Читать книгу His Marriage Pact - Kathie DeNosky - Страница 9
ОглавлениеThe Last Chance Ranch...
Her first thought, as she left her compact sedan and strode toward the single-story white stone structure set somewhere between San Antonio and the middle of nowhere. Her second thought—the South Texas weather was ridiculously hot for March. She should never have worn the tailored black blazer and skirt. Fortunately she’d twisted her hair up and off her neck that was now damp with perspiration. Of course in part, her current predicament could be attributed to nerves, not the afternoon sun. And a good dose of desperation.
Once she reached the threshold, Paris flipped her sunglasses up onto her head and noted the wooden plaque to the right of the entry.
“Welcome to the D Bar C, where cowboys and hospitality rule. Take off your boots, hang your hat and come in to sit a spell. And if we don’t happen to be here, just reach out and ring the bell.”
Cute. Very cute. Unfortunately she wasn’t wearing a hat or boots, but what she wouldn’t give to kick off her three-inch heels and barrel in barefoot. Not a banner idea when applying for a job, and boy did she need this job. Of course, the position hadn’t exactly been announced, yet that hadn’t stopped her from showing up, uninvited, which could result in rejection. Nothing new there.
After smoothing a palm down her jacket, Paris drew in a calming breath as she clutched the strap of the teal briefcase hanging from her shoulder. She exhaled slowly before opening the heavy mahogany door to find the place blessedly cool, otherwise she might have shed her blazer to reveal the sheer sleeveless white shell. The area happened to be completely deserted, not one soul in sight behind the lengthy mahogany counter, yet she did spot the aforementioned bell.
She could ring it to summon someone, or she could wait. She could leave, or she could convene some courage and see this through. But she had come too far to give up now.
In a fit of sheer procrastination, Paris took a few moments to study the area with a designer’s eye. Aside from the usual office equipment behind the counter, she discovered typical Western decor—burnt-orange-and-white cowhide chairs set about the waiting area, massive stone fireplace with a heavy wood mantel, a set of horns hanging above said mantel. She moved closer to read the bronze plaque below the sad symbol of human cruelty to find it etched with “Prize twelve-point buck bagged by J. D. Calloway.”
Lovely. Just lovely. She supposed she should be thankful dear J.D. had only saved the horns as a souvenir and not the poor deer’s entire head.
More than ready to see this spontaneous plan through, Paris turned back to the counter and reached for the bell with a trembling hand. But before she could pick it up, a tall, dark-haired man emerged from an entry at the far end of the office, looking as if he had walked right out of an Old West time warp and into the future. He kept his attention trained on a document clasped in his rather large and masculine hands as he strode toward her, the jingle of spurs echoing against the beige walls, providing her the prime opportunity to do a comprehensive inspection. He was every bit a cowboy, from the top of his tan hat to the tip of his brown leather boots. He wore a faded blue shirt and equally faded blue jeans, yet the large silver belt buckle drew her immediate focus. She noticed the word Champion before her gaze traveled lower to a place no self-respecting, professional woman should go.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
At the sound of the incredibly deep voice, Paris’s attention returned to the cowboy’s face, her cheeks flaming from mortification. “Uh, actually, I’m...” Heavens, the impact of his silver-blue eyes caused her to forget her name. She’d seen several photographs of him, yet none had done Dallas Calloway justice.
He reacted to her momentary mental lapse with a half smile, revealing a deep dimple creasing the left of his whisker-shaded jaw. “Are you lost?”
“Not really,” she managed to say although in a sense she did feel a bit lost. “I’m Paris Reynolds.”
He leaned over the counter and offered a hand. “Dallas Calloway. What can I do for you?”
That question was as loaded as a shotgun. But since this man could hold the key to her future financial security, she had to regain her composure. “I’m here about your new venture.”
Before he could respond, a petite woman dressed in a plain tailored floral blouse covering faded jeans, her silver-and-brown hair twisted into a braid, strode into the room and pulled up short when she caught sight of the pair. She eyed Paris with suspicion as she made her way to Dallas’s side. “Whatever you’re selling, we’re not buying.”
Paris had the feeling no one crossed this woman and lived to tell about it. “I’m not selling anything but my services.”
She huffed. “For your information, my stepson doesn’t have to pay for it.”
When awareness dawned, another bout of embarrassment plagued Paris. “You’ve definitely misunderstood my motives. I’m here to discuss a business proposition.” Not that the explanation sounded much better, evidenced by the woman’s raised eyebrows.
