Читать книгу Lone Star Bachelor - Linda Goodnight - Страница 13
ОглавлениеMuch later, when they’d made the rounds of the Huckleberry Addition, Sawyer drove them back toward town. The private investigator intrigued him. One minute, when they’d discussed fishing and he’d done his best to be his usual enchanting self, she’d actually smiled. A second later, she’d bristled like a feral tomcat.
She didn’t want to like him. He’d figured out that much, but he didn’t know why. He wasn’t the bad guy here.
He opened the pickup door for her and helped her up into the high cab. She didn’t like that either, but his mama had raised him with manners, especially around ladies. Most women ate it up like a hot fudge sundae. Jade looked as if she wanted to throat punch him.
As he drove, he answered questions all the way. She was the most inquisitive woman he’d ever encountered. But every time he’d tried to ask about her, she’d shut him down.
The sun had moved to high overhead and his belly reminded him of the long gone popcorn and doughnut. He aimed the truck down First Street and pulled in front of the Buttered Biscuit Café.
Jade leaned forward, glaring out the windshield as if he’d driven her to a nudie bar. “What are you doing?”
“Eating. Private investigators eat, don’t they?”
“I can grab something later.”
He got out of the truck and went around, opening her door anyway. “You won’t find a better lunch than the Biscuit’s. Come on. I’ll buy.”
“I don’t need anyone to pay for my meal.”
A grin twitched his lips. “We’ll fight over the check after you taste Jan’s coconut cream pie.”
She hesitated. “Homemade?”
He had her now. “With meringue three inches tall.”
She didn’t smile but she did capitulate. “Sold.”
Score one for his team.
She let him help her down, another victory of sorts, though Sawyer didn’t understand why they were in a battle.
He led the way inside, nodding to friends and a cousin as he found an open table. The café, as usual, was jammed and noisy with townspeople, most of whom he knew by their first names.
Jade walked alongside him, gazing around the small space with her usual intensity.
“Memorizing Jan’s signs and slogans?” Every inch of wall space was crammed with signs or plaques, most of them snarky and clever.
She pointed at one. Plenty of people have eaten here and gone on to live nearly normal lives. “Pretty funny.”
Then why didn’t she laugh? “Jan’s got sass but she sure can cook.”
He pulled out a chair for her and stood, patient as Job himself. She could be stubborn. He could be patient.
Her full mouth flattened but she didn’t yank away the chair and make a scene. Satisfied, Sawyer took the seat across from her and folded his arms on the laminated tabletop. He enjoyed seeing her straight on. She was nice to look at.
“Anything in particular sound good to you?” he asked.
Jade took a paper napkin from the metal container and shook it onto her lap. “You have recommendations?”
Sawyer studied the tiny mole—just one—to the left of her nose. He’d never noticed how appealing one single little beauty mark could be. “Plate lunch special.”
She blinked. “What is it?”
“I didn’t read the sign, but whatever it is will be good.”
“Okay by me.”
Nice. A woman who wasn’t picky about her food, though Jade Warren was picky about everything else. Well, maybe not everything and maybe the word was prickly instead of picky.
Charla, an African American waitress with every bit as much sass as Jan, slapped two plastic menus on the table. “Hiya, Sawyer.”
“Hey, Charla.” He waved the menus away. “Don’t need those. We’ll have the special.”
“Good choice. Roast beef and mashed potatoes. Jan’s recipe.” She retrieved the unused menus. “Drinks?”
“Iced tea for me.” He shot a questioning look at Jade. “You?”
“Iced tea is good. Sweet, please.”
Charla scribbled on her pad. “Who’s your new friend, Sawyer?”
Now, that was a dilemma. He didn’t particularly want the whole town to know he was being investigated by order of his own father. “Jade Warren, meet Charla Fredrick.”
The two women exchanged greetings before Charla dashed to answer the call of “Order up.” A new waitress, probably Abby’s replacement, moved much slower.
Sawyer made small talk about the town and the people in the café until Charla returned with their tea glasses.
“We sure miss Abby around this place,” Charla said. “Have you heard from her?”
