Emily took her time, just as Dylan had. Murmuring softly, she explained every step she took, every move she made. Ginger reacted in kind, calmly allowing Emily to pet her all over. Then finally, tenderly nosing Emily’s hands, before gently nuzzling her face.
“I think she’s in love,” Dylan said softly.
I think I could be in love, Emily thought. With both of you. If I were foolish, that is. Good thing I’m not.
The mustang wasn’t hers to keep, and neither was Dylan. Ginger had a home to go to—when she was trained. Dylan already had a home of his own; he’d made it clear for years now that he didn’t want to share it with anyone.
Nothing about that seemed to have changed.
Emily shrugged off the compliment. “She knows kindness when she sees it.”
Dylan slipped outside the gate and came back with two apples. He tossed them to Emily. “Reward her.”
She did.
Dylan returned Ginger to the paddock with Salt and Pepper, then strode back, praise in his eyes. “Now it’s time for me to reward you,” he said, flashing her a sexy grin.
Emily knew what quickly sprang to her mind, despite their new just-friends status. Afraid she would get herself in just as deep as she had the night before if she didn’t watch it, she warned herself to slow down. She put up a staying hand. “You really don’t have to do that, Dylan. Just being able to spend time with Ginger is thanks enough.”
“You don’t want to owe anyone anything? I don’t want to be beholden to anyone, either.” He looked at her, his mind clearly made up. “So I’m taking you to dinner as payment. It’s up to you to say when and where.”
Dylan waited while Emily stood, tapping her foot and considering her options. “Tonight. The Cowtown Diner.”
Where she was likely to run into Xavier Shillingsworth again? “You’re joking,” Dylan said mildly.
Her expression innocent, Emily swept off her hat and ran her fingers through her silky locks. “I figure we should be neighborly. And since you’re paying...”
Dylan knew trouble brewing when he saw it. “I think it’s a dumb idea,” he said bluntly.
“Really.” She plopped her hat back on her head and shot him a sassy look, determined to do what she wanted no matter what he thought. “How so?”
“Tonight is the grand opening for the dinner rush.”
“So?” Her lower lip slid out in a sexy pout.
“So we’re likely to have to wait for a table,” he said.
Emily shrugged. “I’m okay with that. The only thing is, I want to go home and shower first.”
Dylan was the first to admit he needed to do the same. “You want me to pick you up?”
She nodded. “Seven-thirty okay with you?”
“Fine with me.”
It was the rest of the evening he wondered about.
* * *
DYLAN WASN’T SURE what he had expected Emily’s apartment to look like inside. The glimpse he’d had of the adjacent bath and bedroom revealed a pink and frilly décor. This surprised him, because he’d never seen her wear anything pink or frilly, since he’d been in town.
The living area where he sat was a lot more predictable. She had a large overstuffed ivory sofa and a pair of mismatched wing chairs. Blinds, but no drapes. There were a lot of throw pillows in different fabrics and sizes. A couple of throws—one in burgundy velour, the other a soft sage-green knit. Nice lamps. And one wall that was all bookshelves, filled with fiction, cookbooks and horse stories.
An antique leather-and-brass steamer trunk served as her coffee table. Cooking magazines, especially ones that featured Southwestern-style cooking, were piled high. A small round table and two chairs and a kitchenette that could only be described as woefully inadequate. It didn’t even have a stove or microwave, just a hot plate, sink and dorm-size fridge.
Emily swept back out, shutting the bedroom door behind her. But not before he’d caught sight of the wardrobe crisis that had just ensued. There were clothes scattered everywhere.
He liked the ones she had on, though.
Emily strode toward the kitchen counter and snatched up her purse and keys. She spun around in a drift of floral perfume. “Ready to go?”
Ready for something...that’s for sure, Dylan thought, feeling an uncomfortable pressure at the front of his jeans.
To distract himself, he let his glance sift over her pretty turquoise dress and surprisingly high heels. Damn, but she had a nice body. Nice legs, too.
“You look good,” he said gruffly. “Too good to be eating in an unscrupulous competitor’s restaurant.”
Her soft lips curved in a parody of a smile. “Thanks. I think.”
Resisting the urge to pull her close and kiss her again, he said, “You know Shillingsworth is probably going to conclude you dressed up just for him.”
Emily’s brow arched. “Then he would be wrong—you’re my date. Not that I dressed up for you,” she amended quickly. “I dressed up for me. Because I like to look nice when I go out.”
He studied the rosy color in her cheeks, the emotion shimmering in her eyes. “Well, you look gussied-up, all right.”
Her gaze swept over his cleaned-up form, making him glad he had taken the time to iron his shirt and polish his boots, instead of just showering, shaving and finding a clean change of clothes. “So do you,” she said softly.
Basking in the compliment, Dylan followed her down the stairs and into the alley behind the row of historic buildings downtown. On the other side of it was a row of slanted parking. Emily’s car was there, beside his pickup truck.
Instead of going toward the passenger side of the truck, she hesitated and looked up at him. The last of the day’s sunshine glimmered in her molasses-colored hair. He had to fight the urge to reach out and touch the soft, silky strands. “Want to walk or drive?”
“It’s a nice evening.” She caught his gaze. “It’s only a couple of blocks. How about we hoof it?”
Anything to ease the pressure in the front of his jeans. “Sounds good.”
She fell into step beside him.
He observed the pulse throbbing in her throat. “I’ve got a question.”
“Fire away.”
“This evening, are we still pretending we’re dating? Or are we now publicly owning up to being ‘just friends’?”
Her lips compressed. “Good question, since only one of my brothers has produced a potential love interest for me thus far, and my parents have ceased and desisted their matchmaking efforts entirely since we allegedly became a pair.”
“Want my advice?” Dylan asked.
She cocked her head to one side and waited.
“Unless some gal has come in and swept Shillingsworth off his feet in the past twenty-four hours or so, I very much doubt the little twerp has given up on making you his cougar.”
She elbowed him gently. “Careful, cowboy, you’re sounding a mite jealous.”
“Not jealous,” Dylan corrected. “Matter-of-fact.