“Stop jumping to conclusions, Mom,” Dallas interjected. “I’m fairly sure that’s not what she’s selling.”
The woman propped a hand on her hip and sneered. “Dallas deals on a daily basis with females who come here under the guise of business.”
“Oh, so true, Maria,” came from behind Paris. “Our stepson is a regular chick magnet.”
Paris turned to find a pretty middle-aged blonde dressed in a chic coral sundress, standing at the front door. Apparently the place was rife with the now-deceased J. D. Calloway’s wives. Determined to get off on the right foot with this one, she held out her hand and smiled. “I’m Paris Reynolds.”
The blonde returned her smile and shook her hand with much more gusto than Paris expected. “I’m Jenny Parks Calloway, J.D.’s third wife.”
“Not officially,” Maria added in a sour tone.
Paris assumed there must be a story behind that comment, but chose to remain silent and await the fallout between the feuding former spouses.
It came out in Jenny’s intense frown. “Please forgive the second missus. Sometimes Maria forgets her manners. What shade on the color chart is your blond, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Paris’s hand immediately went to her hair. “I wouldn’t know. I’m actually a natural blonde.”
Jenny chuckled. “Oh, so am I.”
“And I’m the queen of Texas,” Maria said with a smirk.
Ignoring the other mother, Jenny turned her smile back on Paris. “By the way, I love, love, love your suit, sugar.”
Paris grasped to find a return compliment. “Thank you, and I love your bracelet.”
Jenny twisted the diamond and silver leaf bauble around her wrist. “And thank you. I picked this up at a silent auction at the art center in San Antonio last month.”
Unbelievable. “Really? I was there, too.” But she hadn’t had the funds to bid. She’d been there to drum up business. An unsuccessful plan that had led her to this remote ranch.
Jenny laid a hand beneath the strand of pearls at her throat. “A small, small world it is.”
“Way too small if you ask me,” Maria grumbled.
Jenny sent her another scowl. “No one asked you, Maria, and no one appreciates your attitude or your sarcasm. You really should learn some Southern decorum.”
“I think we all can work on that,” Dallas chimed in as he opened the half door built into the counter. “Ms. Reynolds, if you’ll follow me to my office, we can get away from all this verbal sparring and you can tell me what you need.”
“But make it quick,” Maria added. “He has work to do.”
“Oh, hush,” Jenny replied as Paris stepped through the opening. “He’s not too busy to entertain a pretty girl. Also, their names go so well together—Paris and Dallas. Sounds like a match made in heaven.”
“Sounds like an airport flight schedule,” Maria muttered.
“It’s high time he meets a nice girl, Maria,” Jenny added. “Don’t forget what’s coming up at the end of the week and we both know what that means.”
If only Paris knew what that meant. Regardless, she could tell Dallas wasn’t comfortable with the conversation when he rushed toward an opening to his left without responding.
With her mind riddled with confusion, Paris followed Dallas down a lengthy corridor, all the while unsuccessfully trying to keep her eyes off his derriere. She found the way he dangled his arms at his sides, his perfect lean build and the roll of his hips quite fascinating.
Good grief. Evidently the lengthy amount of time she’d been without male companionship had her falling head over common sense over some cowboy. Okay, not just any cowboy. An extremely gorgeous, rich cowboy who had succeeded at everything he’d tried, from rodeo to ranching, according to what she’d read on the internet. A far cry from her seedy ex-husband who’d managed to screw up everything he’d endeavored, including their marriage.
Dallas soon paused to lead Paris into a well-appointed office that served as a tribute to his success. The lush brown leather sofa and love seat set near the window complemented his masculine aura, and the massive mahogany desk spoke to his rugged persona. The hand-scraped dark wood floors topped off the decor that couldn’t have been done any better if she’d done it herself, even if it wasn’t exactly her cup of tea.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked as he crossed the room to the elaborate granite-covered wet bar in the corner.
“Water would be fine,” she said, although wine would be better, she thought.
“Water it is. Have a seat.”
After settling in a beige club chair across from the desk, Paris set her case on the floor, crossed her legs, adjusted her skirt and prepared to make her pitch. She decided to begin with casual conversation and in the same instant, assuage her natural curiosity. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s coming up at the end of the week?”
“I turn thirty-eight on Saturday,” he said as he retrieved a crystal highball glass from the upper cabinet.
Six years her senior. Not too bad. Not that it mattered. “Big party planned?”
