He merely lifted his beer bottle and sipped.
She envied him a bit. Her mouth felt parched. And when she leaned over for the next shot, she couldn’t help but glance down to see how, exactly, her T-shirt behaved.
It was as snug against her torso as ever and when she looked up, the glint of laughter in Evan’s expression was unmistakable.
He’d caught her looking.
She slammed the sixth ball into a corner pocket. Only one striped ball remained. But it had a nightmare position, nearly blocked by two solids and frozen against the side cushion.
She could hear the murmur from the peanut gallery and didn’t dare look their way. Knowing the family as she did, she was afraid they might well be placing side bets.
“Feeling the pressure?” Evan leaned down on his forearms beside her, acting for all the world as if they were bosom buddies. “Not even sure I could make that shot, truth be told.”
For as long as Leandra could remember, there had always been a haze of smoke clinging to the interior of Colbys. Now was no different.
Yet despite the smoke, she could still smell the fresh, clean scent that she was beginning to identify with Evan and only Evan.
“I can make the shot,” she assured, lying right through her teeth.
He shrugged. “Maybe. Or you could just fess up about Ed-wa-ahrd, and we’ll call it even.”
She narrowed her eyes, ostensibly studying the table. “A person might think that your curiosity where Eduard is concerned has nothing to do with Jake, and everything to do with you.”
“Maybe it does.”
She bit down on her tongue, not at all expecting that admission. She’d just been tossing out the accusation to goad him.
“You going to give up, Leandra?” Ted’s voice drew her attention. He had moved closer to the pool table from the high-top where she’d last seen him, and was holding up his palm-size video recorder.
Evan was still watching her.
And she had an unbidden vision of him lowering his head toward hers, brushing his lips across hers.
Feeling thoroughly unsettled, she shook her head in answer to Ted, but just as much to shake the image of Evan kissing her from her head, and lined up the shot.
The stripe missed the pocket by a good six inches. Smiling wryly, she turned to face the gallery, shrugging. “Them’s the breaks,” she said lightly as she extended the cue stick toward Evan.
What was she doing, thinking about Evan kissing her? The only time he’d ever kissed her had been on the cheek at their high school graduation.
She pulled her cash out of her pocket again and counted out another fifty, picked up the cash that was still sitting on the rail, and folded it all together. “There you go, Doc. Add that to your lunch fund.”
Evan eyed the woman and the cash she was holding out. He didn’t want Leandra’s damn money. He wanted to know who the hell the French guy was and what he’d meant—or still meant—to Leandra. Loyalty to Jake was only an excuse.
A poor excuse, since Evan’s feelings where Leandra Clay were concerned weren’t exactly loyal.
But Evan knew what Leandra didn’t—that Jake was engaged to be married again and he didn’t have the huevos to tell his ex-wife about it for fear of hurting her even more than she’d been hurt. But if Leandra had been involved with some other guy, then maybe Jake could take off that particular hair shirt of thinking that Leandra was so damn fragile, and get on with his life.
And Evan could maybe get on with his.
When he didn’t take the cash, though, Leandra finally stepped toward him. The top of her tousled blond head didn’t even reach his shoulder, but he still swore he could smell the enticing scent of her shampoo.
Then she reached out and tucked the money into the front of his leather belt. “Enjoy the dough,” she said smoothly, and turned away.
It was all he could do not to grab her by the shoulders and haul her up against him.
The fact that half the patrons of Colbys—including Ted and that toy-size camera of his—were watching, kept his hands firmly at his sides.
Then Leandra lifted her hands and addressed the crowd. “Don’t anyone forget. Sunday evening at seven right here at Colbys to watch Evan’s television debut!”
Evan endured the hoots and hollers and reminded himself that six weeks wasn’t really all that long of a time.
He could survive it.
Maybe.
Chapter Four
“You know what I like about Saturdays?” Leandra was stretched out on the couch in Sarah’s living room. Her cousin was sitting on the floor, surrounded by school materials as she made lesson plans.
“Hmm?”
“The possibility of endless sleeping.”
“Having Snow White fantasies again? Like the idea of those seven short guys?”
“As long as they’re catering to my every whim?” Leandra smiled lazily. “Sounds okay to me.”
“Sort of boring, though, laying there in the glass case, waiting for your prince to come and lay some lip on you.”
What would Evan’s kiss be like?
Leandra threw her arm over her closed eyes, mentally brushing at the thought, but it kept circling like some pesky mosquito buzzing around her head. “Well, note that I said the possibility of sleeping. It’s nice to just ponder the whole idea of it. Not that I’ll be doing it or anything. Too much work to do.” Which reminded her that she’d forgotten all about her cell phone again.
Leandra would go to Evan’s later and retrieve the phone.
She pressed her lips together, trying to stop the tingling.
Maybe she’d have developed some self-control over her wayward notions by them.
She turned on her side, propping her head on her hand. “Sounds like we’ll have quite the crew around next month for Squire’s birthday party.” Before the ill-fated pool table episode, the family had gone over the developing plans while crowded around several pushed-together tables in the restaurant portion of Colbys.
“We still don’t know if J.D. and Angeline will make it back from Atlanta. J.D.’s schedule is probably easier than Angel’s, though, given the way she’s on call so much.”
Angel was an emergency medical technician in Atlanta. J.D. lived in that vicinity, too, working at some blue-blooded horse farm. “And nobody’s been able to get hold of Ryan?” Ryan was the oldest of the cousins, serving in the Navy, like his father, Sawyer, had once done.
Sarah continued flipping through a project idea book. “Between you and Ryan, it’s a toss-up who has been home to Weaver less.”
“Well, I’d guess he’d win, since I’m here now.”
“You’re here because of the show. But we’ll take what we can get. And it’s ideal that Squire’s birthday falls during your visit.” Sarah set aside her book and propped her elbows on the coffee table in front of her. “So…you really like working in show business?”
“Documentary filmmaking. And, yes, I do.”
Sarah watched her for a moment, as if she wanted to say something. But she just lowered her arms again and picked up her oversized book once more.
“What?”
Sarah shook her head. “Nothing.”
“What?”