“Mom mentioned you’re going to be named one of Texas Today’s Twenty Women to Watch,” he said. “Congratulations. I know a few professional women who would kill for that.”
“Well, I don’t think I’d commit murder for it, but I was pretty happy.” Taking a sip of her drink, she again licked a tiny salt speck from her lips. She looked away, her gray eyes thoughtful. “Speechless would be a better word,” she told him dryly. “I don’t know how it happened and I’m not sure I deserve it.”
Was she serious? He studied her face. Or was she simply being modest? That wouldn’t surprise him, but there seemed something more than simple modesty behind her words. “What does that mean? Of course you deserve it. They don’t come up with that list by pulling names out of a hat. You’ve earned it with your art and the commercial success you’ve made marketing it.”
“With Jason’s help, don’t forget,” she said with a tiny smile. Then, as she traced the rim of her glass, her smile slipped away. “He says I’m imagining things, but from time to time, I’ve felt that more than a couple of the lucky breaks I’ve had are—” She gave him a quick look. “Don’t laugh, but it’s almost as if I have an unseen patron, someone who, every now and then, gives me a little boost.”
“What counts as ‘a little boost’?”
“Well, the auction opportunity at the gala, for example. And the spread in the Sunday paper is another. You don’t get those perks out of the blue.”
“Word of mouth is a powerful thing. Your art is upscale, which means it appeals to an upscale crowd, people with taste like my mother. Hank said he heard her mention how much she admired you, which is how I decided on the Erica Stewart jacket for her birthday. A word here, a word there, and your label is hot. Enjoy it while you can. Make the most of it.”
“I—we intend to.” She leaned back with her fingers linked loosely on the stem of the almost-done margarita. “Who’s Hank?”
“You’re not the only one with a partner and Hank’s mine. Hank Colson. We’re co-owners of a ranch near Brenham. Do you ride?”
“Sure, cars, planes and bikes,” she said, reaching for a pretzel.
He chuckled. “Horses. Do you ride horses?”
“Not in a long, long time.” The troubled look in her gray eyes was gone. Now he saw only amusement as she played with the pretzel.
“But you know how?”
“I do. In fact, when I was a teenager, riding was a passion. I actually had a horse.”
“Was that here in Texas?”
“Right here in Houston,” she replied, raking crumbs off the table onto her napkin.
“So you have family here?”
“Not anymore. When I was sixteen, my parents got a divorce and both remarried, Dad first, two years later. Keeping a horse takes time and effort. It turned out to be more bother than either of them could manage at the time.” She glanced at her watch, quickly finished off her drink and stood up.
“And that’s the last time you were on a horse?” He was on his feet now, too.
“That’s it,” she said with a wry shrug. “I missed it, missed Misha—that was her name. But I got over it…after a while.”
“So, are your parents still here in Houston?”
“No. My father and his new bride moved to Austin, and as soon as I graduated from high school, my mother remarried and moved to Dallas. They both started new families.”
“And where did that leave you?”
“Left behind?” She said it with a short laugh, but as she was turned from him, reaching for her jacket, he couldn’t see her face. “Hey, it was no big deal. I got over it. Besides, blended families are the norm, not the exception. I survived.”
“I bet it was about the time you had to give up your horse that you discovered art.”
She gave him a startled look. “I didn’t discover art when I was sixteen. Riding was a passion, but art was an obsession. And since I was dealing with a lot of pain then, it became more important,” she confessed, then added ruefully, “To tell the truth, I probably would have glommed on to just about anything to escape reality. Little did I know—” She stopped, almost biting her tongue. “It’s the margarita. And no lunch. That must be why I’m telling you all this,” she said, with a look of chagrin. “I haven’t thought about Misha in a long, long time, or what I felt when my parents divorced.”
Judging by the look on her face, he guessed she’d revealed more about herself than she intended. It made her all the more appealing to him. He reached into his jeans pocket for his wallet, took out a couple of bills and dropped them on the table. “You say you were sixteen when you had Misha?”
“Yes.”
“I’m guessing she was a mare, smallish?”
“Yes.”
He reached over and took the jacket from her. “I’ve got just the mount for you at the ranch, lady. In fact, that’s her name—Lady. Not very original, but she’s a sweet-tempered little mare and she’ll take you for a ride that’ll be so smooth you’ll think you’re at home in a rocking chair.”
“And when would I find time for that?”
“Sunday. Nobody works on Sunday.” Taking his time, he settled the jacket on her shoulders, then did what he’d wanted to do from the moment he’d first met her. He lifted her hair from the collar of her jacket and let it curl around his fingers, just for the feel of it. And just for a heartbeat, he let himself breathe in the scent of it.
Then she was moving away, adjusting the jacket, brushing at the front of her denim skirt, settling the strap of her purse on her shoulder. At the door, when he moved to open it, she glanced up into his eyes. “We never got around to talking about your work,” she said. “Does it gobble up as much of your time as mine does?”
“It would if I let it,” he told her. “But I make time to go to the ranch. Nothing like being on one of my horses, my hat on my head, the wind in my face. God, it’s heaven.”
“Spoken like a true Texan.”
“Born and bred.”
They were on the sidewalk now. She turned and gave him her hand. “Thanks for a very pleasant hour. I don’t usually talk so much.”
“You didn’t give me an answer about Sunday. Will you go out to the ranch with me?”
“I—”
“Don’t say no. You’ve already turned me down for the gala, but you can make it up to me by letting me pick you up Sunday morning, bright and early.”
“After being up till all hours after the gala? I don’t think so.” She paused, seeing his expression. “I haven’t been on a horse in at least a dozen years, Hunter. I don’t even know if I still know how to ride.”
“It’s like riding a bike. You never forget. And we’ll make it next Sunday.” He tipped her chin up. “C’mon, you’ll love it, I promise.”
She gave a soft laugh, rolled her eyes and, for once, didn’t pull away. “Okay. I guess.”
His reaction then was instinctive. Looking down at her, at the curve of her pretty mouth and fantasizing how it would taste ever since she’d taken the first sip of that margarita, he just went with instinct. He bent and kissed her. He meant it to be quick and casual, a slightly less-than-serious salute to the hour they’d spent together. But that was before he found her lips so warm and soft…and tasting of margarita…and something a thousand times more potent. With both hands plunged into her hair and holding her just where he wanted her, he forgot to be brief. Or casual. And the