Cinderella's Big Sky Groom (4 page)

They should talk about Jenny.

And they would, of course. Very soon. But really, there was no great hurry. She raised her glass to her lips and sipped more champagne.

A few minutes later, the main course arrived. Filet mignon. Fork-tender. It literally melted in her mouth.

She'd just swallowed the first scrumptious bite when Ross warned in a whisper, “Don't look now, but I think—yes. She's spotted us.”

“Who?”

“Lily Mae Wheeler. She's headed our way. I'll give you a little free legal advice.”

“What?”

“Don't tell her anything, unless you want the whole town to know.”

Lynn had no time to reply. Lily Mae was upon them. “My Lord, Lynn Taylor! Honey, I hardly did recognize you.” Lynn smiled gamely up at Whitehorn's most notorious gossip. “You look sweet as a heifer in a field of new clover. I
love
your hair.” Copper bracelets jangling, Lily Mae patted her own teased and heavily sprayed coiffure, which was auburn at the moment. “Maybe
I
should try blond again. What do you think?”

“I do like the auburn,” Lynn said judiciously.

Lily Mae left off patting her hair and patted Lynn's shoulder instead. “Sweet, sweet girl. You always say just the right thing.” False eyelashes batted Ross's way. “And
hello,
Mr. Garrison. How are you this brisk October evening?”

“I'm just fine, Mrs. Wheeler.”

“Enjoying that beautiful new house of yours?”

“I am. Very much.”

“It's up along Route 17, isn't it? On Black Bear Lake.”

“Yes.”

“I confess, Winona Cobbs has told me all about it. She has to drive by there to get into town.” Winona Cobbs lived in a trailer out at the end of Route 17. She ran her own peculiar enterprise there known as the Stop 'n Swap. She kept bees and was considered by many to possess psychic powers. She was also almost as big a gossip as Lily Mae.

Lily Mae forged on. “And I heard you've been hired by the Kincaid estate.”

“That's right,” Ross said.

Lily Mae clucked her tongue. “Wasn't that just a terrible shame—about Wendell? There are many who don't believe it now, but once, Wendell Hargrove was an honorable man. It was after his dear wife, Alice, died that the trouble started. He just couldn't cope with the loss. He developed that gambling problem. And then he—well, I suppose you know all of this.”

“I've heard the facts, yes.”

“And now you're representing our Jenny.”

“That's right.”

“You do a good job for her, now.”

“I will, Mrs. Wheeler. I promise you.”

Lily Mae turned on Lynn again. “Hon, I mean it. Your face. Your hair. That gorgeous dress. I do truly love to see a woman make the most of what she's got. And when that woman is
you,
well, all I can say is, it is about time.”

Lynn murmured a thank-you; it seemed the safest way to go.

Lily Mae spotted the ice bucket and the bottle nestled in it. “And what's this? Champagne?” Her painted-on brows went so high, they threatened to
vanish beneath the hard fringe of hair on her forehead. “A special occasion?” She waved a carmine-tipped hand, causing more clattering. “Never mind. Of course it is. It's always a special occasion when an eligible man and a beautiful single woman enjoy a fine meal together…although I must admit, I had thought—” Lily Mae actually cut herself off. “But never mind about that.”

“About what?” Lynn asked, regretting the question immediately.

But Lily Mae surprised her. “Oh, nothing.”

It wasn't
nothing,
and Lynn knew it. She could see the truth in Lily Mae's over-made-up eyes. The sweet-hearted gossip knew that Trish was after Ross. How could she not know? Who other than Lily Mae would Trish have been pumping for information about the new lawyer in town?

“Really, hon. It was nothing at all,” Lily Mae repeated. “Sometimes I do run on, and that is a plain fact.” Then she chuckled. “And now I am going to leave you. I've a dear friend in town from Billings for the night. She's in the Ladies right now. I'll tell you what, I won't even interrupt you again to introduce her, because I can see that the two of you want to be alone.”

