Colton by Marriage. Marie Ferrarella

War general.”

      Duke inclined his head as they continued walking. “Your mother’s a fine woman.”

      “No argument there. But my point is,” Susan emphasized, “you have to act fast to get away if you don’t want to get shanghaied into doing whatever it is she has planned.”

      “Eating something your dad’s made doesn’t exactly sound like a hardship to me.” Donald Kelley’s reputation as a chef was known throughout the state, not just the town.

      Susan didn’t want Duke to be disappointed. “Actually, I made a lot of it.”

      His eyes met hers for a brief moment. She couldn’t for the life of her fathom what he was thinking. The man had to be a stunning poker player. “Doesn’t sound bad, either.”

      The simple compliment, delivered without any fanfare, had Susan warming inside and struggling to tamp down what she felt had to be a creeping blush on the outside. Pressing her lips together, she murmured, “Well, I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

      “Don’t plan on being,” he told her. Duke nodded toward the vehicle he’d left parked at the end of the lot. “Hope you don’t mind riding in a truck, seeing as how you’re probably used to gallivanting around in those fancy cars.”

      When it came down to matching dollar for dollar, the Coltons were probably richer than the Kelleys, but despite his distant ties to the present sitting president, Joseph Colton, Darius Colton didn’t believe in throwing money away for show. That included buying fancy cars for his sons.

      Duke was referring to Linc’s sports car, Susan thought. He had to be because her own car was a rather bland sedan with more than a few miles and years on it. But it was a reliable vehicle that got her where she had to go and that was all that ultimately mattered to her.

      “I like trucks,” she told him, looking at his. “They’re dependable.”

      In response, Susan thought she saw a small smile flirt with Duke’s mouth before disappearing again. And then he shrugged a bit self-consciously.

      “If I’d known I’d be heading out to your place, I would’ve washed it first,” he told her.

      “Dirt’s just a sign left behind by hard work,” she said philosophically as she approached the passenger side of the vehicle.

      Duke opened the door for her, then helped her up into the cab. She was acutely aware of his hands on her waist, giving her a small boost so that she could avoid any embarrassing mishap, given that she was wearing a black dress and high heels.

      A tingle danced through her.

      This wasn’t the time or place to feel things like that, she chided herself. She’d just buried her best friend. This was a time for mourning, not for reacting to the touch of a man who most likely wasn’t even aware that he had touched her.

      Duke caught himself staring for a second. Staring at the neat little rear that Susan Kelley had. Funerals weren’t the time and cemeteries weren’t the place to entertain the kind of thoughts that were now going through his head.

      But there they were anyway, taking up space, coloring the situation.

      Maybe, despite the best of intentions, he shouldn’t have shown up at the funeral, he silently told himself.

      Too late now, Duke thought as he got into the driver’s seat and started up the truck. With any luck, he wouldn’t have to stay long at the reception.