various charity events and rubbing elbows with the lower classes. Not that she knew anything about the life he actually led, but she did glance at the headlines of the tabloids whenever she stood in the checkout line of the Superette, and so his social activities were no big secret, even if he didn’t have an official royal title.
Amber had expected the meal to be awkward, but unlike yesterday, Jensen hadn’t seemed the least bit snobbish today.
“Thank you for a lovely meal,” he said, as he rose from the table. “You’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. Rogers. I enjoyed that chicken salad. And your chocolate cake was one of the best I’ve ever had.”
“Why, thank you,” Gram said. “I’m glad you liked it. But please, call me Helen.”
“All right, I will.” He then reached across the table and shook Elmer’s hand. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Murdock. Good luck refurbishing that car. I hope you win the competition.”
Elmer stood as tall as his five-foot-four-inch frame would allow. “And just so you know, there’s been some talk about you English taking over Horseback Hollow. Some are downright pleased and giddy about it, while others are fretting about a British invasion. But I’ll have you know, you’re A-OK in my book.”
Jensen chuckled. “I’m pleased to hear that.”
“Come on,” Amber said. “I’ll walk you outside.”
Once they left the house and were out of earshot, she blew out a sigh. “I hope that wasn’t too trying for you.”
“Actually, I enjoyed myself. And I wasn’t just being polite. Your grandmother is a good cook.”
“I think so, too. But a man like you has eaten meals from the best chefs all over the world. So I have a feeling you’ve just gotten your fill of casseroles lately.”
He laughed—a hearty, resonant sound that lifted her spirits, making her forget all about the green Charger parked near the house or the man inside who’d insisted upon helping Gram with the dishes.
“You have a point,” Jensen said. “But that chicken salad was excellent. And so was the chocolate cake, which could rival any I’ve ever had the pleasure to eat.”
As they made their way to the barn, where they’d stabled Trail Blazer, he added, “I hope you didn’t take offense when I laughed at some of the things Mr. Murdock said. I know how you feel about him and your grandmother, so I hope you don’t think I was having fun at your expense. And I’m sorry if having me here made you uncomfortable.”
“Actually, having you here made it easier. And to be honest, Elmer can be a real hoot at times.” Amber shook her head, then blew out a sigh. “It’s just that...well, besides the fact that I think they’re so unsuited—and that Gram deserves someone better than him...”
“Someone more like your grandfather?”
Amber glanced up at Jensen, caught the look of compassion in his eyes, the understanding. “Yes, there’s that, too. My grandfather was an amazing man, and I’m not ready for her to find a replacement. In fact, I doubt that I’ll ever be ready for that.”
Jensen slipped his hands into his pockets. “I know what you mean. I lost my father four years ago. He and my mother were soul mates, and I can’t imagine her ever finding another man to take his place.”
They stood like that for a moment, caught up in a shared moment—probably the only thing they really had in common. Then Jensen withdrew his pocket watch—a beautiful gold-embossed piece. She expected him to open it and check the time, yet he merely turned it over a time or two, then slipped it back into his pocket.
“Perhaps your grandmother is just enjoying a little camaraderie with Mr. Murdock and they’ve merely struck up a friendship of sorts.”
“You may be right. And if that’s all it is, I guess I shouldn’t worry. But Elmer always has some fool wager going on. And I’m afraid she’ll get hurt—emotionally, physically or even financially. Like I said, no good can possibly come from it.”
Jensen stiffened. “If the man has a gambling problem, I can certainly see your concern.”
“Well, it’s not as though he’s mortgaged his house or ran his credit into the ground. I think it’s all penny-ante stuff. But he’d wager a nickel or a postage stamp or the button off his shirt, just to make things competitive. And Gram is so honest and straitlaced, she wouldn’t take a shortcut home.”
Jensen placed his index finger under Amber’s chin in a move so sweet, so tender, that it should have been comforting—and it was—yet it stirred something in her blood, too. Something warm and sparkly.
“You’re a good-hearted woman, Amber Rogers.”
And...
She waited for what seemed to be the longest time for him to complete the thought—or maybe the connection he’d just made. But he did neither.
Doggone it.
But why would he? She and Jensen Fortune Chesterfield weren’t any better suited than Helen Rogers and Elmer Murdock. And she was a fool to even let her thoughts drift in that direction. Because, like Gram and her silly crush, no good could come of it.
* * *
On the last day in December, while Quinn spent the afternoon at home with Amelia, Jensen took the opportunity to go for another ride on Trail Blazer.
He was still getting used to the stockier quarter horse breed and the Western tack. And while he was an exceptional horseman, he was adapting slowly.
As he cantered along on the spirited gelding, he pondered the possibility of purchasing a saddle of his own to keep in his brother-in-law’s stable. In spite of his affinity for cowboy movies, he still preferred the English equestrian style for his own use.
He hadn’t anticipated doing much riding at all when he’d flown to Texas for his sister’s due date. But given the frequency of weddings and births taking place in America, he’d come to the realization that he would be most likely spending more time here in Horseback Hollow than he’d ever expected, so he didn’t see it as a foolish investment.
After he rounded a large oak tree, he spotted a lone rider galloping toward him. He recognized the long blond hair flowing beneath the rim of the cowboy hat and watched as the cowgirl urged her mount forward.
Amber Rogers was quite the horsewoman, and Jensen pulled back on his reins, slowing so that he could fully enjoy the sight of her.
“Good morning,” she said, as she pulled her horse alongside his.
“Hello, there. I thought I was still on Drummond land, but I must have crossed over onto your property line.”
“Actually, this is neither. The county owns this area. It’s full of riding trails, and if you follow this path far enough, you’ll end up at the Hollow Springs Swimming Hole.”
“A real swimming hole? Like that old movie with Marcia Mae Jones?”
At her confused look, he wondered whether Americans ever watched their own classic Western films.
But
