She bent her head to smooth the silky material. “The dress looks better now, but at first it was pretty wrinkled.”
“Well, you’re perfect now from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.”
Taffeta took in his outfit. He wore jeans and a western shirt about the same color as her eyes. He had accessorized with a black western jacket, a bolo tie, and gleaming black boots. “You’re not half-bad, either,” she said.
“Sweetheart, together we’re gonna knock the ball clear out of the park.”
When they left the house, Barney surprised her by stopping to lock the front door. “I already got the back one from inside. I ran the dead bolt home after I fed my horses.”
“Thank you, Barney.” Phillip would have snarled and told her to get over it. “It’s sweet of you to change your habits for me.”
“I think that’s what married people are supposed to do. At least my folks talk about it being a fifty-fifty compromise. Actually they say they always try to give in sixty percent of the time. If they both do that, it ends up being a relationship that always accommodates both parties.”
Taffeta could only imagine being in a marriage like that.
She’d draped a black wool shawl over her scantily clad shoulders, but it wasn’t thick enough to completely protect her from the chill evening air. The sun wouldn’t officially set until about a quarter to eight, but Mystic Creek rested in a mountain-encircled bowl, and the warmth of the sunlight had already vanished behind the peaks. Barney got a firm grip on her arm in case she lost her balance in her high-heeled shoes as she crossed the uneven ground to his truck.
“I’d happily take you out in your car,” he said, “but I tried to drive one of those roller skates once, and no way could I fit. My head poked into the ceiling, and I had a crick in my neck for days.”
“I’m happy to go in your pickup. I didn’t think I would, but I like big, rumbly vehicles.”
Taffeta had reason to regret those words a moment later. Climbing into the Dodge proved to be difficult. Her skirt was too tight to lift her foot to the running board.
From behind her, Barney laughed. “Brace yourself, gorgeous. This calls for a cowboy lift.” Taking her off guard, he scooped her up into his arms and gently deposited her on the seat. Then he leaned in to fasten her seat belt, lightly grazing the tips of her breasts with the side of his hand as he pulled the nylon strap over her chest. Taffeta’s breath snagged in her throat.
As if he hadn’t noticed, he said, “You like big and rumbly, do you? Someday I’ll take you for a ride in my John Deere tractor, just like in the song.”
Taffeta had heard that song. She’d also heard one about a cowboy who took a woman into the woods for a walk and then told her he needed to check her for ticks. If given her druthers, she’d take the second scenario.
• • •
Dusk blanketed Mystic Creek by the time Barney turned onto the lane that encircled the town center. Taffeta had often walked on the cobbled pedestrian path, but never just before dark, with upper-story apartment windows glowing gold and streetlights starting to come on, their globes haloed in the frozen, sparkly air. It reminded her of a Christmas card scene, with quaint, old-fashioned buildings looming.
He took her to dine at the fanciest restaurant in town, Peck’s Red Rooster. The dining area was large and attractively appointed with rustic barn-plank walls and tables draped with white linen and sporting contrasting barn red napkins folded to resemble roosters. Half partitions separated some of the eating areas for those seeking solitude while they ate, but the nooks didn’t infringe upon the large windows at the opposite end of the room, which offered a spectacular view of Mystic Creek and the natural bridge.
Chris Peck must have spotted them as they entered, because he emerged from the kitchen off to the right to greet them. “So the newlyweds have come to receive their wedding present,” he said with a pleased grin. “I’m delighted to see both of you.”
Barney looked startled and then chagrined. “Oh, man, I totally forgot about that, Chris. I only want to wine and dine my bride—on my own dime.”
Chris shook his head. “Wine and dine her, then, but Kim and I will be very disappointed if you don’t accept this evening as our gift to you.”
As he led them to a table for two near the windows, Taffeta glimpsed a display of children’s drawings. “Are those from the elementary school?” she asked.
