“Hi, y’all, who’s there?” came a light, feminine voice from the intercom system embedded in the thick, wide doorframe.

“Shelby, it’s Drew Clayworth from John Clayworth and Company.”

He couldn’t have sounded more warm and inviting. She actually felt a bit warm herself, but she put it down to excitement.

“Sugar, I love your store. Come on in. The door’s open.”

Drew met her eyes. “You’re right. I believe we have a live one. I’m calling Connor for backup.”

Too anxious to wait, Athena pushed the door open.

They entered a long, narrow wood-paneled foyer vibrating with the blare of a television or radio. It became louder and more distinct the deeper they walked down a hall lined with rare old botanical prints she’d seen months ago at Lance’s antique house.

They stepped into a sunny kitchen and family room with a huge flatscreen television tuned to the Paula Deen show on the Food Network.

A tall, incredibly thin woman, wearing Bertha’s yellow satin Worth gown, looked up at them. Athena’s stomach turned over at the sight of the skirt, bordered with puffings of two shades of yellow chiffon and velvet, dragging on the quarry tile floor.

“Stay here,” Drew ordered in his old authoritarian voice, not his signature charming banter.

It took all Athena’s willpower to let him take the lead and not rush to pick up the hem of the dress.

The dress sleeves, designed to make Bertha’s arms appear like stems coming out of gold silk velvet flowers, slid off Shelby’s narrow shoulders as she twirled away from the stove and toward them. Her green eyes looked huge in her small face. “Paula says get your butter on!”

Instinctively, Athena stepped forward to throw herself between the dress bodice, embroidered with silver cord, gold beads, sequins, and rhinestones, and the butter spitting out of the skillet.

Drew stepped in front of her and refused to move. Even going so far as to hold her behind his back in an iron grip.

“Let me go,” she grunted.

“Behave for a change. Remember this isn’t about us,” he muttered, making so much sense she shut up.

“Shelby, I’m Drew Clayworth. I’ve come to help you.”

Shelby threw back her head and laughed with amazing gusto for someone who looked so fragile.

“Honey pie, if you want to help, grab a stick of butter—we’re doin’ it southern style!”

She twirled back to the stove and threw two more sticks of butter into the hot, sizzling frying pan. Drew reached out to take her arm, but Shelby swished toward the refrigerator before he could stop her.

She pulled out what looked like a key lime pie and seemed to be looking past them to something beyond. “I cooked my Stevie’s favorite. Where is my Stevie?”

Drew bore down on Shelby, Athena right behind him, stopping only long enough to turn off the flame under the sizzling skillet.

“Shelby, let me help you.”

“If you help, you can have a helpin’, honey pie. I’m from Georgia. We know how to be hospitable.” She danced toward the table and stumbled on the double lace ruffle of the underskirt.

Athena stifled a gasp as Drew grabbed Shelby’s thin upper arm. “Let’s sit down first.” He helped her onto the bleached oak dining chair, never taking his eyes off her. “This pie looks delicious. We’ll put it back into the refrigerator for now. Steve will be here soon.”

Shelby nodded. “My Stevie is the most gentle, tender, and sweet man ever.” She stuck three fingers into the pie and came out with a big glob of filling and whipped cream. “As sweet as this here pie,” she muttered, licking her fingers.

Panting, a tall man, striped tie askew, raced into the kitchen.

“Thank God she’s all right,” he gasped, staring at his wife sticking her fingers into the pie for the second time.

Shelby appeared oblivious to everything except repeatedly plunging her fingers into the pie, lifting out bigger globs, and sticking all of them in her mouth at the same time.

Drew stayed by her side and beckoned Steve closer. “You received a call from Clayworth’s and Dr. Lewis Stemmer?”

Steve nodded, staring at his wife in obvious concern. “Yes. They told me an ambulance is on the way and the effects of the toxins should wear off by morning.”

In the distance Athena heard the thin wail of a siren.

Shelby’s head snapped up. A mustache of key lime lined her upper lip. “Hi, Stevie. You know how you’re always tellin’ me I should eat more. This afternoon I put on this pretty dress and I had a vision as clear as a bell ringin’ on Sunday morning. You’re right, and I haven’t been cookin’ enough, either. I’m a darn fine cook, and I love healthy good food. Silly of me to choose not to do somethin’ I love. I’m going to write a cookbook with my great-great-great grandma Shelby’s recipes.” She fanned herself with both hands. “I must have left the oven on. It’s mighty hot in here.”

“Sugar, you’re going to the hospital, where it will be cooler,” Steve said softly.

Drew helped her to her feet. “Shelby, I promise you’ll feel better there.”

A little ache had started in Athena’s stomach the instant she saw how gently and kindly Drew helped Shelby. No charming handsome mask, but real emotion on his face. This man deserved to be obeyed, so she did what he’d asked and stayed out of harm’s way.

Steve hovered on one side of Shelby, and Drew supported her on the other.

As they moved toward the hall, Athena stepped back.

Shelby looked her straight in the eyes. “Hi there. Do you like my dress?”

Stunned, Athena blurted out the truth. “I love it. I’d like to have it.”

“I knew another gal would appreciate how pretty it is.” She sent a coy, unfocused glance between the two men holding her up. “It’s like the one my great-great-great grandma Shelby wore to her cotillion in Atlanta. There’s a paintin’ of it in my aunt Scarlett’s house on Peachtree. It’s the reason I bought this dress from the dealer.” She giggled and leaned closer. “I think it might be hot, ’cause it sorta looks like a picture I saw of Bertha Palmer at the museum. Don’t tell Lance,” she whispered.

Athena met Drew’s eyes, and a silken fiber of old yearnings pulled her to him. Athena smiled. “I promise I won’t tell, Shelby.”

Athena followed them out onto the porch, then down the stairs, and stood beside the ambulance while the paramedics helped Shelby inside.

Drew looked up at the paramedic coming back out. “Miss Smith is an expert on how to stabilize the toxin. Did Dr. Stemmer send the materials for her to contain the dress?”

The paramedic nodded and thrust the package containing masks, gloves, and plastic at her.

“Steve, we need to get that infected dress off of Shelby. Then you can ride to the hospital with her,” Drew ordered.

Shaken by his tenderness with Shelby and more confused by him than ever, she took Drew’s hand to be helped into the ambulance. Her foot slipped off the low step, and he grabbed her to keep her from falling, holding her so tight she could feel his heart beating against her breasts.

Blood rushed to her head, a sudden disorientation, and the sound of her pounding pulse drowned out everything else.

I’m not immune at all.

She pulled free, and he helped her up into the low, cramped ambulance.

How stupid and juvenile to feel so hot and bothered, but she did, and she’d just have to deal with it. Or think about it tomorrow, like one of Shelby’s southern belles. Now she needed to help Shelby out of this dress.

Her eyes closed, Shelby rested on the stretcher, one of her shoes hanging off her toes.

Athena carefully removed both shoes and laid a blanket over her.

Shelby giggled and wiggled while the paramedic checked her vitals and put in an IV line.

“We need to get you out of this dress, Shelby. I’m sorry if these rubber gloves feel cold.” Athena slowly pulled the dress down Shelby’s thin body and out from beneath the blanket.