“I promise.” Wearing a grin that said he’d known all along he would get his way, he held out a hand to help her down. His hand was big, and a little work-roughened. A sturdy, capable hand. And as it closed around her own, she had the strangest feeling of … security. As if she instinctively knew that, while she was with Brandon, he would never let anything hurt her.
How ridiculous was that? She barely knew the man. Besides, she was more than capable of taking care of herself.
As soon as she was on stable ground she let go. But as she picked her way across the gravel lot in her three-inch heels, it occurred to her how inappropriately she was dressed. The older-model cars in the lot said this wasn’t the sort of establishment where business types hung out. In her suit, she was going to stick out like a sore thumb.
“You look nervous,” he said as they approached the door.
“I think I’m overdressed.”
“Trust me, no one will care.”
He reached for the door handle and a rush of memories washed over her. A hazy, smoke-filled room teeming with the sour stench of stale liquor and hopelessness. Country-and-western music blaring at a decibel so loud one could barely think, much less hold a conversation—not that anyone went there to talk. She imagined couples grinding against each other on the dance floor and embracing in dark corners, doing God only knows what.
As Brandon pulled open the door she actually cringed, half expecting to see her mother there, slumped at the end of the bar, hands around a tumbler of cheap whiskey. But what she saw inside wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Despite it’s rundown exterior, it was clean and well-kept. The music was at a respectable level, and the air smelled not of smoke and liquor but smoked meat and spicy barbecue sauce.
Several men sat at the bar watching some sporting event on an enormous flat-screen television, but most of the booths were empty.
“Over there,” he said, gesturing to the area beside the deserted dance floor. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he put a hand on the small of her back to lead her. Did he have to be so touchy-feely? It wasn’t professional.
And having a drink with him was?
She didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, lead him to believe she was interested in anything but a professional relationship. She was sure she’d made that clear.
She slid into the seat of the booth he chose and he sat across from her. A waitress appeared to take their orders. She was an older woman with a pleasant face, wearing an apron that boasted Billie’s ribs were the best in the west.
“Hey, Brandon,” she said with a flirtatious smile. “You want the usual?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
She turned to Paige, giving her a quick once-over. The business suit clearly puzzled her. “And for your lady friend?”
Paige felt compelled to explain that she wasn’t a “lady friend,” just a business associate, although for the life of her she didn’t know why it mattered what a virtual stranger thought. “A glass of Chardonnay, please.”
“House okay?”
“Fine.”
“Comin’ right up,” she said.
When she was gone, Paige said, “If she knows your usual, I guess you spend a lot of time here.”
Brandon shrugged. “I’m in every couple of days. Like I said, it gets lonely.”
“Where is it that you work, exactly?”
“Copper Run Ranch just outside of Wild Ridge.”
“I’ve never heard of Wild Ridge.”
“It’s about two hours northeast of here, in the San Bernardino mountains. It used to be a mining town. Pretty as a picture.”
“So you commute four hours every time you have a meeting with your mentor?”
“We meet twice a week, Thursdays and Sundays at the library. I drive in Thursday afternoon and stay in a hotel, then drive back to the ranch after my lesson on Sunday morning.”
“And your boss is okay with you taking all those days off?”
“He’s a generous man.”
More generous than most. “How long have you worked for him?”
“Eight years.”
“Have you ever thought of doing anything … different?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Going back to school, maybe.”
“What for? I like what I do.”
But didn’t he want to better himself? He was obviously an intelligent man. He could be so much more than just a ranch hand.
The waitress returned with Paige’s wine and a beer for Brandon. “Do you need menus?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” Paige said.
“Are you sure?” Brandon asked. “Dinner is on me.”
This was supposed to be one drink. Not a meal. “I really can’t.”
“Holler if you change your mind,” the waitress said.
“Thanks, Billie,” Brandon said as she walked away.
“Billie?” Paige asked. “As in the Billie on the sign outside?”
“That’s right. She opened this place with her husband thirty years ago. They have two sons and three daughters. Their oldest son, Dave, is the cook and their youngest daughter, Christine, tends bar. Earl, her husband, passed away two years ago from a massive heart attack.”
“How do you know all that?”
“I talk to her.” He took a swallow of his beer and asked, “So, where are you from?”
“I grew up in Shoehill, Nevada.” She sipped her wine, surprised to find that it was quite good. Usually “house wine” meant inferior.
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s a tiny, hole-in-the-wall town on the Arizona border. The kind of place where everyone has their nose in everyone else’s business.” And everyone knew her mother, the town lush.
“You still have family there?” Brandon asked.
“Distant relatives, but I haven’t seen them in years. I’m an only child and my parents are both dead.”
“I’m real sorry to hear that. Was it recent?”
“My dad died when I was seven, my mom when I was in college.”
“How did they die?”
He sure did ask a lot of questions, and she wasn’t used to revealing so much of her personal life to clients. Usually they were the ones doing all the revealing. But she didn’t want to be rude. “My dad was in an accident. He was a trucker. He fell asleep behind the wheel and ran his truck off the road into an overpass. They said he survived the crash, but he was knocked out by the impact. He was hauling a tank of combustible liquid and it ignited.”
“Jesus,” Brandon muttered, shaking his head.
“My mom took it pretty hard.” Her entire world had revolved around Paige’s father. And instead of accepting his death and moving on, she’d crawled into a bottle instead.
“What did she do for a living?” he asked.
“Whatever paid the bills.” Although thanks to her drinking, she never held a job for very long. They spent a lot of time on welfare.
“How did she die?”