by Stuart, Amie
Jace laughed too. "Okay, well, it was just a thought."
"I know, and I appreciate it, but that's not where I need to be." That part of my life was over. And I had a feeling it'd be a long time before I could even watch a rodeo.
"So, where do you need to be?" he asked quietly.
"I'm not sure, but when I get there, I'll call."
"You do that," he said softly, "and Jessa, don't forget I'm here if you need me."
"Thanks, Bub."
After hanging up with Jace, I picked at my now-cold dinner and decided on a bath to ease the aches that all the walking had brought on—and try out my new bath goodies. My cell phone rang once, but I ignored it. I appreciated my brother's concern but someday soon he'd have to cut the damned apron string. When I got out of the bath I realized it wasn't Jace calling me, but Zack. I toweled off and quickly threw on a nightshirt before dialing my voicemail.
His voice was as great as I remembered from the previous night. Just sexy. Husky, but not too deep, with a slight drawl. The type of voice you could just sit and listen to all night—or at least I could. I kept seeing hazel green eyes in my mind while I listened—three times—then saved it.
He said he'd try me later, but on impulse, I dialed his number, squeaking and trying not to choke on my spit when he answered on the third ring.
I squeaked?
I blamed my shaking hands on the cold but knew better. Who was I kidding?
"Hope? Hi!" His voice shook a little too. That's good. At least I wasn't the only nervous one.
"I got your message." I felt my way to the bed behind me and sat, desperately trying to think of something else to say. Water dripped from my hair and slid down my back, distracting me and making me shiver. I should have dried it first. Talk, Jessa! It was just Zack, after all.
"I just called to see if you were feeling better, and to give you directions to the hotel, if you're still coming."
"Of course I'm still coming." I set my towel aside and scrambled for a pen and paper beside the hotel phone. I wouldn't miss this trip, or him, for the world.
"Good. I'm glad…I was worried about you."
The smile in his voice was unmistakable, but hearing he'd been worried about me stopped me cold. He sounded so sincere and concerned. I got a lump in my throat and found myself struggling against a sudden attack of the sniffles. "I'm much better, thanks. For listening and for asking."
"No problem, and if you need to vent some more about your job, I've got a good ear."
That left me feeling even worse. "I've decided I'm gonna look on the bright side, like you said. My getting fired just gave us the opportunity to meet that much sooner, right?"
"I like your attitude. You ready for those directions?"
***
Late the next morning I landed in Texas, sure my stomach would never be the same, despite my first class accommodations.
Lucky for me the airport was relatively small so I had no problem finding the rental car desk or getting to my car, but even with directions, I still managed to get turned around on the freeway. I succeeded on my second try and once I passed the San Antonio city limits, things quickly turned rural with miles of fence and mesquite and a large cluster of very pricey homes perched up on a hill to my right.
From there it was a piece of cake. I found my exit, the dancehall with the neon Bluebonnet sign, the hotel—right across from the HEB grocery store and a Starbucks, just like he'd said.
The hotel was nothing fancy but it was fairly new and clean, which was all that really mattered to someone who had spent nearly ten years living out of a suitcase. And my room was standard hotel fair, complete with a mattress harder than the ground and lots of hot water.
I quickly unpacked and changed, pausing in the middle of putting on clean panties to study my hourglass figure out of the corner of my eye. In the early days of my career, my short, curvy figure had been the butt of many jokes.
But what would Zack, an artist, think of me?
I'd been blessed with straight teeth and Daddy's silvery-blue eyes, but cursed with a nose that had been broken more than once. One night in Tulsa some townie was harassing me. He'd wanted to dance. I hadn't wanted to confess my two left feet, so I very politely told him no. Unfortunately, drunk men don't take rejection too well.
After we were thrown out of the bar for fighting, my friend Tee had joked that I had the body of a goddess and the temper of a demon. He was right. At least on the temper part. The body was anyone's guess.
