was the rest of the evening he wondered about.
* * *
DYLAN WASN’T SURE what he had expected Emily’s apartment to look like inside. The glimpse he’d had of the adjacent bath and bedroom revealed a pink and frilly décor. This surprised him, because he’d never seen her wear anything pink or frilly, since he’d been in town.
The living area where he sat was a lot more predictable. She had a large overstuffed ivory sofa and a pair of mismatched wing chairs. Blinds, but no drapes. There were a lot of throw pillows in different fabrics and sizes. A couple of throws—one in burgundy velour, the other a soft sage-green knit. Nice lamps. And one wall that was all bookshelves, filled with fiction, cookbooks and horse stories.
An antique leather-and-brass steamer trunk served as her coffee table. Cooking magazines, especially ones that featured Southwestern-style cooking, were piled high. A small round table and two chairs and a kitchenette that could only be described as woefully inadequate. It didn’t even have a stove or microwave, just a hot plate, sink and dorm-size fridge.
Emily swept back out, shutting the bedroom door behind her. But not before he’d caught sight of the wardrobe crisis that had just ensued. There were clothes scattered everywhere.
He liked the ones she had on, though.
Emily strode toward the kitchen counter and snatched up her purse and keys. She spun around in a drift of floral perfume. “Ready to go?”
Ready for something...that’s for sure, Dylan thought, feeling an uncomfortable pressure at the front of his jeans.
To distract himself, he let his glance sift over her pretty turquoise dress and surprisingly high heels. Damn, but she had a nice body. Nice legs, too.
“You look good,” he said gruffly. “Too good to be eating in an unscrupulous competitor’s restaurant.”
Her soft lips curved in a parody of a smile. “Thanks. I think.”
Resisting the urge to pull her close and kiss her again, he said, “You know Shillingsworth is probably going to conclude you dressed up just for him.”
Emily’s brow arched. “Then he would be wrong—you’re my date. Not that I dressed up for you,” she amended quickly. “I dressed up for me. Because I like to look nice when I go out.”
He studied the rosy color in her cheeks, the emotion shimmering in her eyes. “Well, you look gussied-up, all right.”
Her gaze swept over his cleaned-up form, making him glad he had taken the time to iron his shirt and polish his boots, instead of just showering, shaving and finding a clean change of clothes. “So do you,” she said softly.
Basking in the compliment, Dylan followed her down the stairs and into the alley behind the row of historic buildings downtown. On the other side of it was a row of slanted parking. Emily’s car was there, beside his pickup truck.
Instead of going toward the passenger side of the truck, she hesitated and looked up at him. The last of the day’s sunshine glimmered in her molasses-colored hair. He had to fight the urge to reach out and touch the soft, silky strands. “Want to walk or drive?”
“It’s a nice evening.” She caught his gaze. “It’s only a couple of blocks. How about we hoof it?”
Anything to ease the pressure in the front of his jeans. “Sounds good.”
She fell into step beside him.
He observed the pulse throbbing in her throat. “I’ve got a question.”
“Fire away.”
“This evening, are we still pretending we’re dating? Or are we now publicly owning up to being ‘just friends’?”
Her lips compressed. “Good question, since only one of my brothers has produced a potential love interest for me thus far, and my parents have ceased and desisted their matchmaking efforts entirely since we allegedly became a pair.”
“Want my advice?” Dylan asked.
She cocked her head to one side and waited.
“Unless some gal has come in and swept Shillingsworth off his feet in the past twenty-four hours or so, I very much doubt the little twerp has given up on making you his cougar.”
She elbowed him gently. “Careful, cowboy, you’re sounding a mite jealous.”
“Not jealous,” Dylan corrected. “Matter-of-fact. And I’ll lay odds Shillingsworth makes another pass at you tonight, whether he thinks I’m your date or not.”
Emily chuckled. “Enough to wager?”
“Depends on what the stakes are.”
“One home-cooked meal. Cleanup, included.”
Which meant another night alone together, wise or not. Dylan extended his hand. “Okay,” he said agreeably. “You’re on....”
* * *
THE PLACE WAS HOPPING, when Emily and Dylan reached the newest dining establishment in town. Throngs of people stood in a line that filled the old-fashioned, saloon-style porch and extended halfway down the block, and more were arriving even as Dylan and Emily joined the line. And the patrons weren’t just residents of Laramie. Emily garnered from the bits of conversation floating around, they were flocking in from all around the county.
And why not? The Cowtown Diner oozed excitement.
Exterior speakers played popular country and western music. A waitstaff of college-and high-school-age kids kept tabs on the activity with wireless headsets, while less experienced staff circulated among the waiting area with platters of free appetizers and tumblers of lemonade, water and iced tea.
Despite herself, Emily was impressed.
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