by Susan Gable
Just like Gram had always done for her when she was little. “Why have just one color when you can have ten?” she’d always said.
The smile drained away as Jenna pressed her lips together, a hollow ache building in her chest. Blinking back the moisture gathering in her eyes, she proceeded to finish her toes, each one another shade. When she was done, she just sat, letting them dry—and missing Gram.
She heard the door to her apartment slam and hastily ran the sleeve of her robe over her eyes. Margo bounded into the room, then pulled up short. “Hey. I came to critique your preparations for tonight. What’s going on, Glum Chum?”
“My mother called to invite me for Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, well, that explains it. Your mother’s cooking would make anyone cry.”
“That’s not it. It’s just…”
“You always went to your gram’s for the holidays. I know. The next few months are going to be tough….” Margo snapped her fingers. “I know what you need.”
The beauty of a best friend, Jenna thought, was that you didn’t have to explain what made you happy or sad. A best friend just knew those things. Out in the kitchen, Jenna heard Margo opening and closing cupboard doors, muttering as she rummaged through them. She pushed herself to her feet and walked into the main room on her heels. “What are you looking for?”
“This.” Margo waved a bottle with a yellow flower on the front. “I thought I remembered seeing it in there.”
She rattled the jar of Saint-John’s-wort. “Did you take any of this when I gave it to you last year? Look, you don’t like being mopey, and I don’t like you being mopey, either. Please just trust me on this. Take this at least until after New Year’s. Get through the holidays and the anniversary of your gram’s death. Then you can go back to ignoring my advice.”
“It will help?”
Margo nodded.
“It will make my mother easier to tolerate?”
Margo laughed. “Now you’re pushing your luck. It’s an herb, not a miracle.”
“Okay.” Jenna reached for the capsule her friend held out. “Now, about that critique of tonight’s preparations…”
SLOAN HELD the steak-house door for Jenna, then followed her inside, catching a whiff of freshly grilled beef that set his stomach growling. Country music droned in the background, and jean-and-T-shirt-clad wait staff hustled through the maze of tables and booths. He followed Jenna to the hostess station, where she requested a nonsmoking table with a questioning look at him. He nodded, then they stepped aside to wait.
Jenna’s wrinkly skirt swished around her calves. A slender silver band encircled one ankle, and her toes, exposed in a pair of brown leather sandals, each boasted a different shade of nail polish.
“What?” she asked. “Did I step in something?”
He shook his head. “Sandals in October might work in Texas, but it seems a little…off for here.”
She put her hands on her hips in mock indignation. “Hey, it was sixty today. A rare occurrence for Erie in October, so we take advantage of it when we can. No silly fashion rules.”
“You strike me as someone who makes her own rules, anyway.” Like the multihued toes.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“As the father of a teenage daughter, I’m all about rules.”
The hostess motioned them forward, leading them through the packed tables to a booth on the side. Old black-and-white photographs of cowboys graced the walls, along with saddles, deer antlers and a stuffed jackalope—a jackrabbit with antlers stuck on it.
“Nice place.” He slid into the red bench seat, accepting the menu.
Jenna smiled at him. “I thought that maybe if you were homesick for Texas, this would make you feel better. I think this place has the best steak in Erie.”
“That was right thoughtful of you, ma’am,” he drawled in an exaggeration of the twang he’d become more aware of since moving north. Her soft laughter rewarded his effort, and a surge of warmth rushed through him.
This dating stuff wasn’t half-bad.
After ordering drinks, they looked over the menu. Sloan stole a few long peeks at her while she was engrossed in selecting her meal. She wore very little makeup from what he could tell, just a hint of blush and some shiny, light pink lipstick. She looked up and smiled at him. “See anything you like?”
The double entendre wasn’t lost on him, but he pretended not to get it. “I’m thinking about the T-bone.”
“Good choice.” Was that a hint of disappointment in her voice?