“Yep. They’re having the time of their lives.”
“Good. She deserves that. You tell her I got her postcard from Venice. Such a pretty place. Is little Miss Lila doing all right with her grandma and grandpa?”
Abby’s four-year-old daughter was staying with Sawyer’s mom and dad while the newlyweds honeymooned in Italy.
“They’re spoiling her, but you know Lila. She’s a ray of sunshine and easy to spoil.”
“She miss her mama much?”
“They Skype every night. I think Abby is the one suffering separation pangs. Lila’s in her element.”
“Abby’s a good mama.” Charla tossed her head, swinging giant pink earrings as if she dared anyone to argue.
“The best, and we Buchanons are all suckers for Lila.”
“She does that to people. Precious child.”
The waitress scooted away, returning in minutes with two steaming plates that she slid with expert ease onto the table.
“Tender roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and hot buttery biscuits.” Sawyer rubbed his hands together. “Food of the divine.”
Charla perched a hand on her ample hip. “Y’all need anything else?”
“Pie later.”
“Coconut?”
Sawyer flashed a victory sign. “Two.”
“Got it.” She hustled away again.
Jade stared, wide-eyed, at her plate. “I’ll never eat all of this.”
“Take a carryout box home with you.” He reached for the salt and pepper. “Where are you staying anyway?”
“The Red River Roost.”
Oh, not so good. “You okay there?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“The River Roost isn’t in the best area of town.”
She got that look on her face again. The one that said he should mind his own business. “I can take care of myself.”
He shrugged. So she said, but if she was his sister, he’d be concerned. Not that he considered her a sister. Not even close.
He frowned at the fluffy white insides of a steaming-hot biscuit.
She didn’t like him, was suspicious as all get-out, but he was fascinated by her.
Now, what did that say about him?
* * *
Jade thought she should probably tell him to mind his own business, but Sawyer knew Gabriel’s Crossing and she didn’t. Forewarned was forearmed. If there were problems, she needed to know.
“What’s so bad about that part of town?”
“Kind of run-down. More crime. The Roost is the type of motel where—” He leaned back in his chair and scrunched his face. “How do I put this delicately?”
“No need. I understand your point.” She lifted a fork, not letting him see that his words troubled her. Not for herself, but for that lonely teen and her baby. “I was a police officer before becoming a private detective. I’m well trained, and like I said, I can take care of myself.”
Sometimes she’d made a mess of things, but she’d survived and grown wiser from the experience. She didn’t need or trust anyone’s protection but her own.
Sliding her fork into the potatoes, she prepared to enjoy what appeared to be a delicious meal. Sawyer, she noted, had yet to begin. She shot him a questioning look. “Something wrong?”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “Grace.”
“Oh.” She lowered her fork and bowed her head but kept one eye on the man across the table, bracing for a major show so everyone in the place would know how devout he was.
Sawyer discreetly murmured a few words followed with “Amen.” As he opened his eyes, she sat back, studying him while battling the slight guilt that she’d been focused on the man instead of the blessing.
When she’d left home, she’d left her faith behind. Not that she’d ever had much to begin with. She wasn’t mad at God or anything like that. She was just...tired of the hassle.
But Sawyer Buchanon didn’t fit her concept of loud, judgmental Christians. Those she knew and understood. This quiet faith, offered up with a smile and courtesy, bewildered her.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing really.”
“I offended you by praying?” Those magnificent eyes were serious but not apologetic. Could a man really have eyelashes that long and black?
“No. Your faith is your business.”
“I take it you’re not a believer?”
“Religion isn’t my thing.”
“Did I mention religion?” He tilted his head in the cutest way.
“Religion. Christianity. Same thing.”
She took up her fork again and tasted a bite of tender roast beef and fought to suppress a moan. She’d always been an auditory eater, and this was seriously delicious.
Sawyer squinted at her, the fork in his left hand paused above the steaming, aromatic food. “Not hardly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Religions are about rules and laws. Christianity is about my personal relationship with Jesus.”
