She grinned and reached for the door handle. "Sure," she said, climbing inside. "Thanks, Dan."

He smiled at her and a shiver raced up her spine. "You cold?"

"No," she insisted. "It's warm for this time of year-feels like summer."

"So where to?" he asked. "Is it far?"

She laughed, and it felt good. "Didn't I tell you that nothing is that far away in Apple Grove?"

He smiled. "Yes," he said. "You did. But exactly how much farther?"

"About two miles ahead on the left, you'll want to turn onto Goose Pond Road, then right onto Cherry Valley Lane."

"OK, so you live on Cherry Valley?"

"We live on Peat Moss Road."

"Seriously?"

"Yes, why?"

He shook his head. "No reason."

He glanced down at his gauges and then up ahead. "Goose Pond?"

"Uh-huh. Left turn up there." She pointed to a spot in the distance and he signaled, although why, she had no idea; there wasn't anyone on the road behind them.

Dan turned and started looking for their right-hand turn. She fell silent, not really sure how to get back to the earlier camaraderie. He stopped to look at her before making the turn onto her street. "I thought you were kidding."

"What's so strange about the name of my road?"

"Uh, nothing. It's just so rural."

She laughed. "More than half of Licking County is farmland."

"Yeah," he agreed. "I saw that on the drive in."

Meg shrugged. "I suppose the street names in your city were all named after important people."

"Dead presidents."

She couldn't think of anything more boring than naming your town's streets after former presidents.

"That's our house-last one on the left."

Dan pulled into the driveway of an old farmhouse and noticed the barn out back as they were getting out. "You wouldn't happen to have an old clunker just waiting for someone to restore her in that barn, would you?"

Every single hair on the back of her neck stood on end. "How did you know?"

He stopped dead in his tracks. "You're serious?"

She smiled. "My great-grandfather's 1929 Model A pickup."

His entire demeanor changed; gone was the responsible mature man she'd met when he kept her from falling, and in his place was the eight-year-old who couldn't wait for Christmas morning to unwrap his presents. "I have got to see it."

"Dad never had time to work on it; he was too busy keeping the business going, and then after mom..."

"What?"

She shook her head; she hadn't meant to say anything, so she glossed over it and motioned for him to follow. He followed, as eager as a puppy. "What kind of shape is it in?"

"Not bad, considering its age and the fact that my great-grandfather drove it every day until he parked it in the barn, where it's been ever since. It needed a lot of work and with the nature of our family business, we don't have a lot of spare time."

"I'm sure you heard back there that I love cars-it's in the blood."

"You should talk to my dad; he's car-crazy."

Meg slid the side door open and flipped on the light. The soft glow of the incandescent bulbs hanging from the rafters shone down on the black-tarped mound off to the side. Waiting until Dan was standing beside her, she grabbed the closest corner and pulled on the tarp.

Dan's low whistle of appreciation gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. He was a lot like her dad in his love for classic and antique cars. The way he looked over his shoulder at her, waiting for her nod of permission to touch, just added to the positives that were making it hard to ignore her fascination with the man.

"This could be a beauty."

"My dad has pictures of it when it was new. My great-grandfather bought it in 1933, so he wasn't the original owner, but he had it all his life. My dad got to ride in it, but it was off the road a long time before he got his license. It's one of his dreams to restore it and get it back on the road."

"I don't blame him," Dan said, his look solemn. "This would be an amazing project to get my hands on."

She nodded to the tarp and he grabbed the opposite corner and helped her cover the pickup. "Why don't you ask him if you can help?"

"I might just do that."

Walking to the house, she said, "I know you got to have a piece of cake, but did you ever get that cup of coffee? I got so caught up introducing you around... and then when Mitch started telling you about my misspent youth, I forgot all about it."

He nodded. "I did have a cup, but that was awhile ago."

"Come on inside. I'll make some."

While she brewed coffee, he made himself at home at the scarred oak farm table. "Do you think he'll be back soon?"

"He would have to take the Widow Murphy home first."

"Why do you call her that?"

Meg shrugged and wiped her hands on a flour sack dish towel that was so thin it didn't really dry much, but her mom had bought them, and she couldn't bring herself to consign them to the rag bag yet. She opened the antique copper cookie jar that had stood on the counter since her great-grandmother Molly had set it there. Reaching in, she selected two kinds of cookies-chocolate chip and peanut butter, nothing but the best-and put them on a plate. "Because she is."

"A widow?"

"Well, yeah."

"Why don't you call her Mary?"

She shrugged. "As far back as I can remember, folks in town called her that. The name just sort of stuck."

"Once you make a name for yourself in Apple Grove-good or bad-can you ever change it?"

Meg took the time to think about it and tried to answer honestly, sensing that what she said would be important to Dan's understanding and expectations of the town. "Not that I've ever heard of, but hey, it could happen. One small whisper could start a roar-especially if Miss Trudi is behind it."

As she'd hoped, he smiled at the mention of his great-aunt. "She really loves getting into the thick of things."

It was Meg's turn to smile as she set out the plate of cookies and steaming mugs. "Real milk or two percent?"

"Real if you have it."

"Sugar?"

