Michelle smiled. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. His hand flew across the paper. Not wisely but too well. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. She found herself trying on the baubles he brought home, placing the silver rings upon her slim fingers, knowing that he would take up her hand and kiss it. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. McClintock's was a plantation of ten thousand palms, yielding him annually about half a million nuts.
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