Читать книгу Falling For Fortune - Allison Leigh, Nancy Robards Thompson - Страница 13
ОглавлениеJensen wasn’t surprised that his younger sister and brother wanted to return to London as soon as Amelia came home from the hospital with baby Clementine Rose. He’d briefly contemplated flying back with them, then returning for the weddings next month. But his mother wanted him to stay awhile longer, and he’d agreed for more reasons than one.
He’d broken things off with Monica Wainwright just before the holidays, so the trip to America had allowed him to put some distance between them.
The early days of their short-lived romance had been somewhat pleasant, but then she’d let down her guard and had shown him a selfish and haughty side he couldn’t tolerate.
Besides, he owed Amber dinner for that horse race he’d lost, something he was actually looking forward to. But as soon as the weddings were over in February, he’d be making this trip to the airfield himself, rather than driving his two younger siblings and dropping them off.
So, with the flight plan set, Jensen waited for Quinn to retrieve the car keys.
“Here you go,” the proud new father said.
“Thank you. It won’t take long.”
“It doesn’t matter. Keep the car as long as you want.”
Lady Josephine, who’d just entered the living room from the kitchen, said, “Wait for me, Jensen. I’d like to ride with you.”
“You don’t need to do that, Mum. I’m sure Charles and Lucie will understand if you’d rather stay here with baby Clementine.”
“Yes, I know, but Quinn and Amelia would probably like some time to themselves, and I’d enjoy an outing. It also gives me a chance to see Sawyer and Laurel. I haven’t talked to my brother’s son or his wife since Christmas. Just let me freshen my makeup. I’ll meet you in the car.”
A few minutes later, Lady Josephine had not only applied a fresh coat of lipstick and face powder, but a subtle touch of Chanel No. 5. After she slid into the passenger seat, Jensen drove them to the B and B in Vicker’s Corners, where Charles and Lucie had been staying.
Just as he’d suspected, his younger brother and sister were waiting in front of the quaint, three-story building with its green-and-white striped awnings. After they loaded the luggage in the car, they headed to the small airfield.
As Jensen turned onto the country road that led to the small terminal, his mother glanced over her shoulder and into the backseat, where Lucie and Charles sat. “Be sure to check on Oliver and ask about Ollie. I miss that little boy so. And let me know if there is anything I should be concerned about.”
Oliver, their oldest half brother, had divorced last year. His toddler son lived with his ex-wife.
“We’ll do that,” Charles said. “But I’m sure Oliver would let you know if there was anything to worry about.”
Jensen wasn’t so sure about that. He wasn’t the only one who didn’t like to see their mother overly concerned about things she had no control over.
“But, Mum,” Charles asked, “can Lucie and I trust you to take care of baby Clemmie for us?”
At that ridiculous notion, laughter erupted. Even Lady Josephine smiled at her youngest son’s attempt to lighten the mood.
She was still grinning from ear to ear when Jensen parked in front of Redmond-Fortune Air, the flight school and charter service owned by Sawyer Fortune and his wife, Laurel.
The new building they’d built last year, with its gray block walls, smoky glass windows and chrome trim, had modernized the small airport, which up until that point had only amounted to a small control tower, a couple of modular buildings, several hangars and the airstrip.
Jensen had no more than shut off the engine when Josephine exited the car and was heading for the entrance.
How strange. But then again, Mum had mentioned that she was eager to see Sawyer and Laurel.
Lucie trailed their mother while Jensen and Charles brought up the rear, carrying the luggage.
The small reception area was empty, although Orlando Mendoza, one of the pilots, sat in a chair, holding his smartphone and sending a text.
Upon seeing Lady Josephine, the handsome man with graying hair and sun-bronzed skin broke into a smile then stood and took her hand. “Good afternoon. What a pleasure to see you.”
She flushed. “Will you be flying Charles and Lucie to Dallas?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” Orlando said. “I had an early day. I just completed a charter flight to Houston, so I’m heading home. At least, I will be as soon as Sawyer returns.” Orlando glanced out the window toward the parking lot, then back to Jensen. “I don’t suppose you happen to be heading back through town?”
“No, but it’s not too far out of the way. Why?”
“I had car trouble this morning, and my nephew, Marcos, gave me a ride to work.”
Marcos Mendoza and his wife Wendy owned the Hollows Cantina.
“I’d be happy to drop you off,” Jensen told Orlando.
“Are you sure it won’t be any trouble?”
“Not at all.”
While Orlando made small talk with his mother and siblings, Jensen wandered off to look at a table that held a plastic-enclosed display of miniature-sized scale-model aircraft. As he did so, he reached into his pocket and felt the gold watch that rested there.