"Great, thanks." As he prepared his coffee, she noted that he used two heaping spoons of sugar and two drops of milk. She noticed things like that-always had, always would.

She watched him bring the blue enamel cup close enough to blow across the surface to cool it. He sipped, closed his eyes, and sighed. "That's the best cup of coffee I've had in days."

"Thanks." She pushed the yellow-ware plate closer. "Have a cookie. Grandma's recipes can't be beat."

Dan noticed the way Megan bit her bottom lip when she was deep in thought. Megan Mulcahy had thrown him for a loop from the moment she'd fallen off the fence into his arms. The image of her cradled against his heart filled him. Mine, his heart whispered. Whoa! his head shouted. Don't get carried away... isn't that what happened the last time? But nothing about Meg reminded him of his ex-they were light years apart in temperament, stature, looks, and personality. He had no worries in that regard; why not follow his heart? He could still pull back if things got too hot too quickly. With Meg, he had a feeling they might.

As Meg quietly talked about cookie recipes, he noticed the competent way she held herself, comfortable in her own skin. He admired that in others, but in Meg it was tempting as well as attractive. And it wasn't just the fact that she had a Model A pickup in her barn. Smiling, he bit into a second cookie. "I'm glad I uh... caught you today."

She set her mug down. "I don't remember if I thanked you properly and for that I'm sorry. I should have done that right off."

"You were distracted at the time," he said slowly, watching the hue of her blue eyes darken to sapphire. "So was I."

"That's no excuse. My parents taught me better than that."

"And you're a dutiful daughter?" He could get behind that; he'd been raised the same way.

She nodded and a couple of hairpins pinged on the tabletop. He glanced up in time to see a long, silky strand caress the side of her face. Without thought, he reached out to smooth it behind her ear.

The back door slammed as a deep voice called out, "I didn't think I'd see you again so soon."

Dan nearly jumped out of his skin and knocked over his coffee. Meg was out of her seat like a shot and snagged the paper towels, mopping up the mess. She bent forward to reach across the table and his mind went blank as the scooped neckline of her dress let him glimpse the lacy edge of her flesh-toned bra. He didn't think she realized that she'd flashed him. The no-nonsense way she cleaned up the mess and smiled at her father spoke volumes.

Joe cleared his throat and Dan's brain kicked back into gear. "I saw Meg walking alongside the road, so I offered her a ride."

He needed to go slowly and lay the proper foundation for a relationship this time, because he sensed that there was something special about Meg and he didn't want to make the same mistakes he had with his ex.

"Meg's stubborn," her dad said. "I'm surprised she agreed."

Dan shrugged. "Meg seems reasonable to me; besides, I think it was the thought of walking home in those heels-or barefoot-that had her accepting my offer of a ride home."

Joe's frown turned around and Dan noticed one side of the man's mouth twitching. Was he trying not to smile? Deciding to deflect and protect Meg from her father's grumbling, he said, "Meg showed me the Model A in the barn. I'm handy with engines and would be happy to give you a hand sometime."

Her dad was watching him. Was he thinking about Dan's offer? Needing to sway the man, he said, "I was telling Sheriff Wallace about my Dad's 1965 Corvette-"

Joe stepped closer to the table. "Coupe or convertible?"

"Coupe."

"Big block or fuel-injected?"

"396 Turbo-jet-"

"425 HP." Joe nodded and sighed deeply. "I'd love to get under the hood; any chance of your dad driving it out to Apple Grove?"

Dan shook his head. "He drives it locally in sunny weather, mostly to the Tuesday night car meets where he shows it off. Guys come from miles around to drool."

"Restored?"

"Cherry," he answered with a grin. "I've got a picture in my wallet."

Her father stepped around Meg, pulled a chair over, sat down, and waited for Dan to show him the picture.

"Dad likes cars almost as much as baseball," Megan said with a smile.

Dan handed over the snapshot and looked up. "Really?" Turning toward Joe he asked the name of his favorite team.

Joe smiled at him and said, "The Cleveland Indians. Yours?"

"Diehard, third generation Yankee fan."

Meg's father snickered. "Figures."

"Really?"

"Well, you are from back East," Joe said. "Now if you had that '65 'Vette with the fuel-injected 327..."

Dan laughed good-naturedly. "Carbs-you either love 'em or hate 'em."

They were both laughing by the time Meg had poured Dan another cup of coffee and offered one to her dad. Instead of sitting down, her dad nodded toward the barn. "Want to go look under the hood?"

Dan's heart skipped a beat. "Now?"

Joe nodded and Dan knew then he'd follow the man anywhere as long as he got a good look underneath the hood of that pickup. He did a double take as he stepped outside and saw the pristine, glossy black 1950 Ford F1 pickup gleaming in the late afternoon sun. "You are one lucky man, Mr. Mulcahy."

Joe grinned. "I've worked hard for what I've got."

"I understand," Dan said, distracted by the pickup in the driveway and the antique in the barn. "I intend to work even harder so that I can buy back a rookie baseball card I pawned..." his voice trailed off. Damn. If he'd been paying attention to what he was saying, that last part wouldn't have come out.

Joe was watching him intently. "What year?"