drawing. “I wonder if any guys would bother to enter.”
Hayley laughed. “For a chance with you? Half the men in this town—married or not—have probably had a fantasy or two about you.”
Jane grimaced. “I seriously doubt that.” She certainly hoped not. “Kind of an ick factor there, Dr. Templeton.”
“I know who isn’t at all icky.” Her friend smiled slyly. “Casey Clay.”
“I should never have told you about him,” Jane muttered.
Hayley’s smile widened. “If I were your therapist—”
“You’re not.”
“—I would suggest that you think about your feelings where he’s concerned.”
“I have no feelings,” Jane lied. “The man is impossible. He can’t even keep his truck clean. The last time I saw it, he had a pile of junk on the passenger seat that you wouldn’t believe.”
“Good family.” Hayley held up her index finger. “All of the Clays who live in the area are plain old good people.” She held up a second finger. “Well over six feet tall. Exceptional shape.” Her eyes twinkled. “Thick golden-brown hair and gray eyes. In other words, the usual good genes for that particular family.” She held up her third finger. “Intelligent.” Her pinky finger joined the others. “Good sense of humor.” She added her thumb. “Single, heterosexual male. Messy truck notwithstanding, I could go on.”
“Then you date him.”
Hayley laughed softly and glanced around the empty bar before leaning forward over her crossed arms. “You’re the one who’s been secretly sleeping with him for the past year. Seems to me he’d be your best candidate. And you realize if you’re not dating him, someone else will. Isn’t that going to bother you?”
Jane shrugged as if it wouldn’t, even though the very idea of it made her more than a little ill. “What he does isn’t my concern. He’s allergic to commitment anyway. He’ll tell you that himself.” He’d certainly said that exact thing to her more than once. Before they’d ended up in bed together, as well as after.
“You used to say the same thing about yourself.”
“Some allergies cure themselves, I guess. I want a baby.” She also was afraid she wanted Casey, but that was never going to happen. Cutting her losses now would be easier than having to later.
Hayley’s expression turned sympathetic. “I know you do, sweetie. But—” she lifted her hand peaceably “—this is just a little food for thought. Sometimes people will focus harder on a secondary issue in order to avoid dealing with a primary issue.”
“Casey Clay is not my primary issue,” Jane said flatly. “I knew exactly where we stood with each other and that’s why I ended things with him last night.” It was her own bad luck she’d allowed her emotions to creep in where he was concerned. She dragged the fishbowl over and dumped the half-dozen business cards and receipts out onto the bar top. “I can’t be hunting for a husband when I’m sleeping with him.”
She tugged off the card taped to the front of the fishbowl that described the weekly free-meal drawing and turned it over to the blank side. She pulled a pen from her pocket and uncapped it. “So what do you think? Win a free meal with Jane Cohen? Entries open to single men only?”
Hayley chuckled wryly and covered her eyes. “Girlfriend, you are just asking for trouble.”
* * *
“Is she serious?”
At the sound of his cousin’s voice, Casey looked up from the pool table where he was lining up his next shot. Erik was holding the fishbowl that usually sat on the end of Colbys’ wooden bar top.
Casey shrugged and focused on his shot again. “She gives away a free meal every week. Has for a long time. So what?” It was Friday night. Colbys was typically crowded. And even though Casey hadn’t really wanted to meet his cousin here after his encounter with Jane the night before, he hadn’t been able to come up with a good excuse not to. He’d located Bax, the missing asset in Nepal. He and the emir’s niece were no worse for wear, and though Bax hadn’t yet gotten her returned to her London apartment, at least they knew she hadn’t been abducted by her father’s terroristic cousin. For now, things were back on track.
At least in that world.
Casey involuntarily looked over to the bar where Jane was busy pouring out drinks. Her long hair was pulled back in a thick ponytail that swayed every time she turned to grab a glass off the shelves behind her. She was in her usual working garb of black T-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, but the fact that she wore them transformed the ordinary into something extraordinary.
She was a smart cookie. Never missed a thing. So he knew she was well aware of his presence. She just hadn’t bothered to give him so much as a glance.
He, on the other hand, couldn’t stop looking toward her.
He took his shot and sent the balls rolling.
None landed where he’d intended.
“Not just her usual free meal,” Erik was saying. He set the fishbowl on the rail near Casey before leaning over the table with his cue. “Looks to me like she’s shaking up the status quo between you two.”
Erik was the only one who knew of Casey’s involvement with the woman.
Past involvement, he reminded himself, since she’d pretty much kicked him to the curb the evening before.
He dragged his attention away from the smooth curves of Jane’s lightly tanned arms. “She’s over twenty-one,” he said casually. “Free to do whatever she wants.”
“That why your game seems shot to hell all of a sudden?”
He ignored Erik and glanced at the fishbowl.
When the words on the side of it penetrated, he very nearly tore the white index card free of the tape holding it in place.
She certainly wasn’t wasting any time with her husband hunt.
He held up the glass bowl, studying the contents. The damned thing was more than half full. Evidently, adding herself to the free-meal menu had spurred a whole new interest in her drawing.
“She’s out of her tree,” he muttered. Glancing around the bar, he spotted Keith Lambert, who was one of the game designers on the legitimate side of Cee-Vid, whom his uncle had recently hired straight out of school. The young guy, his usual plaid bow tie in place, was sitting in a corner booth with a couple other Cee-Viders. All three of them had their noses stuck in their cell phones as if they didn’t know how to communicate face-to-face.
Casey moved over to their table and plunked the fishbowl in the center of it, startling the young men. He knew plenty of designers who didn’t look as if they needed a good dose of sunshine, but these guys sure did. Collectively, they were pretty much the embodiment of every clichéd computer-geek joke. “Step right up, guys.” He tapped the bowl with Jane’s hand-printed invitation stuck to the side.
Keith squinted through his horn-rimmed glasses as