His cell phone, clipped to his belt, buzzed, and Sloan set down his menu, then retrieved the intruder, checking out the caller ID. “Damn. I’m sorry. It’s the station. I have to take this.”
When he flipped it open, the frantic voice of one of the master control operators greeted him with the announcement they were currently off air. “Just one second,” he said, then covered the speaker with his finger.
He turned his attention back to his dinner companion. “I’m sorry. I’m going to step outside and deal with this. Could you order for me? T-bone, medium, loaded baked potato and Caesar salad.”
She nodded. “No problem.”
He slipped from the booth, phone already back to his ear as he barked clipped questions and quick commands. If he couldn’t troubleshoot and get things fixed this way, he’d be forced to do more than just step away for a call.
In the foyer, he leaned against the wall. After about ten minutes, when the master control operator told him the station was back on air, he replied, “Good job. If it happens again, you know how to find me.” But don’t, he wanted to add.
Heading back to the table, he found his date bantering with the waiter, whose deep laughter irritated him, as did the way he darted off at Sloan’s approach. “I’m really sorry about that,” he said to Jenna as he slid back into his seat. “But when the station is off air, it’s money lost every minute.”
“No problem.” She waved her hand in dismissal of his apology. “How’d you end up as an engineer at a TV station? Where’d you go to college?”
“No college.” He slugged back a belt of his beer, letting the remainder of his tension slip away. “School of Uncle Sam. I did a four-year enlistment in the army right after high school, ended up in communications at Fort Hood in Texas. After, I got a job at a station in Fort Worth and worked my way up.”
“Self-made. I admire that in a man.”
His chest swelled. “Thanks. What about you?”
“To my parents’ everlasting dismay, I had so many different majors in college, it took me five and half years to complete my undergrad degree. Worse, I didn’t follow in their footsteps and go to law school.” She paused, lifting her margarita. “Luckily, Gram was always in my corner. She told them not everyone was cut out to be a lawyer.”
“How do they feel about your business?”
“They’re reserving judgment, like the prudent lawyers they are. In other words, the jury is still out on their daughter’s ability to be a success in this world.”
“Ouch. That seems kind of harsh.”
She shrugged. “I know they love me and they’ve always wanted the best for me. It’s just that our ideas of what’s ‘the best for me’ are very different. They’ve never really accepted me for who I am. They’ve been waiting forever for me to grow up.”
She seemed plenty grown-up to Sloan.
“Okay, here you go,” the waiter announced, approaching their table with a dish in his hands. “Enjoy.”
Sloan stared at the concoction in the middle of the table. Two large chunks of chocolate cake, several scoops of ice cream, all of it topped with chocolate syrup and whipped cream. He glanced across the table at Jenna, whose spoon hesitated. “What?” she asked.
“I know I wasn’t away from the table that long. What’s this?”
She grinned. “Dessert. This thing is so sinful you can’t say enough Hail Marys to make up for it.”
“Oo-kay. But why
is it here now? Before all the other food?”
“Life’s short, Sloan. Eat dessert first.” She dug her spoon into the creation. Chocolate dripped from it as she raised it. “That was Gram’s philosophy. Truth is, if we eat all the other stuff first, I won’t have room for dessert. I’d rather take home the other stuff and enjoy this.” She slid her spoon into her mouth, closing her eyes. “Mmm.”
The blatant joy she took in the dessert, along with the little moan and heartfelt sigh, shot straight to his groin. What would it be like to make love to a woman who took such an obvious interest in pleasure?
“Aren’t you going to have some?”
“Uh…”
“Oh, come on. Live a little. Eat dessert first for once.” She winked at him.
Oh, hellfire. Here he’d thought she’d be a safe easing-back-into-dating partner and all he wanted was to put that pleased expression back on her face in a far more intimate way.
Not exactly what he’d had in mind.
She still stared at him, spoon poised over the bowl. She scooped up another bit, combining all the ingredients. She leaned across the table, offering it to him. “Open up, Tex.”
