Along Came a Cowboy (12 page)

Jack shoots her a look.

“Well, she's right. It's not about the bull riding.” She leans close to Jack and touches his arm. I see him freeze, even if she doesn't. “Everybody knows it's the big brave bull riders we want to see.”

“I didn't mean—” I start, but Jack is already on his feet.

“I think our time's up for tonight. Thanks for coming, Ms. Winchester.”

She bats her eyes at him. “Aren't you going to finish discussing the program? I'm sure you need to know—”

“We'll take it up next meeting.” He looks at me and touches his hat. But his eyes are cold. “Good night.”

I can't help but feel confusion as I watch him leave. I know Blair comes across a little—okay, a
lot
—strong, but isn't he used to gorgeous women throwing themselves at him?

Blair watches him leave then turns back to me. “Does he always call the shots? I thought he works for the committee.”

I consider the best answer and my gaze falls on a menu. “Blair, have you tried Daniel's new Absolutely Amazing Allie Cappuccino?”

She purses her lips, probably remembering how hard she tried to get her talons into Allie's fiancé back when they first met. He was a cameraman then, and Blair had him practically jumping through hoops until he got tired of it.

“No, I don't believe I've tried that one. But I think I'll
pass. Some of Daniel's concoctions are sickeningly sweet.” She stands and motions the cameraman to wrap it up. “Let me know when your next meeting is.”

Fat chance.

She and her tagalong leave in a huff, and I'm gathering my papers when, to my surprise, Jack walks back up to my table. “Is she gone? For real?”

Uh-oh. My heart does this little jump in my chest that has nothing to do with being startled. “I thought you left.”

“I hid over in the Christian romance section.”

“Learn anything interesting?”

“Christian girls like cowboys.”

Oh. Well, just to keep him honest, I snort. “Not all Christian girls.”

“That's too bad.” He watches me as I finish putting the papers in my bag, as if he might want to say something. I sling the bag over my shoulder then turn to him.

He looks past me, out to the parking lot. Night has fallen, and with the glare from the windows, I know he can't see a thing, so I guess he's gathering his thoughts. Finally he speaks. “Listen, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. Of course people come to see all the events. She was twisting everything we said, and I just wasn't thinking.”

I have to forgive him. For one thing, at least he sees Blair for what she is. That's more than I can say for most men. “Well, I know a lot of people
do
come to see the bull riding, so I'll let it slide.”

“While I'm ‘hat in hand,' I guess I should be apologizing about inviting her. We need publicity, but that was clearly a bad move on my part. I'll figure something else out for that.”

“Good idea.”

He sighs, and for a second, he's got twelve-year-old sheepish
boy all over his face. It's so endearing, all my anger vanishes in a flash.

“Now that she's gone, do you want to finish our meeting?”

“Sure.”

We make it through the next half hour with no disagreements, but I'm keenly aware of the intimate feeling of working with him alone on this project.

“Do you think I should try to find some other committee fill-ins?” I ask as we put away our papers.

He raises an eyebrow. “You're doing fine. If we run into another problem, we'll hash it out.”

“Okay.” I pick up my notebook and start to stand. He reaches toward my arm but stops short of touching me. “Rachel, would you let me buy you a latte?”

It's the way he says it that stops me. With a sort of softness in his voice.

I will not be swayed by charm. “Thanks. But I really need to get home.” Even I can hear the insincerity in my voice.

He finds my eyes. “Stay. Because I don't believe in accidents.”

“Accidents?” I'm still not sure where he's going with this.

“I've been trying to catch your attention since we were fourteen or fifteen and never have been able to. I figure this committee thing may be God's way of giving me a chance to finally get to know you. What do you think?”

I
sit back down almost without realizing what I'm doing. I've never met anyone quite so straightforward. “I don't know what you mean. You know me. We've known each other since we were kids.”

And it's true. I've known Jack practically since we were born. I don't remember our first “meeting,” but I know we played together in our kitchens while our mothers canned for hours when we were tiny. And even though he was a grade ahead, we were in 4-H together. His smile is certainly familiar to me, at least the teasing element. Not so much the heart-stopping-dangerous part. That came after he left town apparently. And I remember how he could hang on to a bull, or get thrown and come up smiling. We were buds, certainly.

Then there was Brett. And from that night on I had no choice but to avoid Jack. But that doesn't mean I don't know him. “Really, Jack. I know you.”

Is that desperation in my voice?

“That's what you think.” He leans toward me. “What's my favorite color?”

I grin, drawn to him in spite of myself. “Green?”

He shrugs. “Lucky guess. But I don't know yours.”

I cross my arms. I'll play, but not willingly. “Red.”

Upon hearing this, most people say that I like red because my hair's red. But Jack looks at me and nods. “Because red is the color of being alive and healthy?”

I blink. I couldn't have said it better myself. “Yes,” I say quietly.

“All time favorite song?” he asks.

“Oh, that's a tough one. There are so many.”

“I'll narrow it down,” he offers. “All time favorite country song.”

I shrug, not willing to think too hard and give this man more of an insight into my soul. He already seems to have a clear view. “ ‘Mississippi Squirrel Revival' by Ray Stevens.”

He leans back, and his eyes widen. “Your all-time favorite song is about a squirrel that gets loose in church?”

“Hey, I think it's hilarious. And my brain freezes when you put me on the spot. So, Mr. Know-It-All, what's yours?”

