“Michelle.” He chuckled. “There was a song with that name. My father loved it. One of the lines was ‘Michelle, ma belle.’” He glanced at her. “Do you speak French?”

“A little,” she said. “I have it second period. It means something like ‘my beauty.’” She laughed. “And that has nothing to do with me, I’m afraid. I’m just plain.”

He glanced at her with raised eyebrows. Was she serious? She was gorgeous. Young, and untried, but her creamy complexion was without a blemish. She was nicely shaped and her hair was a pale blond. Those soft gray eyes reminded him of a fog in August...

He directed his eyes to the road. She was just a child, what was he thinking? “Beauty, as they say, is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Do you speak French?” she asked, curious.

He nodded. “French, Spanish, Portuguese, Afrikaans, Norwegian, Russian, German and a handful of Middle Eastern dialects.”

“Really?” She was fascinated. “Did you work as a translator or something?”

He pursed his lips. “From time to time,” he said, and then laughed to himself.

“Cool.”

He started the truck and drove down the road to the house he owned. It wasn’t far, just about a half mile. It was a ranch house, set back off the road. There were oceans of flowers blooming around it in the summer, planted by the previous owner, Mrs. Eller, who had died. Of course, it was still just February, and very cold. There were no flowers here now.

“Mrs. Eller loved flowers.”

“Excuse me?”

“She lived here all her life,” she told him, smiling as they drove up to the front porch. “Her husband worked as a deputy sheriff. They had a son in the military, but he was killed overseas. Her husband died soon afterward. She planted so many flowers that you could never even see the house. I used to come over and visit her when I was little, with my grandfather.”

“Your people are from here?”

“Oh, yes. For three generations. Daddy went to medical school in Georgia and then he set up a practice in cardiology in San Antonio. We lived there. But I spent every summer here with my grandparents while they were alive. Daddy kept the place up, after, and it was like a vacation home while Mama was alive.” She swallowed. That loss had been harsh. “We still had everything, even the furniture, when Daddy decided to move us down here and take early retirement. She hated it from the first time she saw it.” Her face hardened. “She’s selling it. My stepmother, I mean. She’s already talked about it.”