Chris smiled. “No. On Saturdays I host an art hour for any local kids who like to draw. I’m supposed to pick out the best drawing and give that child a free ice cream.” He winked at Taffeta. “I can never choose the best artwork, though, so they’re all judged to be the winner, and everyone gets free ice cream. It’s a hoot.”
“That’s so kind of you.”
“Aw, well, possibly. On the other hand, maybe I’m just trying to lure parents in to eat.”
He drew out Taffeta’s chair. When both she and Barney were seated, he said, “I hope you enjoy your meal and will humor us by not worrying about the tab.”
Taffeta watched Barney’s warring expressions and knew the precise moment when he realized it would be rude to refuse. With a chuckle, he said, “Okay, you win, but we’ll bear in mind that someone else is paying for our orders.”
Chris left briefly and returned with a pitcher to fill their crystal water goblets. Then he disappeared again, only to reappear with an uncorked bottle of wine in one hand and two wide-mouth wineglasses in the other. A crisp white linen towel was draped over his right arm. “I’ve been saving this for just the right occasion, and this is the night,” he said, holding up the bottle. “It’s a Blue-Gold award winner, bottled in 2006, a great pinot noir that I’m sure has grown better with age.”
Taffeta sent Barney a look that she hoped didn’t convey her dismay to their host. An award-winning wine? What was Chris thinking? He was treating them like royalty.
“You do imbibe, don’t you?” Chris asked her.
“Oh yes. Yes! It’s just that—well, it’s beyond generous, Mr. Peck, and I feel guilty about accepting.”
Chris shrugged. “We don’t stand on ceremony. Please call me Chris and don’t for a moment feel guilty. Everyone in town has been hoping that Barney would meet the right lady, and this is a joyous occasion to celebrate. As for this being a red, it’s only a starter to set the mood. If you choose chicken, fish, or seafood, I have some fine white wines in mind for you.”
He set a goblet by each of their place settings, then expertly poured both Taffeta and Barney a small amount for taste testing. Barney swirled the glass to study the wine’s legs. Then he sniffed its bouquet and drew in a small amount to roll it over his tongue. With a nod, he said to Chris, “It’s fabulous, Chris. Thank you so much.”
Taffeta nodded in agreement. “It’s delicious. I detect a hint of oak, and the tannins are in perfect balance.”
With a wink, Barney smiled broadly at the restaurateur. “Just don’t let me leave here intoxicated. I’d have to give myself my first DUI.”
Chris barked with laughter and put a generous measure of wine in each of their glasses. “We have a chauffeur who happily drives intoxicated diners home and then brings them back the next morning to get their vehicles. Her name is Kim. So enjoy. I’ll bring your menus in just a moment.” He glanced at the bottle after he set it on the table. “I read the reviews, but it’s been a while. As I recall, it has a hint of clove and is sweet with plum.”
Taffeta took another sip of wine. “It’s awesome, Chris. I definitely taste a hint of clove. Very vibrant with a savory scent and fruity on the tongue.”
As Chris walked away, Barney leaned closer to the candlelight that flickered between them. “What I know about wine fits in a thimble. I’ve read enough about tasting to pretend I know what I’m doing, but I honestly don’t. Do you really detect clove?”
Taffeta leaned closer as well. “I
attended the wine-tasting school of hard knocks,” she whispered. “When you hang around with the upper class for three years, you learn to fake it.”
Barney burst out laughing, and then he tasted his wine again. “It’s really good. Better than the mediocre stuff I normally buy. I look for bottles that are eight bucks or less.”
It was Taffeta’s turn to chuckle. “I hear you. Only my budget dictates six dollars or less. The last I saw on the Net, now I have to brand-shop my cheap wines because several have been fingered for containing arsenic.”
They slipped easily into a conversation about wine and the professionals who graded them, Barney stating that he didn’t know how people trained their taste buds to detect the many flavors that could be present in different fermentations.
“I can pick up on some things,” Taffeta said. “But mostly I wing it. To say you detect a hint of oak is usually a safe bet because most good wines are aged in oak barrels. And the tannins are normally present because they’re used to clarify wine. Tannins can be bitter and overwhelming in some wines. If you aren’t overwhelmed by any bitter taste, you can say that the tannins are perfectly balanced.”
