His father had perked up the moment Holt had said he did need a wife. “Well, your mother and I got hopeful about Amanda, but you two don’t seem to be dating.”
Maybe we will be. If things went his way. “I’m trying,” Holt said. “We’ll see.”
His father tilted his head. “Ah, well in that case, I’ll let you be and stop playing matchmaker. We like Amanda. And Robby clearly does too.”
Holt smiled. “He certainly does. She’s the whole package, as they say. Everything in one.” She really was. Not only was Amanda Jenkins warm and compassionate and patient, but she was funny and charming and interesting and smart. Plus she was beautiful.
“Don’t mess it up,” Neal Dalton said.
Holt froze, then his skin got itchy, anger swirling in his gut. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Just saying, Holt. Things didn’t work out between you two once. Don’t let her slip away again.”
Out of the mouths of interfering fathers.
His phone pinged with a text. Amanda. How about we have that date tonight?
His heart soared. Perfect, he texted back. Robby is sleeping over in the main house tonight with Dale and Shep. They’re having a camp-out in the backyard.
Pick me up at seven?
See you then.
Well. That she’d said they’d talk Monday and she hadn’t been able to wait was a very good sign.
No, Dad, I’m not going to mess this up.
* * *
Holt parked in the underground garage for Amanda’s building, which sure was swanky. Lots of young men and women were around, coming and going to the pool. In the lobby he buzzed Amanda’s apartment, and she told him to come on up.
When she opened the door, his knees almost gave out. He’d never seen her look like this. Ever. She wore a short sleeveless black dress and high-heeled sandals, her long hair loose past her shoulders. Her lips were a sexy red. And the hint of perfume around her was so scintillating it drew him closer.
He could not take his eyes off her and didn’t want to. “You look stunning.”
“My roommate’s the expert on dressing up to go out. She helped me. Shook her head at all my choices for an outfit.”
“Well, you’d look stunning in a burlap sack with tomato sauce on your head. But, wow, Amanda.”
She laughed. “That may be one of the nicest—and strangest—things anyone’s ever said to me.”
He’d dressed up too. His brother Morgan had dragged him shopping after they’d moved to Bronco, shaking his own head at how Holt would wear a western shirt and jeans and his good cowboy boots to a nice restaurant on a date. Holt was all about cowboy clothes, but apparently, there was an unwritten dress code in fancy Bronco Heights. As he’d driven to Amanda’s building, watching the guys walking around, particularly the ones carrying bouquets of flowers for their ladyloves on a Saturday night, he saw how right Morgan was. No one was wearing ranch gear in town tonight.
“You clean up real nice yourself,” she said. “Well, let me grab my purse and say goodbye to Poindexter and we’ll be off.”
Holt glanced past Amanda to the cat sitting on the back of the sofa, grooming his face with a paw. He watched Amanda give the cat a little pat, and then she was back, smelling so delicious he wanted to just wrap himself around her.
He was so aware of her during the walk to the restaurant. Tonight held so many possibilities—for them, for their future and for Robby. Bronco had a couple of nice restaurants, and though he’d love nothing more than to sit down to a plate of DJ’s Deluxe’s finest ribs, he had something a lot more romantic in mind. There was a small Italian restaurant, low lit, with frescoes on the walls and candelabras. He’d made a reservation, leaving nothing to chance.
Amanda smiled as he led her inside. “I love this place. I’ve never been here before.”
Perfect. A first for them both. They were seated at a round table by a window overlooking the side garden. As he looked at his date across the candlelight, he was taken back to ten years before, when they’d gone to a pizza place and he’d sat across from her so in love, unable to take his eyes off her then too, unable to believe she was his.
“I’m so glad you changed your mind about waiting to respond till Monday,” he said. “I don’t know how I would have made it through the weekend, not sure what you’d say.”
She glanced up from the menu, surprise in her brown eyes. “I like how straightforward you are. You say what’s on your mind.”
“I’ve learned my lesson.” He nodded.
Crud. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. The wrong word to mention. She’d said many times that she’d learned her lesson about him, and he certainly didn’t want to remind her.
She closed her menu and set it aside and so did he. A waiter took their drink and entrée orders.
“So tell me what brought you to Bronco,” he asked. “I don’t think we ever talked about that.”
She took a sip of her water. “Well, after I got stood up by the man I was about to marry in Vegas, I found myself driving back home and realizing I needed a fresh start. I had a good friend from college who lived in Bronco and had heard such great things about living here, so off I went.”
“I’m very sorry you got hurt by that dope in Vegas, Amanda. But I’m not sorry that it made you available to be sitting right here with me.”
“I always go back and forth about fate,” she said. “Is this date, this reunion, meant to be? Or did circumstances just put us in the same place at the same time and so here we are?”
The waiter brought their wine and set a basket of Italian bread and a little dish of herb-infused olive oil between them.
“I think it’s both,” Holt said. “Half fate, half circumstances.”
She laughed and lifted her glass. “I will toast to that.”