Lynn opened her mouth to protest that remark, but Ross caught her eye before she spoke. She read his look: What's the point?

She had to agree with him. Lily Mae Wheeler would think what she wanted to think. And anything Lynn said to her would only give her an excuse to stay and chat longer.

“Enjoy those filets,” said Lily Mae. “Don't they just turn right to butter inside your mouth?”

“Yes,” Lynn agreed. “They're delicious.”

With a last jingling wave, Lily Mae trotted off.

Ross watched her go. After a moment, he said, “You'll be relieved to know the hostess is leading her to a table in the far corner, behind a pillar. She won't be flashing all those capped teeth and shaking her bracelets at us through the rest of the meal, after all.”

Lynn felt she had to speak up on Lily Mae's behalf. “She has a good heart.”

Ross shook his head. “But we'll be an ‘item' by tomorrow. When she gets to her regular table at the Hip Hop and starts spreading the news.”

And what will Trish say when she hears?

Lynn decided not to think about that. It would work out. She'd explain to her sister that they'd needed to talk about Jenny. Which was the truth.

Ross picked up his fork again. “It doesn't matter, does it, what Lily Mae Wheeler thinks or says?
We
know the real situation, after all. And it's not as if we've been caught doing anything but enjoying a meal together.”

Their eyes met. She sighed. “You're right. There'll be a little talk. And then, when we don't see each other again, the talk will die down.”

“Right.” He said the word very low. And then, for several nerve-racking seconds, he said nothing more, only looked at her, making her pulse pound too fast and her face feel overly warm.

At last he shrugged. “Being talked about is the price you pay for living in a town like Whitehorn, where everyone knows everyone else's business.”

“Exactly.” Carefully she cut a bite of meat and slipped the delicious morsel between her lips.

Ross watched her. He liked watching her. Liked it way too much.

Yes. Too much. Those were the operative words here. He liked watching her too much, was enjoying himself too much.

He should call a halt right now.

This was not going to go anywhere. Lynn Taylor might seem a temptress tonight, but he knew damn well that she was an innocent at heart.

She didn't want what he wanted, which was to sit here for another hour or so and look at her some more. To listen to her slightly throaty voice, to catch an occasional whiff of that enticing perfume she wore.

Then, when they'd lingered over the meal for much longer than they should have, he wanted to take her home. To his bed. Where he would enjoy her all the more.

Until the night was over. At which time, he would want her to go back to her own life and leave him to his.

And she would want…what? He couldn't say for sure. But hadn't she just as much as told him she was looking for a prince?

Ross Garrison was no prince. And nothing was going to happen between him and Lynn Taylor.

Looked at from just about any angle, seducing her would be a fool's move.

He'd seen the way Danielle Mitchell treated her. And those two hairdressers, too. Even Lily Mae Wheeler. Everyone in Whitehorn loved Lynn Taylor. They all seemed to feel protective toward her.

He had a practice to build here. And seducing the
town innocent was not going to help him create trust with potential clients.

He should eat his steak, ask his few questions about his young client, pay the check and take the woman back to her car.

Unfortunately, though, for some insane reason, he couldn't bear to let her go. Not quite yet.

She glanced up from her meal and asked softly, “You
do
like it here in Whitehorn, don't you?”

“Yes. I do.”

“You said you were raised in Billings?”

“Right.”

“Why didn't you move back there, when you were…ready for a change?”

“I have no family there anymore. My folks have been dead for several years now.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“One of each. But we're not close. And they've moved away, too. My sister lives in Salt Lake City. And my brother's in Southern California now. Works for some electronics firm, I think.”

She picked up her water glass. Her champagne flute was empty. He checked the bottle—empty, too. “I'll order another one.”

“No.” She drank, set the water glass down. “Better not.” He upended the bottle in its bucket of ice as she started to slide her napkin in at the side of her plate.

He could see the end of the evening in those eyes of hers.

“Dessert,” he said. “You have to have dessert.”