I blew out a heavy breath and blinked a few times, clearing my head. Time was passing. I threw on a baby blue shirt picked up on my shopping expedition, capris and some brown leather sandals with a small heel. Unfortunately, no matter how many times I walked around in front of the mirror, I couldn't seem to get a feel for them. And my toes looked plum weird.
They needed major help. A pedicure, which I'd never had.
I threw my hands up in defeat and changed into a pair of hiphugger Levi's and my broke-in Ariat mules. That choice wasn't much better—I felt like my pants might fall down any second—but the clock was ticking and at least I could walk in these shoes.
Styling my hair consisted of twisting it up in a clip and pulling a few strands loose around my ears. I slapped on some makeup, then went back and tried it again, with feeling. Makeup had never been a big deal for me and normally, I kept it to a minimum.
Jittery with nerves and still a bit queasy from my flight, I tried to distract myself flipping channels, but the controller kept sticking to my sweaty hands and I kept wiping them on the polyester bedspread. It was a vicious cycle.
Nervous was a major understatement.
I gave myself a mental peptalk on the walk downstairs: I'd competed against some of the toughest cowboys in the business; I'd ridden some of the toughest horses ever. I was smart, I was cute, I had a big ass. Stop that. Okay, I was smart.
And a liar.
I was supposed to be an accountant. I even chanted "Hope" all the way down, praying I wouldn't screw up and forget to answer to it.
As I reached the bottom of stairs, I spotted Zack talking to the desk clerk who'd checked me in less than an hour before. And from the back, Zack looked good.
Real good.
I smiled, despite my weak knees, then tried to wipe the grin off my face as the clerk spotted me. She grinned back in the way women who share secrets do. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who thought he looked mighty fine.
Zack's shoulder-length hair was pulled back in his customary ponytail and he had on a dark green T-shirt that stretched across his thick chest and hugged his broad shoulders.
Wranglers.
He was wearing Wranglers. Heaven help me. There's nothing better than a man in a pair of broken-in Wranglers. And his were. Snug, but not tight, and ass-huggin'.
I sighed, sure that desk clerk read my mind—she must have, judging from the way her smile turned into a smirk. I continued across the lobby, praying I didn't trip and land on my face and that he didn't notice the slight limp brought out by fatigue and probably, nerves.
Zack turned around, and my face caught fire. I felt as if I'd been caught staring. Which I had, but he was a remarkable sight, and the front showed mighty nice too. I resisted the urge to fan myself.
He was a classic green-eyed redhead with the cutest set of freckles and a tan. Up close, I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes and his full lips beneath a tidy goatee a few shades darker than his hair.
"Hi." I have no idea where that breathy little voice came from. It was nearly as bad as squeaking.
I could hear the desk clerk mentally taking notes, and knowing small towns, had a pretty good feeling that the resident gossip mill would be hard at work this afternoon. Bluebonnet was, after all, a town of barely five-thousand. People talked, and when a strange women showed up out of nowhere, people noticed.
Glancing at the desk clerk and then back at me, he asked, "Are you ready to go?" His voice shook the tiniest bit and I took a deep brea
th and reminded myself he was just as nervous as I was.
"Yeah." I threw a smile the clerk's way and mumbled a goodbye.
As we stepped outside, she hollered out, "Ya'll have a good time, and don't do anything I wouldn't do." When I looked over my shoulder at Zack, who was holding the door, his face was as red as mine felt.
"Well, wasn't that nice," I quipped as the glass door closed behind him. I got a genuine smile for my efforts. One that reached his eyes, that drew up in little crinkles, and gave me a flash of teeth. He chuckled and held out his arm.
I took it with a smile. That one gallant gesture won him triple the brownie points than his Wranglers had.
"I know you've been traveling, but I thought we might drive up to Gruene for lunch."
Arm in arm we walked toward an old Dodge pickup. It definitely wasn't on it's last legs but it had seen better days. "Green?"
"Gruene—it's about thirty minutes away."
What in the hell was I gonna think of to talk about for thirty minutes? "Sounds great!"
