“We won’t go out again,” he said softly, with just a tinge of regret, as his gaze caressed her face.
“I know. You were clear.”
“It’s the only way. Neither one of us wants the kind of relationship this town would expect from two upstanding citizens.”
“You’re right.” Her voice sounded a bit thin, as though she didn’t quite believe her own words. But Gray was correct; there was no future for them. At least, not now. Maybe later, after they were more established…If they didn’t find someone else in the meantime.
No, that was ridiculous. She wasn’t looking for anyone. Not now, when she’d already discovered the one man who took her breath away. How could another man compare to Gray? And what about his romantic future? Gray would have to make his own decisions.
“I’d better go in,” she said as he gazed at her in silence.
“I know.” He ran his hand along her hair, brushing her cheek and lightly tracing the shell of her ear. “I had a wonderful time tonight, Dr. Amy Wheatley.”
“And I’m very glad you were my blind date,” she whispered, the ache in her chest intensifying. Before she did or said something extremely stupid, she pulled her coat tight around her, grabbed her purse, and ran for the safety of her tiny house.
SHRUGGING OUT OF HIS tux jacket, Gray focused his attention on the sky stretching one hundred eighty degrees before him.
The dawn sky was still shaded in pinks and corals. A beautiful morning, but he felt as isolated and alone as this house.
Strange. He’d never felt lonely in this house before. Before last night.
He’d built on a hill overlooking a winding valley that was bisected by a stream each spring and fall. A narrow ribbon of water remained, courtesy of last week’s rain. This past summer, when the house had been newly finished, the stream had been as dry as the rest of the Texas landscape.
Gray had designed this house, with the help of a San Antonio architect, to reflect his new life. Clean and devoid of distractions, they’d included both natural materials and technological marvels. The wood, glass and rock structure rose from the hill as though it had been here for years.
That’s the way Gray wanted to be perceived. Permanent, stable, unobtrusive. He’d wanted to blend into the community, putting down a strong foundation for years to come.
For his company, Gray reminded himself. Some men built to pass along their legacy to their child. He had no children, no wife, to inherit. Grayson Industries was as close as he might ever have to a family. His choice, at least for the time being, he acknowledged. He had nothing against family…children in concept. But he didn’t want a wife. He didn’t want someone to dangle the promise of happily-ever-after in front of him, then jerk it away just when he’d begun to believe.
Gray jammed his hands into his trouser pockets as a headache threatened. Why had Connie’s betrayal hurt so much? Why was it still coloring his perception of his future? He wasn’t sure; he wasn’t a psychologist or psychiatrist, nor did he intend to visit one. Hell, he wasn’t even sure his attitude was a problem.
His desire for Dr. Amy Wheatley…now that was a problem.
With a sigh, he headed upstairs for his bedroom. He’d been up for twenty-four hours. With a little luck and a couple of aspirin, he’d be able to sleep a few hours before going back to the office. He just hoped he didn’t dream of a certain brunette with intelligent blue eyes, soft smiles and even softer lips. He’d had his time with Amy Wheatley. Now he had to face his days without her, because she definitely believed in happily ever after.
“THE BEST DEFENSE IS A good offense,” Amy told herself as she pulled her car to a stop in front of Joyce’s beauty shop later that morning. Instead of falling into bed and sleeping her Saturday away, she’d called as soon as the shop opened and made an appointment. She wasn’t in dire need of a trim, but she desperately needed to put out her own version of last night’s events so rumors didn’t get totally out of hand.
Lester Boggs had been a braggart in high school; Amy had no reason to think he’d reformed in the eleven years she’d been away from town. He’d waste no time passing along the news that she’d come in at dawn with Grayson Phillips.
Sleepy and anxious, she took a lesson from Gray and pasted a convincing smile on her face as she pushed open the wood door with a single diamond glass pane and walked inside. The smell of perming solution hit her so hard she blinked tears from her eyes. The salon she’d used in Fort Worth had better ventilation, but certainly not as reliable a system of gossip.
“Good morning, ladies,” she said cheerfully as she peeled off her jacket and threw it over one of the aqua-and-chrome chairs.
“Well, good morning,” Joyce said, looking up from her appointment, an older lady Amy didn’t recognize. “I’ll be finished in just a moment.”
Amy waved her hand. “No problem. I have all day.” She looked around the beauty shop, which in no way could be called a styling salon. Joyce hadn’t updated her furnishings or her hair color in a quarter century, not that anyone in town was complaining. Everyone liked the beautician just the way she was—meddling and all.
Olive, who tended bar nights at Schultze’s Road-house, looked up from her magazine, two-dozen pink perming rods bobbing with the movement. “Even after that late night?” she asked with a touch of humor in her husky voice.
“We did have a wonderful time at the fundraiser,” Amy said cheerfully. “It’s always nice to support a good cause.”
“Or spend time with a good-looking man,” Olive added.
“Watch out,” Joyce warned. “I think Olive’s jealous that she’s too old to catch Grayson Phillips’s attention.”
“Hmm,” the permed bartender replied, going back to True Confessions.
“Still,” Joyce said, giving the older lady in the chair a final spritz of hair spray, “you must have had a good time. I heard you really made a night of it.”
“You know,” Amy said, looking casually through the magazines stacked on the beige Formica end table, “that banquet food was pretty bad. We ended up going out for something later and just got to talking. You know how time slips by.”
“When you’re having fun,” Olive finished.
“Yes, that too.” Amy pretended to study a recent edition of Good Housekeeping. “Not that either one of us is looking for anything serious. I mean, we’ll probably see each other around town, but I doubt we’ll make a repeat of last evening.” Which is just what he’d told her—only in more definitive terms. Just what she’d agreed would be in their best interests.
“What a pity,” Joyce said, tucking her customer’s check inside one of the many drawers at her workstation. “I’ll bet you two made a very attractive couple.”
Amy shrugged. “Gray’s a real gentleman, but I got the impression he’s very dedicated to his business.”
“You know what they say about all work and no play,” Olive warned from over the dog-eared top of True Confessions.
“I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure he’ll have plenty of dates in the future. There must be a few young ladies who haven’t gone out with him.”
Even as she made the glib comment, she felt a pang in the area of her heart. Gray would have other dates, even if he no longer participated in the Ranger Springs version of “The Dating Game.” But she wouldn’t be one of them.
ON MONDAY MORNING, the Wheatley Medical Clinic opened for the first time with a new doctor wearing a white coat.