She’d heard that before but all this personal relationship stuff went right over her head. She knew faith didn’t work like that. Her daddy had religion and claimed to be a Christian. She couldn’t see the difference. Do this. Don’t do that. If she stepped out of line, God would get her and she would suffer.
All she knew about faith was that her father twisted Bible verses to control his wife and kids.
If that was Christianity, she didn’t want any part of it. Or any part of another smiling, handsome man who claimed, like Cam had, to be a man of faith.
* * *
Sawyer, quick mind that he was, instantly caught her anti-religion vibe. Somebody or something had turned her off the Lord. To him, and to every Buchanon old enough to think, her reaction was tragic. All the more because he liked her.
Something beneath the surface of the cool, serious PI intrigued him. She was much more than she’d let him see.
Yeah, and he must be sniffing too much sawdust.
Whatever. He’d take Mom’s sage advice and live his faith instead of preaching it.
With that in mind, he shifted easily to her other interesting statement. “How long were you a cop?”
She sipped her tea, and for a second Sawyer thought she would tell him to mind his own business. Again.
She set the glass down and rubbed damp fingers on her napkin. In this heat, the tea glass condensed faster than Campbell’s soup.
“Four years in Paris. Texas, not France.”
Was that the hint of a real smile he spotted dancing around her pretty mouth? Being a naturally happy guy, he couldn’t help offering a smile in response.
Apparently, discussing her job was preferable to talking about God.
“You’ve probably had to say that a million times.”
“At least. Mostly on the phone. People here in Texoma land know the real Paris is in Texas.”
A joke. They were making progress. Pepped him right up. “Did you like being a cop?”
“Loved it. Most of the time.”
“Then why switch careers?”
“Oh, you know.” She shrugged, contemplating a biscuit and a pat of real butter. “Did you always want to be a carpenter?”
Changing topics. Nice diversion. Or was that a cop tactic to dig for info?
“No. When I was six I wanted to be Batman. Still do, but they tell me the job is taken.”
A spark lit her eyes. “Your degree is in business.”
He slapped a hand against his chest, pretending shock. “Are you saying Batman didn’t have a business plan?”
This time she actually smiled. And the result knocked his socks off. He was tempted to look under the table to see if they were still there. Except he was wearing work boots.
“Seriously. Why a business degree if you planned to build things?”
“Dad was a stickler. All of us kids had to at least try college—preferably his alma mater, Tech. I liked college life and stuck around to get a degree.” Mostly because of the good times, but he didn’t tell her that part. “Even if I pound nails for the family company, I’m still a businessman. What about you? Did you attend college?”
He held his breath waiting for the cold shoulder.
“Community college classes in criminal justice and then police academy and some investigation courses. I always knew what I wanted to do.”
“How does one know such a thing? Especially you, being a woman.” He held up both hands. “No insult intended, but you’ve probably taken some flack as a female in a male-dominated field.”
She stiffened up. “I can handle myself.”
“No doubt.” One blast of that arctic stare and a lesser man would freeze in his tracks. “But it couldn’t be easy.”
“I had some run-ins. Guys who didn’t want to ride with me. Who thought I couldn’t hold my own and would get them killed. Suggestive cartoons in my locker. The basic hazing stuff.”
A bite of green beans froze halfway to Sawyer’s mouth. “Say that again.”
She shrugged. “Harassment made me tougher. I wasn’t about to wimp out after that.”
“Still.” He didn’t like the idea of some creep shooting innuendoes in her direction. He and the brothers would bust some chops if anyone did that to their sisters. Which brought to mind her family.
“Didn’t your brothers want to knock some heads?”
Her gaze was cool. “I didn’t tell them. Why would I?”
A revealing confession. She faced the world on her own. “Because men stand up for their women.”
“Let’s get this straight, Mr. Buchanon. I don’t need or want a man to take care of me.” She tossed a wadded napkin onto the table. “Not now. Not ever.”
Ouch. Raw nerve. Somebody had done a number on her. Somebody who needed a knot jerked in his neck.
Sawyer was normally a lover, not a fighter, but he wouldn’t mind meeting up with the culprit. Preferably alone.
