way men are, he couldn’t resist her. Slut that she was.”
Jenny flinched. She hadn’t expected Mrs. Pritchett to be quite that cruel. “So this wealthy rancher is Hawk’s father?”
“That’s right. Archy Wainwright. Surely you’ve heard of him.”
Stunned, Jenny widened her eyes. She hadn’t just heard of him, she was indebted to him. The Wainwrights were founding members of the Lone Star County Club, and it was Archy who’d recommended her to Joe Turner, the architect overseeing the renovations at the club.
Mrs. Pritchett moved closer, delighted by Jenny’s reaction. “Hawk isn’t a legitimate member of the Wainwrights, even though he uses their name. They don’t recognize him as one of their own. But who can blame them? That half-breed is trash, just like his mother. Why, a while back he actually kissed two white girls in a bar, one right after the other. Spicy kisses, if you know what I mean. Then he walked out of the place without uttering a word.” Mrs. Pritchett moved closer still. “It was quite a scandal, considering those young ladies were high-society types.” She snorted. “No one knows why he provoked a scene like that. But I’ve heard several theories. Some say—”
A vehicle door slammed.
Jenny and Mrs. Pritchett turned simultaneously.
Hawk had exited his truck and now trapped Jenny’s gaze from across the yard. He knew, she thought. He knew exactly what Mrs. Pritchett had been saying.
“Oh, my.” The older woman took a step back. “He’s coming this way. Why, the nerve.”
Yes, he was coming their way—all male and all muscle, the puppy from the market at his heels.
“Hello, ladies,” he said. “Jenny. Mrs. Snitchett.”
“Pritchett,” the old woman corrected, glaring at him with her wicked-witch sneer.
“Of course.” One corner of his mouth twitched in the semblance of a smile. “Mrs. Bitchett.”
The old lady huffed. “I don’t have to stand here and take this.”
“Then don’t,” Hawk said.
Mrs. Pritchett pointed her finger at him. “I warned her about you.” She turned to Jenny, her finger still raised. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
With that, she stalked across the yard, holier and mightier than thou.
Hawk and Jenny stared at each other. Suddenly neither of them knew what to say. She chewed her bottom lip and he stood like a statue, the feather on his hat lifting in the breeze.
“She’s a malicious old woman,” Hawk said finally.
“She certainly doesn’t like you.”
“No, she doesn’t.” He paused, then blew out a breath. “But I would appreciate it if you reserved judgment and formed your own opinion of me. You know, instead of letting the gossip sway you.”
Jenny nodded. “I think that’s only fair.”
“Thanks.”
He sent her one of those fleeting smiles, and she felt an uncomfortable stir of attraction. Did he really kiss those two girls?
“I guess I should let you finish watering.” Hawk glanced at the flower beds. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.”
Jenny turned and saw why he was apologizing. His new pet had uprooted every last one of Jenny’s geraniums and was grinning at both of them like a mischievous hyena. And to top it off, the dog was covered in mud.
“You little scoundrel.” Hawk grabbed the pup by the scruff of the neck, the way a scolding mother dog would do. “I’ll buy you another batch of flowers, Jenny.”
He gave the dog an exasperated glance, and the little scoundrel swished his tail, spraying his master with mud.
Hawk cursed, and Jenny stifled a giggle. A second later they both burst out laughing.
“Will you help me hose him off?” Hawk asked when their laughter faded. He still held the dog by the scruff, but the pup squirmed something fierce.
“Sure.” She turned on the water and decided she liked Hawk Wainwright. But then, she liked his father, too. She stole a glance at Mrs. Pritchett’s house, certain the old woman watched from her window.
Was it true that the Wainwrights didn’t acknowledge Hawk? It did seem odd that he lived in a modest home, while Archy and his family resided on a sprawling ranch.
“Can you adjust the water level?” he asked.
“Oh, of course.” Jenny turned the flow to a mild spray, and between the two of them, they got the puppy clean.
Hawk still had flecks of mud on his jeans, but she noticed he was smiling.
Jenny smiled back at him, and the moment turned soft and gentle. The puppy rolled in the grass, kicking up his feet and exposing his belly.
“Will you have dinner with me?” Hawk asked.
Jenny’s breath lodged in her throat. Was he asking her on a date? A quiet meal, companionable conversation, a good-night kiss?
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t—
“I’ll order a pizza, and we can sit on my porch,” he suggested.
Her breath returned, and she pulled oxygen into her lungs. Pizza on his porch. That sounded safe enough.
“All right,” she heard herself say.
He smiled again, and she wished his smile wasn’t so charming. Roy’s smile had been charming, too. He’d been her white knight, the man who’d swept her off her feet. And then dragged her into a dungeon of pain.
“What do you want on it?”
Still lost in thought, she gave him a blank look.
“The pizza,” he clarified. “What toppings would you prefer?”
Suddenly she couldn’t focus on something as simple as pizza. Not with the dungeon lurking in her mind, the dank, cold reality of knowing Roy was out there somewhere. How often did she wake up screaming? Or hug her knees to her chest and cry?
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Order whatever you want.”
“Of course it matters. You must have a preference.”
Did she? She used to eat what Roy told her eat, dress in the clothes he told her to wear, be the wife he wanted her to be.
“Pineapple,” she told Hawk. Roy hated pineapple on pizza. “And Canadian bacon.” Her ex-husband detested that, too.
“You got it. Now I better hop in the shower. I’ll come by and get you when the food arrives.”
He picked up the puppy, and Jenny watched him walk back to his house.
