Smiling, she looked at him and dipped a hand to her chest. “Why, thank you, Mr. Carver.” She laid the Southern drawl on heavy. “If it’s not too much trouble, I would adore one.”
They pulled into the town of Plug Nickel around seven-thirty that evening. While Jacob checked them into The Night Owl Motel, Clair stretched her legs in the parking lot. Though she’d ridden in airplanes for long periods of time, she’d never traveled or taken vacations by car. Her mother had thought a car too confining and uncomfortable for trips.
Clair loved it. She loved the feel of speed on the open highway, the power of the big car’s engine, the passing and ever-changing scenery. She ran her hand over the smooth paint of the shiny black car. Maybe she’d buy one of these vintage cars herself. Nothing this large, of course. Something more compact and sporty. A Mustang or a Corvette.
Definitely a convertible.
Drawn by the country-western music drifting from the restaurant next door to the motel, Clair wandered across the weed-spotted parking lot. A yellow neon sign over the front entrance blinked Weber’s Bar and Grill. Arms wrapped around each other, a young couple came out, bringing the scent of barbecue and cigarette smoke with them.
Clair looked back at the motel office; through the glass front window she could see Jacob still waiting at the counter. The clerk had not yet appeared, and even from this distance, Clair could see the tug of annoyance on Jacob’s face.
A black, dusty pickup drove by and a wolf whistle pierced the hot evening air. Clair stiffened indignantly, prepared to icily ignore the gauche behavior, when she realized she hadn’t been the object of attention. A platinum-blond in a short, black leather skirt, red halter top and black stiletto heels had appeared from the convenience store next door. The woman was probably around Clair’s age, though it was hard to tell under the heavy makeup. The blonde lifted a haughty brow as she passed, adjusted the V of her top to increase her already bulging bustline, then went into the restaurant.
Fascinating.
Clair had never been in a place like this before, had never even been close to a place like this. She was dying to see what it looked like inside. She looked down at what she was wearing, the black capris, pink tank top and flip-flop sandals, and thought she should probably change into more appropriate clothes, but she didn’t have any clothes like the blonde. Besides, she only wanted a peek. She glanced back over her shoulder at Jacob, saw him pacing the motel office.
She’d just pop inside for a minute, she told herself, look around, then pop back out again.
The interior was blissfully air-conditioned, though extremely dark, lit only by the colorful neon beer signs on the walls. Clair waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Sawdust and peanut shells littered the concrete floor. People, mostly young, crowded the bar to the left and filled the pine tables in the center of the room. Between the din of conversation, a baseball game on a television over the bar and a jukebox blasting out a country song about a girl named Norma Jean Riley, it was nearly impossible to hear. Cigarettes were lit at the bar, but where the food was being served, it appeared to be smoke-free. The tangy scent of barbecue sauce hung heavy in the air, reminding Clair she hadn’t eaten since they’d stopped in Ambiance for hot dogs.
No one at the tables seemed to notice her, but several heads, male and female, swiveled from the bar area and stared. Time to go, she decided. She turned and ran smack dab into a tall, dark-haired man entering the bar.
“Whoa.” He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
“Pardon me.” She attempted to step out of his hold, but he held on and grinned at her.
“What’s your hurry, beautiful?” he asked in a voice that sounded like he had rocks in his throat. His white T-shirt said Mad Dog Construction.
He was a nice-looking man, Clair thought, but she didn’t care for his hands on her. “I’m terribly sorry. If you’ll excuse me, I was just leaving.”
“I’ll accept your apology if you come have a drink with me.”
“Thank you.” She smiled cooly, attempted unsuccessfully to slip from his firm grasp. “But I’m afraid I already have plans.”
“You can be a little late,” he coaxed, still holding her. “It’s healthy to keep a guy waiting once in a while.”
“Not healthy for you,” a deep voice said from behind them.
Mad Dog dropped his hands from Clair and turned around to face Jacob. “Hey, sorry, man.” The construction worker shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Jacob moved beside Clair and took her arm. “Try somewhere else.”
“Sure,” the other man said, though he couldn’t resist one last look at Clair as he moved past her.
Clair released the breath she’d been holding and looked up at Jacob. “Thank heavens you—”
“Are you crazy?” He hauled her up against him. “What the hell were you thinking, coming into a place like this by yourself?”
“What’s wrong with this—”
“Obviously you weren’t thinking,” he snapped. “God knows what would have happened if I hadn’t looked up and seen you sneak in here.”
“I didn’t sneak in anywhere.” She pressed a hand against his rock-hard chest and pushed. She might as well have shoved at a brick wall. “And nothing would have happened. That man was perfectly nice.”
Jacob frowned at her. “You call a strange man putting his hands on you ‘perfectly nice?’”
“I wasn’t watching where I was going and I ran into him.” She narrowed her eyes. “And you have your hands on me, in case you didn’t notice.”
Oh, he noticed all right. A twitch jumped in the corner of his left eye. It had been a long day cooped up in the car with Clair. A long day forcing himself to concentrate on the curves of the road instead of the curves of the sweet-smelling woman sitting beside him. A long day keeping his hands on the steering wheel instead of where he really wanted them, which was all over Clair.