“I should hang out with you more often. I may not know my wine, but with those tips, I can at least pretend I do.” He took another sip of the pinot. “I don’t detect a noticeable bitter taste in this.”
“Which is why I mentioned the perfect balance,” Taffeta said. “It isn’t that I wanted to impress Chris. I only wanted him to believe we have the trained palates necessary to appreciate his gift. I’ve been served much older award-winning wines, which probably cost a small fortune, but this is a nice, upper-scale wine, possibly around fifty dollars per bottle originally and now worth more because it has aged.”
Barney’s eyebrows arched. “Shit. He should have just bought us a toaster.”
For some reason, his comment struck both of them as being hilariously funny, and they laughed until they almost cried. Taffeta was the first to collect herself, not because she no longer found it amusing, but because tears would smear her makeup. She wanted to look as good as she could for this man.
Barney sobered and lifted his glass. Gazing deeply into her eyes, he gently tapped his goblet against hers. “To us,” he said. “And to our success. Maybe one day soon, we’ll have your little girl here to go out to eat with us.”
Taffeta’s heart clutched. Was he real, this man? He cared—he truly cared—about a child that he’d never met. Sarah’s father had never once shown as much concern for her as Barney was. And how could Taffeta resist him, knowing that? He was the perfect blend of rugged masculinity and compassion.
With the flicker of amber flame dancing over his chiseled features, he was, without question, one of the handsomest men Taffeta had ever met. The sharp planes and strong angles of his features would, she felt sure, tempt any artist to capture his face on canvas. And, she realized with dismay, she would probably empty her meager savings account to possess the painting. He fascinated her so that she could have studied his countenance for hours without growing bored.
He gazed back at her as if he found her to be equally attractive. An act? Taffeta didn’t know, but the intimate setting and the charming ambience of the restaurant—elegant, yet welcoming—lured her into relaxed enjoyment of the moment, which was so seductive that she couldn’t determine what was real or what wasn’t—and she didn’t really care.
Chapter Thirteen
Chris delivered embossed leather menus to their table, and after he left, Taffeta perused the entrée choices. This was her first visit to Peck’s Red Rooster. Compared to the prices she had once encountered in Erickson, she felt that these were more than fair, which, in her opinion, explained why this establishment drew so many customers. The Pecks offered fine food that even a working stiff could afford occasionally.
Vaguely aware that the dining room was crammed with people, Taffeta listened to the drone of conversation all around her, but she couldn’t make out any of the words. She guessed that the Pecks must have consulted with acoustic experts before designing the building. She’d eaten at too many restaurants where the sound of voices was almost deafening. No matter how nice the surroundings, she found it difficult to enjoy a dining experience when she couldn’t hear what others at her table were saying.
Bearing in mind that her meal would be on the house, Taffeta decided on the least expensive entrée she saw, chicken cacciatore with roasted garlic and lemon asparagus. Just as she set her menu aside, Darina Penny delivered small tasting platters of appetizers to their table.
A slender woman, she wore a uniform shirt and slacks that matched the table napkins, but that didn’t prevent her from looking classy. She appeared to be in her early thirties and wore her blond-streaked hair pulled up into a spiky but attractive topknot. Carefully applied cosmetics accentuated her delicate features and twinkling brown eyes. She flashed a bright smile.
“Compliments of Chris and Kim,” she said cheerfully. “Not every appetizer that they feature is present, but this will give you a fair idea of Chris’s talent in the kitchen.”
“Oh, how lovely,” Taffeta replied.
The waitress held out her hand. As Taffeta grasped her outstretched fingers, the other woman said, “I’ve been in your shop, Taffeta, but it was always so busy that I never introduced myself. My name is Darina.”
“I know your name,” Taffeta said with a laugh. “In a town this size, where everyone knows almost everyone else, I guess introductions aren’t necessary. It’s great to actually meet you, though.”