“Oh.” Her eyelashes fluttered down, then lifted again. “No more. Really.” A busman appeared and whisked their plates away.

Ross waited for him to leave before coaxing, “It
is
your birthday, after all. And they have something really special here. Dark chocolate truffle cake. It's my own personal weakness, I have to admit.”

“Truffle cake.” She considered. And she did it charmingly, tipping her head to the side, touching the tip of her tongue to the corner of her lip for an instant, as if she could actually taste a bit of chocolate there.

What would it feel like, to touch his own tongue to those lips of hers? Good, he imagined. Very, very good…

She drew in a breath. “No. I'm not hungry anymore. Not hungry at all.”

He should have just let it go at that. But he didn't. “So what? It's chocolate. Eat it for…the pleasure of it. And because it's your birthday.”

She stared at him. Awareness, and of much more than the temptation of chocolate, seemed to weave itself around them like a net of silk—or like the silver threads in that dress of hers, subtle, but so damn seductive.

Then she blinked. “No.” Her voice was firmer now. “I really don't want dessert.”

Time to call for the check. But he didn't. “Well, you'll wait for me, won't you, if I want some?”

“Of course.”

“Coffee?”

“I'd love some.”

He signaled the waiter and whispered in the man's ear.

“What did you tell him?” she demanded when the waiter had hurried off.

“Guess.”

She laughed again. God, he really did like the sound of her laugh.

“I know what you did. You told him it was my birthday, didn't you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, Ross…”

It was the first time she'd called him Ross. He liked the way his name sounded on her lips. Liked it far too much.

“You can blow out the candle,” he said. “And I'll eat the cake.”

Three waiters appeared, singing the birthday song.

They marched to the table, and put the slice of cake with its single candle in front of her. The song ended. Delicately she blew out the flame.

“Happy birthday!” the waiters chorused one more time.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, giggling like a kid and clapping her hands.

The waiters served the coffee, then made themselves scarce.

Lynn plucked the candle from the cake, set it on a side dish and slid the plate across to him. “There you go. Indulge yourself.”

He picked up his fork. “You
sure
you won't have any?”

“Don't you start in again.”

“Just one little bite…?” He pressed the side of the fork down through the layers of chocolate shavings, snow-white icing, dark cake, and that impossible, silky whipped-truffle center. “I'm telling you, this tastes as good as it looks.” He held up the fork.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Do you ever quit?”

“Never. It's not in my nature.”

She looked at the fork and the bite of cake balanced there. “If I taste it, will you leave me alone?”

“Unless you beg me for more.”

“I won't.”

It sounded to him like a challenge. An utterly erotic one.

A challenge he had to keep telling himself he would not accept.

“Yes or no?” he dared in return.

And she did it.

She leaned forward. He gave her the cake, watching those soft lips open to take it in.

Her eyes closed. “Umm.” Her mouth moved as she tasted it, savored the heady mix of rich flavors. She swallowed.

“More?”

“No, thank you.”

He held her eyes for a moment, that silken web of awareness spinning, dizzily now, all around them. And then he lowered the fork and took a bite for himself.

Enjoy it, Garrison, he told himself. Imagine you can taste her, in the cream and the chocolate, on the silver prongs of this fork. It's all you're going to have of her. Because she's not going to beg for more. And you're not going to push her.

You want only a single night.

And she…

She's looking for a prince.

Too soon, the cake was nothing but a few crumbs on a china plate. He signaled for the check and signed for it. The waiter brought her coat, started to hold it up for her.

Jealous of every last touch, Ross rose from his chair. “Here.” The waiter handed it over.

Lynn stood and he helped her into it, as he had once before, in that shop with all the women watching, taking longer this time than he needed to, because the scent of her, the reality of her, was right there—too close, and much too tempting. His knuckles brushed cashmere and burned.

Silently he called himself a number of crude names.

He was hard. Had been since the moment she took his fork into her mouth. Fully aroused, like some green kid who couldn't keep it down even in public. At least his jacket covered the bulge.