He and his father used to stop by the small airfield near the Chesterfield estate, where they would watch the planes take off and land. It had been a special time, when they talked about life and hopes and dreams. Not a plane flew overhead without Jensen remembering those days.
A door swung open, and he turned to see Laurel Redmond Fortune enter the reception area of the terminal. The lovely blonde pilot had once flown jets for the United States Air Force.
After greeting Josephine and then Lucie with a warm embrace, Laurel shook hands with Charles, who could be rather stuffy at times.
“I’ll be flying you to Dallas today,” Laurel said. “Are you ready to go?”
Charles reached for his bags. “We certainly are. We’ve had a lovely time, but Lucie and I are eager to get home.”
“Hey.” Laurel glanced at Jensen, who stood off to the side—no doubt appearing to be as stuffy as Charles and, perhaps, more distant. “I don’t suppose you’re heading back into town after this?”
Jensen left the miniature airplanes, as well as his musing behind. “Orlando mentioned he needed a ride, so I’ll take him wherever he wants to go.”
Laurel gave him a thumbs-up, then walked out the door to the airfield, with Lucie and Charles on her heels, each carrying their own bags.
“Marcos promised to have someone fix my car while I was gone,” Orlando said. “So, if you don’t mind dropping me off at the Hollows Cantina, that would be perfect.”
“Splendid,” Josephine said. “Jensen and I haven’t eaten yet, and I’ve had a craving for a crock of their crab dip and those tasty rice crackers.”
What? No hurry to get back home to the new grandbaby? Apparently, his mum really did want the new parents to bond.
“Great,” Orlando said. “I’ll buy you a margarita for your trouble.”
Jensen was just about to tell him that wouldn’t be necessary when his mum blushed and patted the pilot’s arm. “That would be lovely, Orlando.”
Since when had she switched from wine to margaritas? Interestingly, Texas was beginning to have an odd effect on her.
Yet wasn’t it having an odd effect on Jensen, too?
Horseback Hollow certainly didn’t have a drop of culture, nor did it offer any of the nightlife he enjoyed in London. Yet he found the quaint Western town appealing—from a tourist’s standpoint, of course.
He was far more comfortable on his country estate and playing polo at the nicest clubs in the UK, but he’d make the best of it for the month or so that he’d be here. Which meant spending more time with Amber Rogers.
Should he call her and ask her to meet him at the Hollows Cantina? Maybe not. But to be perfectly honest, at least with himself, he wouldn’t mind sharing another kiss with her—or possibly even more than that.
* * *
Amber’s stomach had been growling all throughout her Wild West Show tryout and, as she’d pulled up to the Hollows Cantina, she thought her belly would soon be ordering for her. Less than an hour ago, she’d delivered a performance that would’ve really knocked the socks off those so-called journalists who’d been camped out around the Drummond property.
She put the old truck in Park and checked the trailer she’d been towing to ensure that Danny Boy was resting comfortably after the barrel racing display he’d helped her put on earlier today. When she’d sat down with the bigwigs at Cowboy Country USA afterward, she let them know that if they signed her as one of their lead acts, she’d only use her own horses.
The executives had made her a surprisingly good offer, and she’d promised to have her attorney look over the contract and get back to them within a week.
She gave Danny Boy a pat and promised him a treat after dinner. Then she hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and headed into the restaurant, which was sure hopping tonight.
It was a cool place to gather, but it had gotten some flack from the locals who considered it a “rich folks’ establishment” and feared that it would ruin the small town’s ambiance.
The same people were against Cowboy Country USA, although their number appeared to have doubled as more of the locals jumped on the bandwagon to complain about the theme park. Even Deke and Jeanne Marie hadn’t kept their objections secret. And from what Amber had gathered, most of their kids agreed.
Still, Marcos and Wendy Mendoza were seeing an increase in business these days, thanks to the Cowboy Country bigwigs frequenting the Hollows Cantina and holding some of their meetings here. So she suspected they weren’t opposed to the theme park, although they were smart enough to keep their opinions to themselves.
Once inside the busy restaurant, she was met by the hostess, Rachel Robinson, who was new in town and resembled a less-glamorous Angelina Jolie.
Rachel flashed a bright-eyed smile. “Good evening, Amber. We’re pretty full tonight. You’re looking at a fifteen-to-twenty-minute wait unless you want to sit upstairs.”
“I’m meeting my grandmother for dinner, and since things get a little chilly and loud up there, I think we’d better wait for a table down here—hopefully in a quiet, out-of-the-way spot.”