Once he filled the tumbler with ice from a bucket on the counter, then poured water into it from a pitcher he pulled from the built-in stainless refrigerator, he returned to the desk and set the glass on a coaster before her. “I hope like hell that’s not going to happen. I’m not one for having people making a big deal over my birthday.”
She sensed he would be that kind of man. “I have a feeling your stepmothers might be planning a big deal.”
He dropped down into the chair behind the desk, leaned back and affected a relaxed posture, but his expression said he didn’t exactly appreciate her conjecture. “They know better than to pull that on me.”
Paris gathered he might be suffering from a severe case of the birthday blues. “Are you sure? It sounded as if at least one of them wants you to have a date for some soiree, hence the nice girl comment.”
He sent her that sexy, crooked smile again. “If that’s the case, are you volunteering to fill the role?”
If she were only that brave. Then again, if it helped her secure the job... “I generally avoid mixing business with pleasure, although your family seemed to jump to the conclusion that my business is pleasure.”
He narrowed his eyes and studied her straight on. “Speaking of that, what exactly do you do for a living?”
The suspicion in his tone ruffled her feminine feathers. “It doesn’t involve a nine hundred number or a pimp, I promise you that.”
Now he looked amused. “Glad you cleared the air.”
So was she, and she planned to be perfectly clear. “In reality, I’m—”
“Wait. Let me guess.” He inclined his head and pointed at her. “You’re a stockbroker and you want to get your hands on my investments.”
She might like to get her hands on something of his that happened to be a far cry from his portfolio. Since when had she become a purveyor of naughty thoughts? “Not even close.”
He rubbed a palm over his chin. “I would bet the back forty you have an accounting degree.”
If he only knew about her lack of accounting skills, he would never have assumed such a thing. That downfall had landed her in deep trouble and served as another reason for being there, about to beg for employment. “Believe me, math is not my forte.”
“Marketing?”
In an effort to clear her parched throat, Paris took a quick sip of water. “Try again.”
His gaze landed on her fingers still wrapped around the glass. “Considering your perfectly manicured nails, I’m guessing you’re not a ranch hand.”
“I haven’t even seen a cow up close.”
“Not even on your dinner plate in the form of filet mignon?”
“I’m primarily a vegetarian.”
“I’m strictly a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy.”
What a shocker. “I won’t judge your food preferences if you won’t judge mine.”
“Agreed.” He took off his hat to place it brim up on the desk, then forked a hand through his dark brown hair that worked well with those deadly blue eyes. “If you’re a beautician, I don’t need one. Just a quick round with the clippers and I’m good to go.”
Yes, he was. Good enough to go anywhere he might want to take her. “No, I’m not a hairstylist. Do you give up now?”
“Yep. I’m all out of guesses.”
The time had come to lay all her cards on the table, less a few secrets he didn’t need to know. “I’m a commercial interior designer.” Disgraced designer.
“No kidding?” he said, sounding somewhat awed over the admission.
“No kidding. And that’s why I’m here. I wanted to speak to you about—”
“Hey, Dallas, I’m about to head out.”
Paris shifted in her seat to see a young, buff blond guy filling the doorway. Aside from the tattered jeans and worn cowboy boots, he looked more surfer than rancher. Or body builder in light of the fit of the lime-green T-shirt hugging his muscled arms and torso.
“Where are you going now?” Dallas asked, looking and sounding none too pleased.
“To the beach for the weekend,” the stranger replied as he strode to the wet bar.
Aha! Paris had pegged him right on his surfer status, though she still didn’t know his relationship to the Calloways. He certainly didn’t resemble Dallas.
“Did you talk to Fort yet, Worth?” Dallas asked.
“I called him,” the man with the unusual name said as he pulled a soda from the fridge and popped it open. “But he’s still pissed I left him high and dry and came here. He refuses to call me back.”
“Figures,” Dallas muttered. “By the way, does Houston know you’re leaving?”
“Yeah, and Austin’s agreed to hang around in case any of the heifers calve.”
“That’s good because Tyler’s going to be gone until Monday.”
Paris felt as though she’d just gone on a Cities of Texas tour. Without further hesitation, she stood to face Surfer Worth and smiled, bent on introducing herself since her potential boss evidently wasn’t going to do the honors. “Hi, my name is Paris Reynolds.”
Worth grinned and shook her extended hand, revealing the same dimple Dallas sported. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Are you a friend of my big brother’s?”
That confirmed her supposition that he was a Calloway sibling, although she couldn’t recall any mention of him in any of the press releases she’d recently read. “Actually, we just met today.”
