listened, though, which one would expect from a polite woman, but she had to think that he was the biggest wanker with all his self-talk.
Was his life truly as mundane as it sounded?
They pulled up to the darkened restaurant. He parked, and they climbed out. When they reached the front door, he held it open for her, as the sounds of Linda Ronstadt filled the air.
“Well, it’s not locked yet, so I guess that’s a good sign.” She gazed around the empty room.
There was a single table set, but everything else had been cleared away.
“I’m just on my way out,” Wendy said by way of greeting. “There’s a pan of beef enchiladas in the kitchen and the plates are in the warming drawer. Help yourself to anything behind the bar, and don’t worry about cleaning up. The staff comes in early in the morning.” Then she handed Jensen a key and kissed him on the cheek before rushing out the door.
As Amber looked around, Jensen cursed himself for allowing his cousin to go a little too over the top in staging a romantic dinner for them.
He hadn’t been lying when he told Amber he wasn’t the Casanova type and that he never took the time away from his work or his family to pursue serious relationships—other than a week or two with Monica, although their relationship hadn’t lasted more than a few months, nor had it been serious enough to gain any special attention from the tabloids.
“Do you mean to tell me that you arranged for us to have the place to ourselves?” Amber asked.
“Well, I called Wendy and told her I owed you dinner and that we would be in the cinema until late. All of this wasn’t completely my idea. Unless you think it’s terribly impressive, in which case, it was one hundred percent my doing.”
At that, she blessed him with a pretty smile, and his nervousness—Jensen was never ruffled around the ladies, so where had that come from?—soon dissipated.
“Can I get you a cocktail?” he asked. “Or maybe some wine?”
“A glass of merlot sounds good.”
He went behind the bar, found a nice bottle of California wine and uncorked it. Then he carried it to the table and poured them each a glass.
Hopefully he hadn’t laid it on too thick. He didn’t want her thinking he was trying to seduce her, but at the same time, he had to wonder if deep down, maybe he was.
“I’ll get our dinner.”
As he turned toward the kitchen, she followed him. He should have known Amber wouldn’t be the type of woman to merely sit still at the table like a regal queen, waiting for someone to serve her.
It was one of the things he liked most about her. She always seemed willing to jump in and lend a hand—to his sister, to her grandmother or to anyone who needed it.
After he filled their plates full of hot and cheesy enchiladas, they carried them back to the intimate table, where a small candle flickered in the votive.
Since he didn’t want to give her the impression that he was trying to wine and dine her, he talked about the movie, horses and about anything else that would be considered neutral territory.
“I’m certainly going to miss the delicious southwestern food when I go back to London,” he said as he finished his last bite.
She paused, fork in midair. “When are you leaving?”
She seemed surprised—as if he’d announced he was going tomorrow.
Would she miss him if he was to go so soon? Or would she be relieved? He knew she didn’t like having her name linked with his in the tabloids.
“Not until after the weddings in February. I’m sure the whole town will be glad to see the lot of us go and take the sleazy paparazzi with us.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I think a few of the townspeople are enjoying the notoriety.”
“Maybe. But some of them are just fame and fortune seekers, looking for the opportunity to get a piece of the limelight. I can’t stand people like that. If they had any idea how terribly difficult it is to go about their lives and protect their families from bloodthirsty newshounds stalking them every second, maybe they’d rethink that.”
She shifted in her seat, and he wondered if his tirade had made her uncomfortable. He’d never been able to stomach the poor little rich boy image, either.
It wasn’t as though he was trying to sell her on becoming a permanent fixture in his life, thank goodness. Because, if he was, he was sure making a jolly muck of it.
And as pleasant as the thought of having her become his temporary lover was, he knew better than that. The two of them were as different as night and day, as oil and water, as...
He glanced across the table at her, wondering if her thoughts had strayed in that direction, too. After all, they’d been tiptoeing around a temporary relationship of sorts—laughing and sharing, holding hands and kissing each other senseless.
The glimmer in her eyes, which had been glowing in the candlelight just moments ago, seemed to have dimmed—or perhaps that was merely his imagination.
If he had made a muddle of things, then perhaps that was just as well. Nothing could come of this—whatever this was. And the sooner he put that fool notion out of his head, the better.
So why couldn’t he keep his gaze or his thoughts to himself?
* * *
Four days later, Amber entered the side door of the Horseback Hollow Grange Hall, carrying her saloon-girl costume on a coat hanger. Of course, no one knew exactly what it was, since she’d carefully draped a green plastic trash bag over it, hiding it from public view.
To be perfectly honest, she was beginning to have second thoughts about agreeing to show up for the stupid dance rehearsal/audition that Larry Byerly from casting had lined up for today. But after Gram had gone to so much trouble to make the ruffled dress, which was actually pretty darn good, she hadn’t had the heart to consider changing her mind.
Besides, she’d been avoiding Jensen ever since their date at the Golden Horseshoe the other night, and moving toward a future without him seemed to be a good game plan—and one that would keep her heart from getting any more involved than it might otherwise be. The problem was, she was falling for the guy—like it or not—and could see heartache coming at her like a raging bull.
And though she had no business dancing the cancan, even in the privacy of her own bedroom, she’d agreed to come out today and accept some “private instruction” to see if she was “teachable.” Even if she wasn’t, they still wanted her to be the face on their ad campaign and planned to do a trial photo shoot today.
She thought the whole thing was just plain nuts, but she got a kick out of it, too. So she would listen to whatever they had to say.
Nothing like a little down-home notoriety, huh? But if there was something she knew deep in her soul about her fellow townspeople, it was that they were usually a forgiving lot—at least, with each other and when given time.
She
