â€œDo you suppose we could take a look at your records?” he said, suddenly impatient to get this over with. He was getting some very strange feelings from this woman and, unfortunately, most of them were very unprofessional. Right now she was looking at him with wide, cornflower-blue eyes filled with hurt, as though he’d rejected her or worse. His pulse rate quickened, and he had the oddest desire to comfort her, to hold her and tell her he’d take care of everything. He drew in a ragged breath and reminded himself sternly that IRS agents, especially those with his reputation for tough, relentless questioning, did not comfort individuals they were about to audit.
    â€œOf course,” Victoria replied stiffly. Her first impression obviously had been correct: this man did have a mission, and it seemed he wasn’t the type to be dissuaded from pursuing it. It was such a waste, too, she thought with a sigh. With his dashing good looks and trim build, he’d seemed exactly the sort of man she’d been waiting all her life to meet, the type who’d sweep a woman off her feet in the very best romantic tradition. Instead, he seemed to have the soul of a stuffy realist. He was going to wind up with ulcers by the time he hit forty, just like the rest of them.
    Disillusioned and disappointed at having to abandon her fantasy so quickly, she gathered up the remnants of her picnic, perched her hat on top of her head and took off across the field, her long skirt billowing in the breeze. She didn’t wait to see if Tate McAndrews followed. She knew instinctively that he wasn’t about to let her out of his sight. He apparently thought she was some sort of criminal. She huffed indignantly at the very idea. A criminal indeed! Well, he could look at her records, such as they were, from now until doomsday, and he wouldn’t find anything incriminating. Once he’d finished, he could apologize and go on his way.
    She glanced over her shoulder and caught the frown on his face, the hard, no-nonsense line of his jaw. On second thought, he probably wouldn’t apologize.
    When they reached the house, Victoria opened the kitchen door and stood aside to allow Tate to enter.
    â€œWhy don’t you have a seat? I’ll get the papers and bring them in here,” she suggested. “There’s lemonade in the fridge, if you’d like some.”
    Lemonade? The corners of Tate’s mouth tilted up as he watched her disappear into the main part of the house, the long skirt adding a subtle emphasis to the naturally provocative sway of her hips. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had offered him lemonade. Most of the women he knew had a Scotch on the rocks waiting for him when he walked in the door. He picked up two tall glasses from the counter by the sink, went to the refrigerator and filled them with ice. He found the huge pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade and poured them each a glass. He took a long, thirst-quenching swallow of the sweettart drink. It was perfect after that damnably hot trek through the