Worth winked. “Well, if he doesn’t treat you right, you’re welcome to come to Padre Island with me. I’m a helluva lot more fun.”
And way too young for her, Paris decided. Plus, she had always been attracted to brown-haired men, like the one seated not far away.
Dallas pointed at the door. “Get out, Worthless. Ms. Reynolds doesn’t need you coming on to her.”
Worth backed toward the exit with hands held up, palms forward. “All right. And when you find out where the hell you left your sense of humor, let me know.”
With that, the younger Calloway son winked at Paris again before striding out of the room.
“I apologize for his behavior,” Dallas said as he resumed holding cowboy court from his place behind the desk.
Paris dropped back down into her designated chair. “No need. He seems relatively harmless.”
“He’s a skirt chaser, according to his mother, and I’ve seen more than enough evidence of that fact.”
The identity of Worth’s mother didn’t require a lot of guessing. “Is that Jenny?”
“Yeah, my father’s third wife. Maria is the second.”
“And your mother is?”
Dallas’s gaze drifted away for a moment. “Gone. She died when I was pretty young.”
“I’m sorry, Dallas.” And she sincerely was. “I’m sure that’s been really difficult for you.”
“Not so much,” he said. “I barely remember her. Now let’s get back to the reason why you’re here.”
Being summarily dismissed wasn’t all that surprising to Paris. Most men clammed up when it came to emotional issues, including her own father. “Well, as I was saying, I’m a commercial interior designer, and since it’s apparent you’ll need my services soon, I’m here to apply for the position.”
He frowned. “Why do you believe I need an interior decorator?”
She wasn’t certain if he was kidding, or he really didn’t have a clue. “Look, I saw an article in the San Antonio paper about this Texas Extreme project and how you’re going to cater to people who want to enjoy the whole high-risk rodeo experience.” Though she couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to do that. “I also read about your plans to build a lodge to house your guests, and that’s where I come in. I would like the opportunity to oversee the design of that lodge.”
“We haven’t even broken ground yet,” he said. “In fact, we haven’t seen the final plans from the architect.”
That could definitely work to her advantage. “All the better. If I’m involved in the beginning, then I can make suggestions that will only enhance the guests’ experience. I have extensive knowledge in hotel design. I have a strong attention to detail and—”
“Ms. Reynolds—”
“Paris.”
“Okay, Paris, first of all, these guests are wannabe cowboys. They don’t need a fancy room. They only need a bunk and a bathroom. Hell, they might be satisfied with an outhouse and a creek.”
The thought made her shudder. Yet he had made a good point, darn it. Still... “What if some of them want to bring their wives? Women have much higher standards. What if some of the wives or girlfriends want to participate, too?”
He mulled that over a moment before addressing her again. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
Now she was getting somewhere. “Have you given any consideration to the kitchen? You are having one installed, aren’t you? Or will you be roasting marshmallows and wieners?”
He favored her with a sexy grin. “That’s a thought.”
“Seriously? A wiener roast for every meal?”
“Maybe that’s not a great idea. But the kitchen doesn’t have to be all that elaborate. Just the basics.”
He truly didn’t grasp the concept of hospitality. “How many people do you plan to house at one time?”
“Fifty if we’re at capacity, but we want to be able to accommodate more in the future.”
“Feeding fifty hungry men and/or women will require more than a four-burner stove, a side-by-side refrigerator and a single oven. You’ll need commercial-grade appliances, plenty of prep space—”
“I understand what you’re saying,” he said, effectively cutting her off. “But we don’t plan to open for business for a year, maybe longer if we can’t get all the facilities set up by then. Not only do we have to build the lodge, we have to build a new arena and catch pens, plus a first-aid station and acquire rodeo stock. I wouldn’t even need you for a good six months.”
She would be destitute in two months. The unwelcome sense of extreme anxiety came home to roost, prompting Paris to make a final plea. “Again, you would be better off hiring me now than fixing something later. That will only cost you more money. I could meet with the architect before the plans are finalized. I could take care of all the details from the ground up. Besides, I live in San Antonio and since that’s only an hour and a half away, that’s convenient for us both. And I’m going to work cheaper than many firms you might decide to hire, but I don’t do cheap work or cut corners. To be perfectly honest, you can’t do better than me. And most important, I really, really need this job.”
He tilted his head again and eyed her suspiciously. “If you’re so good at it, why is that?”