He let loose of her, then started to turn. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I want to stay.”
He froze, then swung back around. “What?”
“We’re already here.” She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “The food here looks and smells wonderful. Give me one good reason we shouldn’t eat here.”
He could have given her at least ten reasons, all of them sitting at the bar checking her out. He knew if he’d been sitting at the bar, he’d be checking her out, too.
When he’d walked in and seen that guy with his hands on Clair, Jacob had come much too close to punching him out, which could have turned ugly, considering “Mad Dog” obviously had a pack of buddies at the bar, and they probably would have felt it necessary to intervene on their friend’s behalf.
Fortunately for everyone, the construction worker appeared to be more of a lover than a fighter and had backed off.
“There’s a coffee shop down the street,” he said tightly. “It’s quieter and—”
“Table for two?” A petite brunette holding menus bounced up and had to yell to be heard over a song about beer and bones.
Clair nodded at the waitress, then followed her through the crowded restaurant to a table in the center of the room.
Damn this woman. Grinding his teeth, crunching peanut shells under his boots, Jacob strode after her.
“Tri-tip and baby back combo is the special tonight.” The waitress laid the menus on the table. “What can I get you to drink?”
Jacob dropped down in his chair. “Black and Tan and a cola.”
Clair sat primly. “Two Black and Tans, please.”
He frowned at her when the waitress left. “Do you even know what a Black and Tan is?”
She picked up the menu. “No, but I hope it’s cold. I’m very thirsty.”
Jacob sighed and prayed for patience.
They ordered two specials when the waitress returned with their drinks and a complimentary basket of deep-fried cheese balls. Jacob settled back in his chair and watched Cl
air delicately pick up her glass, then lift it cheerfully toward him. He raised his to her, as well.
She took a big sip, then froze, an expression of utter disgust on her face.
“Sometimes you have to chew it a little to help it down.” He smiled and took a gulp of his own dark, thick beer. “You’ll get used to the taste after a few sips.”
She pressed her lips into a thin line, then closed her eyes as she swallowed.
If only he’d had a camera.
Enjoying himself now, Jacob glanced around the restaurant. For a Monday night, the place seemed unusually crowded, but he supposed there wasn’t much else to do in Plug Nickel. At the far back of the restaurant, two pool tables had games going, and in the front of the room, a bald-headed deejay was setting up his equipment on a small stage.
The waitress placed two heaping plates of food on the table while a bus boy delivered two glasses of ice water, then nearly spilled it he was so busy staring at Clair. When Clair smiled at the smitten pup and thanked him, he grinned awkwardly, then tripped over his own feet backing away. Too busy washing away the taste of the beer, Clair didn’t notice.
Was she really that oblivious to her effect on men? Jacob wondered. He realized she’d lived in a confined community of culture and privilege, that her life had been arranged right down to the man she would marry, but still, how could she be so unaware of her looks? He knew from his report that her birth father was Cherokee, her mother Welsh. The combination had created an exotic appearance, a dark sensuality that could make a monk forget his vows.
He watched her take another sip of her beer, shudder, then dig delicately into her food. An expression of sheer pleasure, something that bordered on sexual, washed over her face as she chewed. The bite of tri-tip Jacob had taken turned to cardboard, and his throat went dry. The blood from his brain went south.
The woman had to be playing him for a fool, dammit. She couldn’t be as innocent as she appeared.
He kept his eyes and attention on his food, determined not to let her get to him. When the deejay announced it was karaoke night, Jacob was happy for the distraction, even though the first volunteer who sang Wynonna Judd’s “Why Not Me?” had a voice like a slipping radiator belt. Fascination lit Clair’s big blue eyes as she watched the different singers belt out an assortment of country and pop tunes.
“You should try it,” she yelled over the music. “You have a nice voice.”
He gave her a look that said, not in a million years.
Smiling, she pushed her plate aside and stood. He thought for a moment she was going to go up and sing, but she excused herself and headed for the ladies’ room. He watched the sway of her hips as she made her way through the crowded room, frowned when he noticed that several other men were watching her, as well.
He stabbed a bite of meat. What the hell did he care if other guys stared at her? It wasn’t like he was with her, or they were on a date or anything. Hell, even on those rare occasions when he’d been dating a woman on a regular basis, he’d never gotten himself worked up if another man looked. So why should it matter with Clair?
It didn’t matter. Not at all.
He watched a man sing his own rendition of Garth Brooks “Friends in Low Places,” then a woman who did a pretty good job with an old Patsy Cline song. He’d finished his meal, a second beer and still no sign of Clair. He told himself he wasn’t worried, he was simply annoyed. Extremely annoyed.
Frowning, he paid the bill, then headed in the direction of the ladies’ room. Honest to God, he was going to have Lojack installed in the woman.
He relaxed a little when he found her standing with another woman, watching a pool game between Mad Dog and one of his buddies. Based on the amount of cheers and whistles, there was some heavy betting going on.
