The hostess murmured, “Have a nice evening, Mr. Garrison,” as they passed the reservation podium.
He nodded. “Good night.”
They were out the door, standing on the street in the darkness with the icy Montana wind blowing down from the mountains, before he remembered that he’d yet to bring up the matter of Jennifer McCallum.
Chapter Four
She turned to him, clutching her coat against the chilling fingers of the wind. “I wonder if you could drive me back to the school. I left my Blazer there.”
“Wait a minute.” He sounded every bit as offhand as he’d intended to. Not at all the way he felt, which was way too aroused. Too hungry—and not for filet mignon or truffle cake. For her.
He wanted to reach for her, right there. To yank her body against his, shove his hands into her moon-silvered hair—and finally taste that mouth that had teased him so thoroughly with throaty laughter and clever words. That mouth, which had taken cake straight from his own fork.
“Brr…” She hunched her shoulders down into her collar. “Wait for what?”
“We still haven’t talked about my client.”
She started to speak, then saw the two cowboys ambling toward them on the street. The men were dressed in regulation Whitehorn: worn jeans, battered boots, sweat-stained hats and shearling jackets. Lynn smiled at them, murmured two names in greeting.
The men stopped in their tracks. They stared at Lynn, mouths slightly agape. Ross would have laughed—if he hadn’t wanted to kill both of them with his bare hands. He knew what they were thinking. He’d thought it himself. She looked good. Too damn good. Like something a man could start in with and never get enough of.
One of the cowboys gulped. “Uh, Miss Taylor?”
She laughed that throaty, maddening laugh. “Yes, Eddie, it’s me.”
“Well. Uh. Hi, there.”
They both tipped their hats.
“Hello yourself,” she said. She asked the other one, whose name was Tom, how his sister was doing.
“Lindy’s feelin’ better now, Miss Taylor.”
“Well, I’m pleased to hear that. You tell her to take it easy. Pneumonia’s nothing to fool with.”
“I will, Miss Taylor. I surely will. And you have yourself a nice day…I mean, night.”
“Thank you, Tom. Same to you.”
They both tipped their hats again, this time in Ross’s general direction. He gave them a curt nod. And then—finally—they went on by.
She turned to him. “It always makes me smile. This is only my second year as a teacher at Whitehorn Elementary, but still, everyone in town, even the people I went to high school with, call me Miss Taylor.”
It didn’t seem all that damn funny to him. Those cowboys had better call her Miss Taylor, as far as Ross was concerned.
She was still smiling. “Tom and Eddie work the Birchley place. That’s north of town, between the No Bull Ranch and the—”
“I know where the Birchley spread is.” He didn’t, not really. And he also didn’t need to hear another word about Tom and Eddie, who should learn not to stare at a woman as if they damn well had never seen one before.
She moved a step away from him. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” He fisted his hands at his sides—to keep them from reaching out and pulling her back. “Not a thing.” He dragged in a slow breath and ordered the bulge in his pants to subside.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. And we really do still have to talk.”
“Well, I know, but—”
“We could stop by my house….” Once the suggestion was out, he could hardly believe he’d made it.
And apparently, neither could she. “Your house?” Her enchanting face showed both dismay—and excitement.
“It’s not that far. You can have one last cup of coffee. Then I’ll take you home.”
“I…” She hesitated. He knew with heart-stopping certainty that she would tell him no. But then relief hollowed him out as she finished, “I’ll still need to get my Blazer.”
“Fine, then. I’ll take you back to the school as soon as we’re finished.” He glanced at his watch. Still early. Good. “It’s only a little after seven. You’ll be home by eight-thirty—nine at the latest.” One more hour. Or two. No harm in that.
Yes, all right. It was playing with fire. But damn it, he hadn’t felt like this in…
Come to think of it, maybe he’d never felt exactly like this in his life. And he’d been alone for too long now. Had he been lonely? All right, maybe he had. He’d thought he wanted it that way. But tonight, just for a little while, he only wanted this magic to continue.
Magic. Yes, that was the word. All the talk of fairy godmothers and spells had gotten to him. She had gotten to him, with those innocent blue eyes and that red dress, her tart tongue and that maddening perfume.
He knew himself. Knew that whatever this feeling was, it wouldn’t last. But for right now, for an hour or so, he just didn’t want to let her go.
Lynn’s thoughts were moving along similar lines. She knew as well as Ross did that going to his house was taking this risky flirtation one step too far. But still…
It was her birthday. Her special, magical Cinderella birthday. Tonight, for the first time in her life, she was living a fairy tale. She was Cinderella at the ball, Sleeping Beauty awakened and ugly-duckling-turned-swan all rolled into one.
Don’t let it end yet, she kept thinking. Not yet. Oh, not quite yet…
He put his hand at her back, as he’d done in the restaurant. She felt that touch through every fiber of her being. “Come on,” he said. “It’s too cold to stand here on the street a minute longer. Let’s go.”
The house was five miles northeast of town, perched on a rocky ledge that led down to Black Bear Lake. A soaring structure of rough-hewn spruce logs and tall, gleaming windows, it was surrounded by stately fir trees.
Ross led her inside, took her coat and purse and put them in the closet near the front door. Then he ushered her into a massive great room, where the floor-to-ceiling fireplace was made of big smooth stones—collected from the eastern slopes of the Rockies, he told her. There was a mantel of sorts, a heavy wooden shelf, built into the stones. And a big clock on the mantel. A clock that said it was 7:36.
Ross took a minute to open the fireplace insert and strike a match to the logs already laid over kindling within.
As she waited for him to light the fire, Lynn admired the room. Overhead, huge logs formed the spokes of a giant arching wheel. The furniture around her looked inviting. It was upholstered in deep brown leather and jewel-toned chenille. Out the big windows, through the lacy branches of the firs, she could see the darkly gleaming waters of the lake.
He offered coffee. “Or maybe you’d prefer brandy?”
She decided on the brandy. The very idea of it was just so lovely and decadent. She’d never been a woman who drank brandy. Until tonight.
At the far end of the room, and at a right angle to the fireplace, there was a long bar that divided the kitchen from the dining area. Ross went around behind the bar and took a bottle from a cabinet. From the rack overhead he removed two big balloon-shaped glasses, the kind made just for sipping brandy.
Once he’d poured them each a glass, he gave her a tour. He