She’d gone too far with the tirade, and probably blown any chance at the opportunity to oversee his project. Yet she was somewhat bolstered by the fact he hadn’t kicked her out...yet. “Due to personal circumstances beyond my control, I’ve been forced to start over, but I won’t bother you with the details. I would like to show you my work.”
As she drew a breath, Paris fumbled for the briefcase resting on the floor and lifted it up. “I have my portfolio right here if you care to take a quick look.”
Dallas sat in silence for a few moments while Paris’s pulse raced out of control. “I’m sure you’re more than qualified for the job,” he finally said, “but like I told you, I don’t see the need to hire a decorator—”
“Designer,” Paris corrected without regard to helping her cause.
“Hiring a designer right now doesn’t make much sense to me.”
Plagued with the bitter taste of defeat, Paris stood. “Fine, but you should be aware, in six months, I might not be available.” She might even be in jail. Or worse—living with her folks on a potato farm in Idaho. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”
Dallas came to his feet and rounded the desk. “One question before you leave. What exactly did you mean by having to start over?”
She certainly wasn’t prepared to get into that, but if it meant he might possibly reconsider, she would tell him everything. Almost everything. “Okay, as long as you understand I’m not looking for pity.”
“Understood.”
Oh, how she hated having to explain the sordid details. “Almost two years ago, my ex-husband left in the middle of the night, took every penny I owned and then took off to the Dominican Republic to get a quickie divorce.”
The anger that flashed in his eyes took her aback. “Where is the bastard now?”
“Still there, with my hard-earned money and a new girlfriend. Shortly thereafter, the firm where I’d been working for eight years laid me off. I have very few funds to maintain my apartment for much longer, so I might be forced to move in with my family until I get back on my feet.” That last part had wounded her pride beyond belief. The part she’d left out—the reasons why she’d lost her job—had caused her great shame.
He attempted a slight smile. “I can relate to living with family.”
“Your stepmothers live with you?”
“No, they live in the main house. I built my own place a few years ago. But I see them every day, whether I want to or not.”
They just stood there in uncomfortable silence until Paris decided to end the meeting and escape from her humiliating revelations. She retrieved a card from her bag’s side pocket and offered it to him. “If you happen to change your mind, here’s my contact information. If not, I wish you the best of luck with your new venture.”
“Good luck to you, too,” he said as he escorted her to the door. “And if I happen to need a date to a surprise birthday party, I just might give you a call.”
Oh, sure he would. In some ways she wished he would. Who wouldn’t want to spend an evening with a gorgeous macho guy? And since he obviously wasn’t going to hire her...“You know, I just might take you up on the invitation.”
Without gauging his response, Paris worked her way back to the front office and out the door, pausing only long enough to tell both mothers to have a good day. Once she slid into her car, she experienced overwhelming dejection over the epic failure. But she refused to cry. She’d already done enough of that to last a lifetime.
* * *
“Why in the hell did you let her leave, Dallas?”
At the moment, a lecture from Maria—his long time maternal influence—was the very last thing Dallas needed. He still hadn’t gotten over the impact of the pretty green-eyed, golden-haired, determined woman named after a European city who had landed on his doorstep. He didn’t quite understand his reaction to her, either. A strong reaction that had had him wanting to suggest things to her that any man with an ounce of honor wouldn’t dare mention to a woman he’d just met. And if Maria Leone Calloway could read his mind, she would nix the speech and wash his mouth out with homemade soap even if he hadn’t uttered a dirty word.
He cleared the uncomfortable hitch from his throat and shifted in his chair. “I don’t know why her departure is bothering you, Mom. I figured you didn’t like her all that much.”
Without invitation, the current burr in his backside took the seat Paris Reynolds had vacated a few minutes before. “She’s a little too uppity in my opinion, mijo. But as bad as I hate to admit it, Jenny was right about one thing. You need to find a woman, and maybe this Paris is that woman.”
Dallas rocked back in his chair and sighed. “First of all, you both need to forget about that. It’s too late. Secondly, I’ve come to terms with staying single and you just need to accept it.”
Maria narrowed her dark eyes. “You’re telling me you’re going to let your no-account little brother gain control over this ranch?”
The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. “Blame your husband for putting that stupid marriage codicil in the will, although it still doesn’t make any sense why Dad would leave this place to Fort. From what Jenny says, the kid was a rebel most of his life, plus he already owns the horse farm in Louisiana.”
Maria tightened the band securing her braid, a nervous habit for as long as Dallas could remember. “You’re right. It doesn’t make a damn bit of sense what J.D. did, particularly since Fort wants nothing to do with you or any of his brothers. Then again, what your father did to me and Jenny didn’t make any sense, either.”
