ANNA DIDN’T NOTICE the stolen flowers until the next day. Then she noticed them with a shout.

‘‘Seth! Seth, you come out here right now.’’ She had her hands on her hips, her sassy straw hat askew, her eyes snapping and dangerous.

‘‘Yeah?’’ He came out, munching on a handful of pretzels, though dinner was simmering on the stove.

‘‘Have you been messing with my flowers?’’ she demanded.

He slid a glance down to the mixed bed of annuals and perennials. And snorted. ‘‘What would I be messing with stupid flowers for?’’

She tapped her foot. ‘‘That’s what I’m asking you.’’

‘‘I never touched them. Hey, you don’t even want us to pull up weeds.’’

‘‘That’s because you don’t know the difference between a weed and a daisy,’’ she snapped. ‘‘Well, somebody’s been in my flower beds.’’

‘‘Wasn’t me.’’ He shrugged, then rolled his eyes in glee as she stormed past him into the house.

Somebody, Seth thought, was in for it big time.

‘‘Cameron!’’ She stomped upstairs and into the bathroom where he was washing up from work. He glanced over, lifting a brow as water dripped from his face into the sink. She scowled for a moment, then shook her head. ‘‘Never mind,’’ she muttered, slamming the door.

Cam would no more fiddle with her gardens than Seth, she decided. And if he was picking flowers for anyone, it damn well better be his loving wife, or she’d just murder him and be done with it.

Her eyes narrowed on the door to Ethan’s room. And she made a low, threatening sound in her throat.

She did stop to knock, though it was only three staccato raps before she simply pushed open the door.

‘‘Christ, Anna.’’ Mortified, Ethan snatched up the slacks that lay on his bed and held them in front of him. He was wearing nothing but his briefs and a pained expression.

‘‘Just save the modesty, I’m not interested. Have you been into my flowers?’’

‘‘Into your flowers?’’ Oh, he’d known this was coming. The woman had eyes like a cat when it came to her posies. But he hadn’t expected the moment to come when he was half naked. Half, hell, he thought and clutched the slacks more firmly.

‘‘Somebody’s snapped off more than a dozen blooms. Snapped them right off.’’ She advanced on him, her eyes scanning the room for evidence.

‘‘Oh, well . . .’’

‘‘Problem?’’ Cam leaned on the doorjamb, tongue in his cheek. It was an amusing sight after a hard day’s work, he decided. His well-riled wife stalking around his all-but-bare-assed brother.

‘‘Somebody’s been in my garden and they stole my flowers.’’

‘‘No kidding? Want me to call the cops?’’

‘‘Oh, shut up.’’ She whirled back to Ethan, who took a cautious and cowardly step in retreat. She looked fit to murder. ‘‘Well?’’