Chapter Eight
Zack
Zack fought the urge to stare. He couldn't believe how pretty Hope was up close and in person. And not just pretty but sexy too, in a definitely earthy way. As good as, if not better than, her photo. And she was here, with him. He should have brought flowers or something.
He took a deep breath to try and steady his nerves, only to be greeted by the smell of vanilla. Nothing heavy or overdone. Just vanilla. The clean, simple fragrance warmed his blood. And she looked damn good too in a shirt that fit snug against her full breasts and set off her eyes. Mentally Zack shook himself, reigning in a rush of lust. They were a long way from that.
Once they reached the truck, he opened the door and helped her inside.
"Sorry it's such a mess." Actually, the truck wasn't that messy, just old, and he hadn't had time to vacuum or Armor-all the dashboard.
"Oh that's alright," she replied, settling in. "You should see mine. After years of living in it, I'm used to messy trucks."
"Living in it?"
She glanced up at him with wide eyes, then back to her lap as she hooked her seatbelt. "Yeah, you know. When you spend so much time in it, you feel like you should put a bed in the back."
With a chuckle, he shut the door. Even walking around to the driver's side, he could see her watching him and hoped she wasn't disappointed in what she saw. She didn't seem to be though. Just shy and a little flustered.
"Are you hungry?" he asked once they were on I-10.
"Starved, I don't fly well at all so I skipped breakfast. So tell me about Gruene?"
He exited the highway and got them on 46, heading toward Gruene before he replied. "The town's pretty geared toward tourists, but Gruene Hall is...well you just need to see it." He flashed her a quick grin before focusing back on the twisty, hilly road.
"Should I be worried?"
"They don't call it the oldest dancehall in Texas for nothing." He glanced over at her giggle, resisting the urge to reach for her hand. Maybe on the way back. "You know that movie, Michael with John Travolta?"
"It's been a while but yeah."
"You know the scene when he's dancing in the bar and all the women join in?" Her exaggerated uh-uhh made him chuckle. "Yuh-huh! Right in little bitty Gruene, Texas."
"I think you're yankin' my chain, Zachary Boudreaux."
He'd like to do more than yank her chain. "I'll show you the photos when we get there."
"So are we eating at the dancehall?"
"No, huh-uh. There's a restaurant right next door."
So far so good.
Watching her fingers nervously smoothing down her jean-clad thighs, he realized she was just as nervous as he. Her short tidy nails were free of polish and she didn't wear a lot of makeup. Definitely not a priss. Talk, Zack. "So what do you think of Texas? Is this your first time down here?"
"It's... no. My best friend has a place down in Rockport, so we try to get down there a couple times a year." Nerves apparently had her stuttering and rambling worse than him, but he found it endearing. He talked about Travis a while—the one topic he could always find plenty to say on—and she countered with stories about her godchildren until they reached the town proper and parked near the dancehall.
By the time he climbed out and reached her side of the truck, she was nearly out. She blinked up at him in surprise and smiled before stepping out of the way. He took her hand and shut the door for her.
She wasn't used to having doors held for her. And she couldn't dance. And she froze her candy bars before she ate them.
She pulled him up short on the brick path leading toward The Gristmill Restaurant and stood silently studying the dancehall with its peeling white paint.
"Dancehall first?" he murmured.
"I wanna see that picture," she replied with a nod.
They walked around front and he held the old screen door for her. He stepped inside behind her in time to hear, "My God a wooden floor. I've seen some old bars in my day, but honey, I think this one takes the cake."
Chuckling, Zack nodded to the lone bartender manning the place, trying to see it through her eyes. The old screen door, the long wooden bench that ran along one wall, the old potbelly stove, and unvarnished wood floors and walls. Originally built in 1878, the hall had reopened in 1979 and played host to music legends like George Strait, Jerry Jeff Walker and Delbert McClinton.
A feminine, "Oh my God," followed by a soft laugh caught his attention. Hope stood under the autographed photo of John Travolta dancing, dressed as Michael from the movie.
