“Th—” He took the kiss deeper until her skin was humming and she’d risen to her toes.

“That ought to cover it.” He ran his hands up and down her sides.

“I guess.” She had to clear her throat. “They’re really pretty.” She felt silly holding them, sillier still because she wanted to bury her face in them and sniff like a puppy. “But you didn’t have to bring me flowers. I don’t really go in for the whole Valentine’s gig.”

“Yeah, crass commercialism and blah, blah. So what?”

He made her laugh, and she stopped feeling silly. “There’s a hell of a lot of them—the florist must have fallen weeping to his knees when you walked out. Let me see if we’ve got something around here to hold them.”

She had to settle for a plastic scrub bucket—but did indulge herself with some sniffing and sighing as she filled it with water from the bathroom tap.

“I’ll do better by them when I take them home,” she promised as she carried them back out. “I didn’t know tulips came in so many colors. I guess I haven’t paid attention.”

“My mom goes for tulips. She—what do you call it—forces the bulbs in little glass jars every winter.”

Ripley set the makeshift vase on the desk. “I bet you sent your mother flowers today.”

“Sure did.”

She looked at him, shook her head. “You’re a hell of a sweetheart, Dr. Booke.”

“Think so?” He dug in his pocket, frowned, dug in the other. And came up with a little candy heart, then dropped it into Ripley’s palm.

Be Mine, she read, and felt that little jitter in the belly again.

“So, how about it?” He reached around to tug on her ponytail. “Are you going to be my valentine?”

“Boy, you’re really into this. Looks like you’ve got me. Now I’m going to have to go buy you a mushy card.”

“It’s the least you can do.” He continued to play with the sleek tail of hair. “Listen, about tonight. I didn’t realize it was Valentine’s Day when I made the arrangements with Mia. If you want, I can reschedule that and we can go out to dinner, take a drive, whatever you’d like.”

“Oh.” It was Friday, she remembered. She’d done her best to block that particular fact out of her head. Now he was giving her the perfect way to put it all off. To put off something that was important to his work.

Yep, she thought with an inward sigh, the man was a sweetheart.

“No, don’t worry about it. It’s already set up.”

“You could come with me.”

When she started to turn away, he kept her in place with his hand on her hair, turning a tender gesture into a no-nonsense one with a simple flexing of fingers.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Don’t count on me.”

“Whatever you say.” He hated to see her struggle, but knew of no way to smooth it all away. “There are some things I want to talk to you about. If you decide to give the session at Mia’s a pass, can you come by the cottage afterward?”

“What things?”

“We’ll talk about it.” He gave her hair a last tug before walking to the door. “Ripley.” He paused, his hand on the knob and looked at her. A gun at her hip, a pail of tulips at her side. “I know we’re standing on opposite sides of a line in one area. As long as we understand why, and accept that, accept each other, we’re okay.”

“You’re so damn stable.”

“Hey, my parents spent a lot of money to make sure of it.”

“Shrinks,” she said and worked up a sneer for him.

“Damn right. See you later.”

“Yeah,” she murmured when the door closed behind him.

Problem was, she wasn’t quite so stable. Not quite so okay. Because she was crazy about him. It was difficult for a woman to maintain her dignity and reputation as somewhat of a hard-ass when she was walking around with a bucket full of tulips. It was damn near impossible when that same woman got caught perusing a dwindling display of sentimental Valentine’s Day cards.

“I like this one.” Gladys Macey reached around her and tapped a huge card with an enormous pink heart. Ripley did her best not to squirm.

“Yeah?”

“I picked it out for Carl a week ago, and he liked it fine when I gave it to him this morning. Men like big cards. Must make them feel more manly.”

Having no doubt that Gladys knew more about such matters than she did, Ripley plucked the card out of the slot.

“Last one,” she commented. “Lucky me.”

“Lucky you, indeed.” Gladys bent down to admire the tulips. “Must be four dozen tulips in there.”

“Five,” Ripley corrected. Okay, she’d counted. She couldn’t help it.

“Five dozen. Mmm. And they cost the earth this time of year. Pretty as a picture, though. You get candy, too?”

Ripley thought of the little heart that she’d tucked in her pocket. “Sort of.”

“Candy, too.” Gladys nodded wisely. “The man’s smitten.”

Ripley nearly bobbled the bucket. “What did you say?”

“I said the man’s smitten.”

“Smitten.” Something tickled Ripley’s throat, but she wasn’t sure if it was panic or humor. “That word’s getting around these days. Why do you think that?”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, Ripley, a man doesn’t buy a woman flowers, give her candy and so forth on Valentine’s Day because he wants a canasta partner. What makes young people so thickheaded about these things?”

“I just figured he was one of those people who make Hallmark stand up and cheer.”

“Men don’t make grand gestures unless they’re reminded to, in trouble, guilty, or smitten.” Gladys ticked these possibilities off on her fingers, with nails newly polished in Valentine Red. “Not in my experience. Did you remind him what day it was?”

“No, I forgot about it myself.”

“You have a spat?”

“No,” Ripley conceded.

“Anything you can think of for him to be guilty about?”

“No, there’s nothing in particular for him to feel guilty about.”

“Well, then, where does that leave him?”