They clinked glasses, the evening off to a great start. They weren’t making awkward small talk. This date was about the past, the now and the future.
They talked so easily, Holt telling funny stories about his brothers, more serious ones about his mother’s days of recuperation, and his favorite animals on the ranch. And Amanda told him about her clients, including a matchmaker whose success stories included two lonely seventy-somethings who’d recently gotten married and were honeymooning in Italy.
When their entrees came—chicken saltimbocca for him, spaghetti Bolognese for her—they shared bites, talking, laughing, eating, drinking. This evening could not be more perfect—
“Omigod! Holt?”
He glanced up at his name—at that voice—and he did a double take.
Sally Anne.
“Boy, did I surprise you!” Sally Anne said, looking a bit nervous. Then she slid her gaze to Amanda and held out her hand, her long red nails still her trademark, he saw. “I’m Sally Anne—the ex-wife. I’m sure you’ve heard all about me.” She looked back to Holt. “I’m just in town real quick to help out an old friend or otherwise I’d have called.”
“So,” he said through gritted teeth. “You came to Bronco and didn’t even call me to make arrangements to see Robby for even a half hour? You certainly had time to come here, Sally Anne. What the hell?”
“God, Holt. You haven’t changed a damned bit. I just don’t think I’ll have time. My friend is in a bad way, okay? I’m here to pick up dinner for her and I’m leaving early tomorrow morning.”
“Do you even care that you have a child?” he asked, red-hot anger pulsating in every part of him.
“I do, of course, I do, Holt. But sometimes people are just who they damned are. I’m sorry. Just tell Robby I’m sorry.”
She ran out of the restaurant.
Holt almost slammed his fist down on the table. “I hate knowing that she was here, right here in town and didn’t even plan to see Robby. I hate it. And I hate that you had to witness all that, Amanda.”<
br />
“Hey, it’s okay.”
He forced himself to calm down, to suck in a deep breath. It was a good thing they’d almost finished their meals because his appetite was gone, and from the way she pushed her plate away so was hers.
Of all the bad luck of running into her. If only his ex had picked somewhere else to order a meal to go, he never would have known she was in town. He never would have been reminded that she didn’t give a rat’s butt about her own child.
As Robby’s sweet, precious face appeared in his mind, anguish mixed with the anger.
“Let’s go, Holt. I’ll drive.”
He nodded, tossing cash on the table, enough to add a good tip. He needed to get out of here. And he could barely think straight, let alone drive to the ranch.
She didn’t say a word on the ride over, didn’t ask him questions or make small talk or try to lighten things up. She let him process and digest, which was what he needed.
When she pulled up to the drive at his house, he just sat there like a stone, and she left the engine idling. Maybe he should just send her home and deal with this Sally Anne debacle on his own, in his own way. Whatever the hell that meant.
But he needed to get out of the truck, he needed to gulp in some air. And he needed Amanda. He knew it with a certainty that made his chest tight.
What would happen when they went inside, he had no idea. Because he was in a bad place right now. And maybe being with Amanda in the middle of it was going to cost them both.
Chapter Thirteen
Sally Anne sure wasn’t what Amanda had expected, not that she’d known what to expect. She really hadn’t thought much about Holt’s ex; Sally Anne had been just a concept, really, because she wasn’t a part of his or Robby’s life at all.
But there the woman had been at the tail end of her dinner with Holt. All Amanda wanted was a child and here was Holt’s ex-wife, with absolutely no interest in the seven-year-old one she had. Amanda had no idea how that was possible.
The woman had driven away to a new life that didn’t include her son. And it had been years. Then she came to the very town where Holt and Robby lived and hadn’t planned to spend any time with her son. That had floored Holt and it had stunned Amanda.
She glanced over at him, the idling engine making the only sound. “Listen Holt, if you need to just be alone right now, I can take the truck home and one of your brothers can bring you by to pick it up tomorrow morning. I’ll totally understand if you just need some space.”
He turned slightly to her, reaching for her hand and holding it. She liked the connection, that he wasn’t shutting her out.
“I could use some coffee,” he said. “How about you?”
She gave him a soft smile. “The entire pot, maybe.”
She shut off the engine and they went inside, Bentley greeting them. Holt let out the dog, and they sat on the porch and watched Bentley sniff the grass and enjoy the beautiful summer evening weather, then they all headed back in.
She insisted on making the coffee, aware she was too comfortable in his kitchen, and then joined him on the couch, the mugs and a small plate of cookies on the coffee table.
He took a long slug of his coffee, then another, and turned to her. “Do you get it? Because if you do, can you explain it to me?”
“Are you talking about how Robby’s mother can have no interest in his life?” she asked.
He nodded slowly. “How? How is it possible? From the moment I knew he existed I loved him. And that feeling only intensified when the doctor placed him in my arms in the hospital. I love my son with everything I am. How can a parent not feel that way?”
She took a sip of her coffee. “I don’t get it either, Holt. All I know is that some people are wired differently. You said Sally Anne left for good when Robby was three. How was she before that?”
“As expected. She didn’t want to be a mother. She’d always said that.”