Dallas would never forget that day six years ago when during the reading of his father’s will, he’d not only discovered he had twin half-brothers, he’d learned his father had been living as a bigamist. “I’m hoping Fort’s disdain for the family will be enough for him to ignore the stipulation.” Even if he wasn’t banking on it.
“That’s a big chance you’d be taking, Dallas,” Maria said. “If you’re wrong, he’ll put a stop to your dream of turning this place into Texas Extreme. Hell, he could even toss you and your brothers off the property, take over the houses you all built and legally he could do it.”
He knew that all too well. He also knew Fort would probably turn the place into a subdivision just to spite them. “I don’t have a choice, Mom. I can’t find a proper wife in four days, nor do I even want to attempt it.”
The other mother—every bit the Southern belle—suddenly breezed into the room and stood behind Maria. “I think Paris is quite proper and sophisticated, and a man of your financial means and social status needs that in a life partner. If you make an effort to get to know her, who knows what could happen in a few days? You might find yourself falling hopelessly in love for the first time in your life, sugar. Why, I met your father on a Saturday night and we were married two weeks later.”
“And look how that turned out, Jenny,” Maria said. “Don’t give him reason not to give this a shot.”
Over the past few years, Dallas had learned one important thing about Jenny Parks Calloway—she was a flighty romantic who spent most of her days with stars in her eyes. “That’s good in theory, Jen, but the chances of it happening are slim to none. And even if I wanted to pursue a relationship with Paris Reynolds, who’s to say she would agree? And even if she did agree to go out with me, do you really think she’d jump at the chance to marry me two days later? Get real.”
“She sounded pretty desperate to us,” Jenny chimed in, then clamped her mouth closed after Maria shot her a nasty look over her shoulder.
Dallas wasn’t all that shocked, but he was pretty pissed off over the intrusion. “You two were listening to our conversation?”
“Just a little bit,” Jenny said sheepishly. “Your phone’s intercom was on.”
He looked at the key pad, noted the button was depressed and then muttered a few mild oaths. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We didn’t want to disturb you, mijo,” Maria said.
Dallas didn’t buy that for a minute. “You wanted to eavesdrop. Regardless of how desperate Paris might be, I don’t see her as the kind of woman who’d agree to marry a stranger in exchange for a job. And I’m not the kind of man who would ask that of any woman.”
Jenny put on her sweeter-than-honey expression. “Sugar, I love my son, but I also know Fort doesn’t deserve this place given how much grief he’s showered on me and Worth. Why don’t you just invite Paris to dinner tonight and see what happens?”
He’d like to see what happened, but not in the way she was thinking. “I’m sure she’s already halfway to San Antonio by now and I’ve got a lot do before I fly to Houston in two days.”
“You can take one night off,” Maria stated, a totally out-of-character comment.
“Yes, you can, for the cause,” Jenny added. “Now go after her, sugar, and escort her back here. I can make you both my famous chateaubriand.”
He saw one big problem with that, and a prime excuse to halt all the nonsense. “She’s a vegetarian.”
Maria shook her head. “Yeah, we heard her say that, but it’s not normal. Not normal at all.”
“We’ll work around it,” Jenny said. “I’ll make a wonderful assortment of spring vegetables. That will allow Dallas and Paris to get to know each other better in an intimate setting, not a crowded restaurant.”
Dallas barked out a laugh. “Sure, while the two of you hang out in the next room, listening to every word we say.”
Jenny raised her hand like she was about to take an oath. “I swear I will leave as soon as the food is served. Maria will, too. Right?”
Maria stared up at Jenny. “Why do you need me there anyway?”
“For moral support,” Jenny answered. “And you can make Dallas his usual T-bone, since that’s not my forte.”
Maria sighed. “It’s easy. Remove the horns, slap it on the stove, make sure it’s not mooing and put it on the plate.”
Jenny ignored Maria and took his hand. “Sugar, we’ll work out the dinner details. In the meantime, you just have to convince Paris to join you by telling her you want to discuss the particulars of the job, sort of like an interview. Then you can see what comes up after that.”
He had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly what would come up if he didn’t get a rein on his libido. Logical or not, he did like the plan, if for no other reason than to spend a little more time with Paris. As far as the mothers’ harebrained matrimony scheme was concerned, no way would that happen.
After pushing away from the desk, he stood and propped his hat on his head. “All right, you two. Get to cooking and I’ll go get the girl.”
