“Oh. Well.” Trapped, she dug in her pocket. “Thanks.”

When he strolled off, she clasped her hands together. It was all right. He was just being helpful. Not every man, not every cop, was a danger. She knew better than that.

He came back loaded, and the sight of him, a huge bag of soil slung over one shoulder and a flat of pink geraniums and white impatiens in his big hands, made her laugh.

“I got too much.” She took the flowers from him. “I only meant to get herbs, and before I knew it . . . I couldn’t seem to stop.”

“That’s what they all say. I’ll get your pots and tools.”

“Sheriff.” It had once been natural to her to repay kindness with kindness. She wanted it to be natural again. “I made some lemonade this morning. Would you like a glass?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

All she had to do was remind herself to relax, to be herself. She filled two glasses with ice and poured in the tart lemonade. He was already back when she came out. Something about the way he looked, big and male, standing in the middle of pink and white flowers, gave her a quick little jolt.

Attraction. Even as she recognized the sensation she reminded herself it wasn’t anything she could or wanted to feel again.

“I appreciate the pack mule services.”

“Welcome.” He took the glass, draining half of it while that little jolt became a twitchy dance in her belly.

He lowered the glass. “This is the real thing. Can’t think the last time I had fresh lemonade. You’re a real find, aren’t you?”

“I just like to fuss in the kitchen.” She bent, picked up her new garden spade.

“You didn’t buy any gloves.”

“No, I didn’t think of it.”

She wanted him to drink his lemonade and scat, Zack thought, but was too polite to say so. Because he knew that, he sat on the little stoop outside the kitchen door, made himself comfortable. “Mind if I sit a minute? It’s been a long day. Don’t let me stop you from getting started, though. It’s pleasant to watch a woman in the garden.”

She’d wanted to sit on the stoop, she thought. To sit there in the sunshine and imagine what she would do with the flowers and herbs. Now all she could do was begin.

She started with the pots, reminding herself if she didn’t like the results, she could always redo them.

“Did you, um, talk to the man with the dog?”

“Pete?” Zack asked, sipped at his lemonade. “I think we came to an understanding, and peace settles over our little island once more.”

There was humor in the way he said it, and a lazy satisfaction as well. It was hard not to appreciate both.

“It must be interesting, being the sheriff here. Knowing everyone.”