Clair’s companion, a blonde in a short leather skirt, red halter top and high heels you could pick ice with, was busy talking and gesturing toward the pool table while Clair listened intently. When Jacob came up behind them, the blonde saw him first. She was dressed to catch a man’s eye, exposing more skin than fabric. He returned the smile she threw him, though more out of habit than interest. She was a fine-looking woman, but standing next to Clair, the blonde paled.
He slipped an easy arm around Clair’s shoulders, as much to lead her away as to establish who was with whom. Somehow he doubted that Clair’s Cotillion lessons had included singles bars and lounge lizards. He felt her stiffen, then saw the indignation in her narrowed eyes when she turned to see who had dared manhandle her. She frowned at him, but did not step away.
“Jacob,” Clair said over the noise, “this is Mindy Moreland. Mindy, Jacob Carver.”
Jacob nodded; Mindy lifted her beer glass to him and smiled wider.
“Mindy is head of housekeeping at The Night Owl,” Clair said as if it were the most fascinating job on earth. “We met in the rest room and I told her we’re staying there.”
Loud groans and cat calls drew their attention back to the pool game which had just ended with Mad Dog as the victor. Mindy ran over to throw her arms around the construction worker, and the loser ordered pitchers of beer for everyone. From the opposite end of the restaurant, a man was struggling through Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman.”
Jacob had to get out of here. Now.
Tightening his hold on Clair, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go.”
“You go ahead.”
He stared at her blankly. “What?”
“I’m going to hang around a little.” She waved a hand, as if to dismiss him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I’ll see you in the morning?
Like hell.
“Dammit, Clair,” he said tightly, “this isn’t the kind of place a nice girl hangs around alone.”
“Mindy’s nice, and she’s alone. We’re going to play a game of pool.”
Jacob looked at Mindy, watched her give Mad Dog a big, wet kiss. Mindy was an exceptionally nice girl, he thought, but knew better than to give Clair his opinion of the woman.
“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll play you a game of pool. If I win, we leave.”
“All right. But if I win—” she hesitated, thought carefully, then smiled “—you have to sing. And I pick the song.”
Like that would ever happen. “Absolutely not.”
She arched a brow. “So you think I’ll beat you?”
He heard the challenge in her voice and knew he should walk out. Just leave her. It was no skin off his nose if she wanted to hang out in a bar and play pool. She was a big girl, for God sakes. Isn’t that how she’d learn? By making mistakes?
But he couldn’t do it. He felt a…responsibility. Her brothers had paid him to find her, Clair was paying him to bring her to Wolf River. He had an obligation to see she got there safe and sound.
And besides, he’d never turned down a challenge in his life. He put his nose to hers. They’d be out of here in ten minutes tops.
“You’re on.”
They snagged a table and two pool cues, then Mindy, excited over the game, racked the balls. Jacob considered offering the break to Clair, maybe even setting her up for a shot or two.
Then he watched Mad Dog come over to wish her luck, and Jacob felt his lip curl.
No mercy.
“Lag for break,” he barked. When Clair stared at him in confusion, Mindy explained the term. Whoever banked off the far end of the pool table and came closest to the opposite cushion took the break.
Jacob took his shot, grinned confidently when he came with three inches. Clair took her shot and came within two.
Luck, he thought, but wasn’t worried. She’d need more than luck to win the game. When she leaned over and wiggled her hips to get in position, it was all Jacob could do to keep his mind on the game and his eye on the table.
When Clair broke and sank three balls, two solids and a stripe, he narrowed a gaze at her.
Damn lucky.
“What do I do now?” Cla
ir asked her new best-buddy Mindy.
“Pick solids or stripes,” the blonde said.
To Jacob’s annoyance, a crowd had gathered around. When Clair chose stripes, clearly giving him the advantage, he scowled at her.
In perfect form, she sank the fourteen ball, then the twelve.
Sweat broke out on his brow when she sank the nine ball.
Nobody was that lucky. Son of a bitch. He set his jaw so tight he could have cracked a molar.
Little Miss Innocent had set him up.
He got a break on the next shot when the sound of shattering glass from the bar distracted her. No fool, he made every shot count. He sank four balls, then just missed the one ball on a double bank. He’d pick it up next turn.
He never got the chance.
He watched in disbelief as one after the other, she sank her remaining balls, then smoothly popped in the eight ball.
She’d beat him. She’d actually won.
There were cheers and whistles around the table. Mindy hugged Clair and Mad Dog gave her a high-five. Jacob stared at the surreal scene, then leveled a gaze at her. “You’ve played pool before.”
She shook her head. “Only snooker with my father. He’s very good.”
Very good? Jacob lifted a brow.
Clair handed her cue to Mindy, then came around the table. “You aren’t going to welch on our bet, are you?”
He set his teeth. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Clair supposed she could let Jacob off the hook. In a way, she had hustled him. She’d played snooker since she was a child and was better than good at it. Though the rules and strategy were completely different from standard pool, the basics of how to strike a ball were the same. She also knew that because he hadn’t expected her to beat him, she’d caught him off guard and he hadn’t played to his ability.
It hardly seemed fair or proper to compel him to make good on their bet, she thought. After all, wasn’t it enough she’d actually won? Shouldn’t she be the gracious victor and allow him a little dignity?
She glanced at his scowling face.
Nah.
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