When Suave and Feisty Collide
— Chapter 2 —
Never One Like Her
LUCAS BOUCHARD closed the door of Ned Yost's mercantile behind him and hesitated for a moment, Fiona Miller's face and knowing eyes still paused in his mind's eye.
Her he had not been expecting.
Shining, dark curls tucked sleekly against her head. The wine velvet headband that made her lips and cheeks look like roses against that creamy skin, smattered with a kiss of freckles.
The freckles had been another surprise on this composed, frank, modern woman whose eyes had met his as confidently as any man's. Reluctantly intrigued, he'd catalogued that detail away as he'd assessed her only moments before.
Fashion a decade ahead of most in Hope Valley. Heeled shoes that clicked on Yost's hardwood floor as she'd briskly met his approach with her own small, outstretched hand. His hand had almost swallowed hers. She hadn't batted an eye. Unfazed, she had tallied him as swiftly as he had her. He couldn't read if she had perceived him noticing that, which had surprised him yet again.
But he had noticed. No woman as yet had met him so equally.
Yes, Fiona Miller had definitely been a surprise.
A reluctant smile tugged at his lips as he stepped down onto Hope Valley's main street, gravel crunching under his Italian leather shoes as he walked back towards his latest business acquisition. His footsteps weren't as swift as they normally were. Part of him was still turning over that meeting with Miss Fiona Miller from the telephone company. He was distracted by his meeting with her.
His footsteps slowed even further as he heard her voice again in his head.
"I'm from San Francisco."
San Francisco.
No, he had definitely not been expecting to encounter a woman of her caliber . . . or background . . . in a place like Hope Valley.