He walked up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze. Little pieces of dark, silky hair brushed the back of his hand as she turned her head and looked up at him. "Guess I owe you an apology, huh, cowboy?"
Something about the way she said 'cowboy' left him weak-kneed and yeah, turned on. Or maybe it was her dimples, or her eyes or her very round backside less than a foot from him. He wasn't normally one for public displays of affection but gave in to the urge and pressed his lips to the little crease made by her dimple. He caught her little sigh of pleasure as she leaned against him. He looked up, surprised to see her eyes closed and lips parted. But even with just the old bartender watching, he couldn't bring himself to kiss her. Not yet.
***
"So." Hope picked up her menu and studied it. "What's good?"
"Everything." He smiled across the table at her, unable to focus on his own menu.
After their quick trip through the dancehall, they'd made the short walk to the restaurant. The cool spring weather and a desire for privacy had moved him to suggest they eat out on the deck overlooking the Brazos River and being a Wednesday, they practically had the place to themselves.
"You're a big help." Hope grinned then blushed, but he just laughed in reply.
He liked like the sassiness he caught a glimpse of. She reminded him a bit of Aunt Susie but better. Much much better. He found her nervousness endearing and was flattered at the thought that he was the cause of it. It had been a long time since a woman had looked at him like that, stealing glances over the top of her menu. Still, he reminded himself this was Hope. He knew her; she knew him. Everything was going to be fine.
"So, Hope."
"So, Zack," she interrupted with a grin.
He chuckled, but before he could continue their waitress returned with their drinks—tea for Hope and Coke for Zack—and took their orders before disappearing again.
After the waitress was out of sight he tried again. "So Hope, I'm curious. Why'd you answer my ad?"
Instead of the laughter-filled response he'd expected, her cheeks turned pink and her head drooped. "I-I got hurt."
"Hurt?" The first thought that crossed his mind was she got dumped by another guy.
"I was...in the hospital when I wrote you. The first time. When I answered your ad." She watched him over the top of her glass, a frown creasing her forehead.
He coul
dn't quite connect the dots from A to B—how she'd gone from being hurt in the hospital to answering his ad. Or why she suddenly seemed so upset. "How?"
"A-a-a skiing accident." She nervously tucked some stray hairs behind her ear and then rested her chin in her hand. "I was in the hospital and it was the holidays and—" her voice dropped as she added, "I was lonely.
"My family went home and left just my brother to look after me."
"So it was a family ski trip?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. My stepmother was afraid they wouldn't be able to get home for Christmas, so it was just me and Jace and Kane. My best friend."
So they'd left her behind in a hospital on the holidays. Wow. No wonder she didn't want to talk about them.
"Have you ever had something happen, Zack, that made you stop and think? Really think. It made you—" she stammered, still not quite able to look at him. "Reevaluate I guess."
"How badly were you hurt?"
The bottom fell out of his stomach at the list of injuries she matter-of-factly rattled off. Injuries that could have killed her.
"You sure you weren't snowboarding?"
"No," she laughed, "that's Colby."
"So I guess that would qualify as a near-death experience, huh?" He struggled to keep his tone as light as hers had been, but deep down inside he was disturbed by her injuries and even her casual attitude. "You could have died," he finally said.
"Yeah," she replied with a shrug and a little grimace.
"And then you got fired. That just doesn't seem right somehow." Maybe Tim had been right about her wanting money. He disliked the thought as soon as it crossed his mind but maybe she wasn't as independent as she'd made herself out to be. Sure she'd survived and she could walk just fine but…he'd be less than human if he didn't have a few doubts.
"This has been the most horrible year," she warbled.
So much for casual. Now he'd gone and done it. She was gonna bawl. Now he felt bad. She hadn't asked him for anything except to visit.
"There's nothing I can do about getting fired, and...and my brother left. I got mad at him and ran him off and it's all my fault and my dad's mad at me be-because my sister's pregnant and the father is a friend of..." She stared across the table at him in horror, as if she knew she'd said way, way too much.