“I’m so sorry for all you went through. And I’m so glad Robby had you. Sounds like you more than made up for what he was lacking in his other parent.”
He leaned back, and she could almost see the heavy weight pressing on his shoulders. How she wanted to lift it. “A mom, a mom’s love and devotion—I want him to have that too.”
“I understand,” she said, reaching for his hand.
He held it and turned to her again, touching her face. “I’m sorry she ruined our date.”
“It’s not ruined. In fact, she ended up bringing us closer. I mean, here we are, talking about some very personal issues. You opened up to me, and for that I’m glad.”
“I just wish I could shake it,” he said. “Just blink that run-in away. But all I see is Robby’s face. I hear him asking why his mother isn’t in his life.”
She wished she knew what to say, but there really wasn’t anything to say. She could just be here and hopefully that would help.
He arched one shoulder and grimaced, and she knew his muscles were likely very tight.
“Here, let me,” she said, scooting closer and putting her hands on his shoulders. “I remember you always appreciated my back massages at camp after working in the kitchen all day.”
She rubbed and kneaded, the soapy masculine scent of him intoxicating. “You can take off your shirt, if you’d like more pressure.”
He didn’t hesitate. The shirt came off, tossed on the arm of the sofa.
Her hands moved on his bare, broad shoulders. He let out little grunts and ahs, and she could feel him relaxing under her touch.
He turned around, and for a moment, she was dumbstruck by his naked chest. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered. “I need to kiss you.”
There would be no turning back from this point. If they kissed, the kind of kiss she knew it would be—and very likely where it would lead—she’d be all in. Her heart would be his again.
Careful, a little voice said. He got the wind knocked out of him tonight, his faith in people, in the very concept of love was shaken hard; that she knew and understood. Maybe what he wanted and needed was less about her and more about forgetting the hard stuff, the hard truths. For tonight.
Then again, she thought, that was life. Stuff happened, and it could bring people closer or pull them apart. Don’t let this pull you and Holt apart when it has nothing to do with you or him—not really. This was about his ex’s choices.
Yes. That was very true.
So maybe she should just go with this. Both fate and circumstances had intervened tonight. So perhaps they should see this to where the evening had led it. Which was a proposed kiss. And, she knew, much more, in his bed. Maybe Holt did need to forget, if just for a little while, the pain deep in his chest, the truth in his head. She could understand that.
Timing is rarely right anyway so don’t make it about that.
She leaned close and so did he and he kissed her, deeply. She remembered how she’d once felt about the way he kissed her—as if anything was possible.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” he said, taking his hand off her back and moving a bit away from her on couch. “I know you wanted to move slowly, Amanda. And suddenly, instead of a candlelit table and a good-night kiss at your door, we’re...in dangerous territory. Because I’m using everything I’ve got to tamp down how badly I want you right now.”
There. This wasn’t just about him needing to forget what happened earlier.
She stood up and took his hand. He looked at her, holding her gaze so intensely that her knees felt shaky, and she answered by leading the way down the hall and to his bedroom.
“You sure about this?” he asked, staring at her as they entered his bedroom.
She pushed the door closed. “Very.” And this time, she kissed him, and he responded instantly, taking her face in both of his hands and kissing her so intensely that her knees really did almost buckle.
He turned her around and slowly unzipped the little black dress, then turned her back around and gave it a nudge on each side of her shoulders so that it would fall and slide past her hips onto the floor. She stepped out of it and kicked it aside.
She kissed his bare, muscled chest, which was even sexier than she’d remembered. He picked her up and carried her onto the bed, getting rid of his pants, and slowly taking off her lacy bra. His hands and mouth were all over her, exploring, enjoying, savoring. For the first time in a long time she didn’t think; she just felt. And apparently, the same went for him.
Her eyes closed, she felt her lacy undies being pulled down and removed. She arched her back and kissed him, anticipating the feel of him on top of her. She opened her eyes, and he was reaching for his bedside table, opening a drawer. She watched him rip open the foil packet and then met his gaze as he leaned over her.
“To a fresh start,” she whispered. “To the future.”
“I will make love to that,” he said.
And then every painful memory from the past and every new worry was replaced by pure sensation.
* * *
The faint sound of roosters crowing woke Holt at rancher’s hours: before the crack of dawn. He glanced to the left, and there was Amanda, beautiful, sexy, loving Amanda, sleeping, her face turned away from him, her long dark hair down one shoulder.
To a fresh start...to the future.
Her words echoing in his head, Holt turned away, a chill creeping up his spine. Last night, those words had sounded so good. But suddenly...
Suddenly what? Why did he feel like bolting out of bed and making himself scarce?
Fight against it, he told himself. You’re just letting your old fears get to you. That this isn’t going to work out. That you’re not ever going to be enough for her.
But something else was poking at him too. Something that said: It’s Robby who’s going to get hurt when she leaves you. You’ll disappoint her, Robby will be too much, more than she realized, and suddenly, your heart is handed back to you and your son is sobbing.
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