He barely tasted it. He was too busy focusing on the playful spark in her eyes and controlling the unexpected attraction racing through him.
“So, how is it?”
He nodded. “Best dessert I’ve had in a long time.” He didn’t mention it was the only dessert he’d had in a long time. Or that he really couldn’t taste it with her watching him that way.
Somehow they made it through the huge dish. As the waiter removed the empty bowl, Sloan sighed with relief. Surely the rest of the meal wouldn’t be quite such a torment. Surely Jenna wouldn’t take the same amount of pleasure in a steak or salad.
Wrong. The woman delighted in the beef. The waiter beamed when she expressed her joy.
“You would love Texas barbecue,” Sloan told her after the fawning kid had once again removed himself to take care of another table.
“Don’t you like your steak?”
“Oh, it’s fine. Not bad for a bunch of Yanks.”
“Oh, right. Everything’s better in Texas. Or so I’ve heard.”
“Better and bigger.”
“Oh?” She arched one eyebrow at him. “I’ve heard that, too. But I’m not sure if I believe it. You up to proving it, Tex?”
He damned near choked on the bit of steak in his mouth. Coughing into his napkin, he waved off her concern when she moved toward his side of the table. “I’m okay.” His eyes watered.
“You sure?”
He nodded. “Wrong pipe, is all.” He cleared his throat again, then reached for his water glass.
“Sorry. Sometimes I forget people don’t always appreciate my slightly warped sense of humor.”
“Was it just a joke?”
A sly smile tugged at her lips. “Do you want it to be?”
He lifted one shoulder. “Honestly, I’m not sure.” His libido argued with him, and he silently commanded it to shut the hell up. “You do know you’re my first date in about three years, right?”
“Really? No, I didn’t. But I have to confess, I find that surprising.”
“Why?”
“Good-looking guy like you? I can’t believe you’ve been on the shelf that long.”
He straightened his spine, sitting taller. She thought he was good-looking. Amazing how hearing that made him feel he could take on the world. “Thanks. About a year after…my wife died, I suffered through a few disastrous blind dates. You know, setups by well-meaning friends?”
“Oh, jeez. I know just what you mean. The last time I let a friend set me up, the guy ended up being a total jerk. He was looking for someone who would take care of him. You know, do all the laundry, have dinner on the table when he got home from work, fetch him a beer while he watched the game.” She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not what you’re looking for, is it?”
He laughed. “Hell, no. I do my own laundry, have a teenager who helps sometimes with the dinner thing, and am perfectly capable of fetching my own beers. Although, might I remind you it was you who invited me on this date. Maybe I should be asking you what you’re looking for.”
“Not unless you want to choke on your steak again.” She chuckled, a warm, gentle sound that reached him on so many levels. “Just teasing. I believe I owed you for encouraging the kids to use your cement as a canvas.”
“Yes. I believe you did.” He hoped she could tell he was teasing, too. This kind of bantering was foreign to him. “But I think I’d stick my hand in it again for this.”
They lingered over the rest of the meal, making small talk, exchanging unimportant stories of their pasts. Typical first-date kind of stuff. A shot of annoyance when the waiter invited Jenna to “come again soon” surprised Sloan. After all, she’d done little to encourage the younger man’s blatant interest in her, unless you counted being overly kind and too damn pretty as flirting.
His own response aggravated the hell out of him. It wasn’t as if he had a claim to her or anything. As he followed her through the crowd of people waiting for a table, she stopped, tilting her head. She turned to him. “I love this song,” she said, as her shoulders dipped in time to the music.
The impulse to hold her close and show her how a good ol’boy from Texas two-stepped with a lovely lady warred with his normal self-restraint. A number of people grinned as Jenna turned the waiting area into an impromptu dance floor. One woman gave her a long, examining stare, then shook her head. Jenna seemed oblivious to both sets of looks.