Barney inserted, “Darina’s son, Devon, fed my animals while we were in Reno.”
“And loved getting the work!” Darina fixed her warm gaze on Taffeta again. “A teenage boy with a single mom is always trying to earn money for something. Thanks to Chris and Kim, I make a nice income here—enough to support us, anyway—but it often doesn’t stretch far enough for the special things he wants.”
As Darina turned her attention to the appetizer platters, Taffeta wondered why she was single. In her opinion, Darina was very appealing.
With a flutter of her graceful fingers, she said, “A bit of fresh fruit, orange supreme.” She rolled her eyes. “Chris is always after me to pronounce it orange sooh-prem, but it seems to stick on my tongue. Then we have sautéed oyster and button mushrooms, with thinly sliced lemons, lemon essence, and scallions, cooked to delicate perfection in extra-virgin olive oil, butter, and dry white wine.” She grinned. “Next up, stuffed fingerling potatoes. I don’t know how he makes them taste so good, but I can never eat only one. And I know you’ll enjoy the Gruyère puffs. He seasons them with special herbs.”
“Wow,” Barney said. “I could make a meal with only the appetizers.”
“Oh, Chris and Kim will never let you get away that easy,” Darina assured them. “Have you each selected an entrée yet?”
Taffeta said that she had decided on the cacciatore, which made Barney laugh because he’d meant to order the same thing. Darina convinced both of them to try the filet mignon instead, despite their unspoken concurrence to order on the cheap.
After the waitress left to place their orders, Taffeta took a small serving from each appetizer platter, as did Barney, and they conversed over the offerings like two people who were completely absorbed in each other. Even discussing how Chris and Kim folded the napkins to resemble roosters seemed intimate.
Barney occasionally reached over to touch her cheek or hold her hand. He told her the legend of Mystic Creek and how, supposedly, two people who met on the bridge or along the stream were destined to fall in love. Taffeta had heard different versions of the tale from her customers, all with the same theme. Her favorite was that any lonely stranger who stood along the stream would fall in love with someone and live happily ever after. When she first moved here, she’d stood on the bank of the creek, wishing the legend were true, even though she’d long since decided
that she would never be lucky in romantic relationships.
“Do you really believe that there’s something magical about the creek?” she asked him.
Barney smiled. “My parents met by the creek—or on the bridge. I can’t remember for sure—but they got married shortly thereafter, and to this day, the one thing they argue most vehemently about is whether Dad got her to the altar in only three weeks or if my mom held out for at least a month.”
Taffeta laughed. “And I take it that they’ve been blissfully happy?”
“Very.” He shrugged. “And then my brother met Amanda here, and they’re happy as clams. He loves her little girl, Chloe, as much as if she were his own. So I guess it’s possible that magic is at work here in Mystic Creek. We have a lot of couples who met each other here and appear to have solid marriages.”
Taffeta could only wish that fate might one day lead her there—and, if possible, with this man.
After enjoying a superb meal, Barney escorted Taffeta out onto the deck. The air was crisp, and the water-kissed breeze cut through her shawl to make her shiver. She whimsically wondered if their standing together over the water might mean they were going to find love to last a lifetime.
“Ah, honey, you’re cold.” Barney looped an arm around her and drew her in close to share his heat. Gazing down into her eyes, he bent his head. Taffeta knew that he intended to kiss her. She also knew that he was only playing a role for the audience of diners inside and the gesture would mean nothing.
Only when their lips met, her head swirled and desire flared low in her belly. His mouth felt silken and tasted heady from the wine. The light release of his breath feathered over her face. He demanded nothing, but he was a master at inviting her to offer him more. And she was helpless to resist, going limp as he turned to embrace her with both arms. She wasn’t a petite woman, but he seemed to tower over her. He felt so warm and sturdy, every line of his body steely with muscle. He ran a big hand into her loose hair to caress the nape of her neck as he deepened the kiss, delving deep to taste her mouth. Her breathing hitched and then grew rapid and uneven.
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