He pauses. “I'm not sure.”

I shake my head with a laugh. “You're not getting off that easy. Name one.”

His brown eyes twinkle. “Now it's my turn for brain freeze. Ask me something else, and I promise I'll answer.”

He should really be more careful with his promises. Because one thing has been bothering me all evening. “Okay. What was that all about with Blair a while ago?”

The relaxed expression on his face disappears immediately, and his jaw muscle tightens. “She was messing up our meeting, so I decided it was best to get rid of her.”

I'm not buying that. I've had too many patients pull that innocent act—“No, Doc, I have no idea why I'm hurting. All I did was weed the garden and vacuum.” I narrow my eyes and
reply, “You obviously have her wanting to start a fan club, but the minute she turns on the charm, you take off in a run.”

“I wasn't running.”

“I practically got whiplash. And I'm the only person in town who can fix that, so that wouldn't be pretty.” I smile, trying to take the edge off my words, but he doesn't match it.

He shakes his head. “I've known women like Blair. All she sees when she looks at me is the thrill of danger.”

Oh. I know that's probably true, but my stomach clenches. Oh please, I'm not jealous, am I? “And that's bad?”

“No, it's fine. Probably just what I should expect. So what's your favorite movie?”

I laugh. “Nice try. But they didn't call me ‘bulldog' in chiropractic college for nothin', pal.” I give him my best tough-guy glare, and he finally gives me a small grin. “Seriously, why does that bother you so badly? I guess I always thought bull riders wanted the girls to see them as a walk on the wild side. A good time.”

“Maybe I don't want just a good time.” His gaze is even. “Maybe I want to be seen for the guy I am, not the image.”

Ah. “What was her name?” As soon as the words slip out, I regret speaking. If I'm going to maintain distance with this man, the last thing I need to do is pry into his past. And what if he decides to return the favor?

He looks up at me, his eyes dark. “I. . .really, what's your favorite movie?”

I could give in. But a dangerous, even wild, thread, the one that probably got me into trouble in my youth, makes me speak. “You can tell me, Jack. I know how to keep a secret.”

Understatement of the year.

He regards me a long moment, during which I wonder if he'll make me give him a secret in exchange, which I most certainly
won't do. So I'm surprised when he answers, “Maggie.”

“Maggie,” I repeat softly.

He takes a deep breath. “She was doing one of those coffee table books on rodeos. We dated for a year and a half. Me, her, and her camera.” He tries to grin, but the pain in his face is evident.

“A photojournalist?”

“I thought we had a future, but when the book was done, so were we, as far as she was concerned.”

Ouch. “I'm sorry.”

He runs his hand along the tabletop. “I reacted pretty stupidly at first. But we won't go there.”

Not going to stupid things we did in the past. I can so relate. “Okay. So where were we? Oh,
Steel Magnolias
.”

He meets my eyes and smiles. “Incredible strength encased in a soft Southern accent and a tight circle of girlfriends. That makes sense.”

I never thought of it that way, but of course, he's right. I lift a shoulder, but I feel as if I've told him way more than I should have. “Actually, I haven't had time to see a movie in years. That was just a favorite when I was younger.”

He smiles at me. A sweet, curious smile that has my heart thumping. This must be what speed dating feels like. I've never done anything so impulsive in my life. A shadow creeps over me and my sudden good mood. Yes, I have. Once.

As if he can follow my train of thought, he says, “You probably don't even remember, but I called you right before I left town for the rodeo circuit.”

My muscles tighten all over my body, guarding against his words as if protecting myself from a physical attack. “I remember.” When the phone had rung, I'd thought sure it was Brett, magically remembering me and my phone number.
But it had been Jack, calling to see if I'd go to the county fair with him.

He grins. “I spent the next several months hoping maybe you just didn't like county fairs. By the time I got home for a short visit the next summer, you had already gone off to Georgia to school.”

I certainly can't tell him I was a little too preoccupied with a positive home pregnancy test at the time to think about cotton candy and tilt-a-whirls. I force my stiff lips into an answering smile. Apparently, my attempt is a failure, because he frowns.

“I'm sorry I've yammered on so long. You probably just didn't want to go out with me. Tell me what you want to drink, and I'll run get it.”

If he has no suspicions about that summer and my speedy exit from Arkansas three months later, then I should definitely stay and visit longer. Just so none arise. But I can't. Can you be seasick on dry ground? That's how I've felt ever since he mentioned that summer. “Actually, I'm not feeling well.” I put my hands on the table and push to my feet.

My words have the effect of rain on a sunny day. His face falls. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No. . .it's just been a long day.” I push to my feet, gather my bags.

He stands immediately. “Are you gonna be okay?”

I nod. “I'd better just get home.”

“Should I drive you?”

He looks so worried. “No, thanks, Jack. I had a nice time.” I motion to the table so he'll know I meant during our getting-to-know-you-again session.

He smiles. “Me, too. I hope you're not coming down with something.”

“I'm probably just overtired.”

“Maybe you're not getting enough rest. Your niece is still visiting, isn't she?”

Was that a normal question? Idle curiosity? Or is he trying to figure out why Jennifer's with me? Just in case, I ignore the question and respond to his comment. “Yeah, I need to rest more.”

He insists on walking me out to my car and seeing me safely inside, which is nice, actually. The night air seems to blow away all my “wooziness,” and I thank him.

“My pleasure,” he says.

Mine, too, I think. And that's the problem.