“Come on, let’s go,” he muttered, taking her hand. “It’s way too crowded in here now.”
Warning alarms clanged in his head. This sparkling woman could make him lose his rationality. She wasn’t the safe, couple-of-casual-dates partner he’d expected. She made him want to dance—something he hadn’t done in a long, long time.
As he helped her into the truck, those multihued toes caught his attention once more.
If he had an ounce of sense, he’d drive her home, drop her off with a cheek-peck good-night kiss, and forget about dating her. Or dancing with her. Or doing anything else with her.
He’d put her back into the next-door-neighbor, daughter’s-boss, and friend category.
Then she leaned over and clicked on his radio, setting it to the same station the restaurant had had on. She closed her eyes and began to sing along in a slightly off-key warble. Picking up enthusiasm as the song moved into the chorus, she grew louder.
Eyes closed, head bopping in time to the rhythm, totally unabashed at her less-than-stellar performance, she belted out the ending.
Damn it, she was too cute for his own good.
How could danger come in such an appealing package?
CHAPTER FIVE
THE STREETLIGHT on the corner flickered to life as Sloan pulled the truck into a spot near her door. Jenna smiled at him. “I’m glad we had dinner. I had a great time.”
And she had. Even though she didn’t officially date guys with kids, this had been the best non-date she’d had in ages. And the chemistry between them…well, it wasn’t the kind that came along every day.
“I did, too. Thanks for dinner.” He leaned a little closer to her, and she could smell his spicy cologne.
She reached out, stroked her fingers over his silky-smooth cheek. His eyes widened, then he backed away, reaching for the door. “Let me help you out.”
His gentlemanly manners took some getting used to, but she found she liked them. “You’re going to come in for a little bit, right?” Jenna asked him after he’d ushered her to her door.
He said nothing, and she could see the hesitation in his eyes. The man was spooked. She’d imagined the same terror in her own eyes at some good-nights—the ones she wanted to ditch and never hear from again.
Yikes. Was that what he wanted to do with her? She definitely wanted a little more from him. Nothing serious. Another non-date or two. He was good company. And she sure wo
uldn’t complain if he wanted to drop his boots under her bed. She hadn’t had a pair of boots under her bed in far too long.
“Come on, Tex. I promise not to bite.”
He offered her a nervous half-smile. “I told you I’m out of practice at this. Maybe I shouldn’t push my luck.”
She grabbed the collar points of his long-sleeved shirt. “And maybe you should.” Tilting her head back, she looked into his eyes. “I at least expect a good-night kiss. What do you say, Tex? Eat dessert first.”
For a moment, the cool night air stilled, then a gust rustled the leaves in the tree in his yard, just over the fence behind her building. She watched as his feelings played out across his face. Then he said, “If I kiss you good-night now, then that means our date is over. I thought you asked me to come in for a while?”
“I did.”
“I accept.”
“Good.” With a smile, she let go of his shirt, then turned to the door, digging her keys from the bottom of her purse. Entering the stairwell with him just behind, she started up the stairs, only to be stopped when he grabbed her wrist. She paused to look over her shoulder at him.
“Jenna, I just want to be clear. I’m not…not—”
“Not what? Not interested in women? You really are gay, even though you have two daughters and denied homosexual status the other night?”
He chuckled. “No. I just…” He blew out a quick breath. “I just don’t want you to expect anything from me. I’m really not looking for a woman to do my laundry and fetch me a beer.”
She swiveled around. Since she was one stair above him, now they were eye level. She cupped his face in her hands. “Good. Because I don’t want that, either. You’ve got kids, and I don’t do kids. I offered you dessert, Tex, not steak and potatoes.”
She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his mouth, just a hint, a friendly howdy kind of kiss. Then she smiled at him, took his hand and led him upstairs.
Princess bounded off the sofa. Ignoring Jenna’s outstretched fingers, she sniffed the bottom of Sloan’s khakis, then jumped up, front paws on his pants.