“Mrs. Rogers is already here with Mr. Murdock,” Rachel said. “They mentioned that someone would be joining them. I didn’t realize it would be you. And they’re seated upstairs.”
How do you like that? Elmer Murdock was a party crasher.
“I can show you where they are,” Rachel said.
“That’s okay. I’ll find them.” Amber made her way to the middle of the room and climbed the staircase with wide iron railings and rustic wooden steps to the second floor.
She’d no more than reached the landing when she spotted Gram’s trademark French twist at a table near the dance floor. Normally her grandmother kept to the quiet corners of any location, but the place was so packed, they must have seated her in the only available spot.
Amber made her way to the table and greeted her grandmother with a kiss on the cheek, just as a huge margarita glass was thrust in front of her.
No, make that two huge margarita glasses, each with a shot glass filled with tequila attached to the side.
And the server was none other than Elmer Murdock. “Two of the cantina’s finest drinks for two of the finest women in the joint.”
Gram smiled up at the man. “Why, thank you, Elmer.”
Apparently, the retired marine was too busy to notice Gram’s appreciation since he was asking the server, who was carrying his beer, to bring over a salt shaker and some limes.
What was he doing here? And why was he under the impression that Gram would be throwing back margaritas and shots of Jose Cuervo like a coed on spring break?
The uninvited bearer of alcoholic beverages pulled out a seat and sat a little closer to Gram than was entirely necessary, given they were at a table for four.
If he noticed Amber’s lack of enthusiasm, it didn’t seem to bother him. “Drink up, gals. It’s a twofer one special, and we got another thirty minutes before happy hour is over.”
Amber had barely registered the cheapskate comment before Elmer threw her for the next loop of the evening. “So, girlie, how did the big audition go?”
“Shhh!” Amber hoped he’d lower his voice, but she was afraid she’d have better luck trying to get a stampede of wild broncs to jump through a Hula-Hoop.
“Why?” he asked. “You ought to be pleased as punch that they’d come after you like they’re doing. They know a class act when they see one.”
What in blue blazes did someone like Gram, who was so refined and quiet, see in such a loudmouthed character like Elmer Murdock?
Amber took a gulp of the margarita and decided the quick hit of liquid calm would be worth the brain freeze she’d get from downing the cold drink so quickly.
Fortunately, Gram came to her rescue. “Elmer, dear, Amber wasn’t quite ready to tell anyone about—”
Amber gave a discreet cough.
“Whoops.” Elmer took a sip of his beer and reached into the communal basket of chips. “I won’t say another word about it, then. Old Elmer Murdock is like a vault. You wouldn’t believe all the secrets I know.”
That was a relief. And if she took the job at Cowboy Country USA, which she planned to do, everyone would find out anyway. The lines were already being drawn in the town sand since many of the locals weren’t exactly giving a warm Texas welcome to the Wild West theme park, and she’d soon be grist for the gossip mill.
She took another sip of the sweet-and-sour drink, this time a little slower than the first. She scanned the restaurant, trying to see who might have overheard the comment made by Gram’s third wheel.
Of course, from the way Elmer was showing her grandmother how to lick the salt and then squeeze the lime after drinking down her tequila, Amber would have to assume that she was the third wheel.
“Miss Rogers! I’m so glad you’re here.”
Amber glanced up to see Perry—or was it Terry?—from the Cowboy Country casting department.
He must have noticed her befuddled look because he reached out his hand and said, “Larry Byerly. Cowboy Country USA.”
She knew who he was. They’d met before and talked on the phone several times. It was merely his first name she was having trouble with. But she let it go at that and shook his hand.
“After that little performance you put on today down at the county fairgrounds, news traveled like wildfire. And I was told to sign that girl come hell or high water.”
She’d already agreed to sign with the Wild West Show if her attorney didn’t see a problem with the contract, so news didn’t travel nearly as fast as Larry thought it did.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
“It’s what I can do for you. If I could just have a minute or two to speak with you in private—that’s really all I need. The PR department is chomping at the bit to get a pretty local girl to feature in our ads and quite possibly the Lone Star Review. And Miss Rogers, we’re all convinced that gal is you.”
Again, Amber scanned the room. Luckily, there wasn’t anyone around who seemed to be paying attention—other than Gram and Elmer, who were leaning into the conversation as though the fate of the entire world rested on Amber’s answer. Or at least, life as they knew it in Horseback Hollow, which was crazy.
The only one she was really concerned about seeing her talk to the enemy, so to speak, was Jensen. But why stress about that?
The Hollows Cantina might be the nicest restaurant in town, but it wouldn’t be Jensen’s cup of tea. Besides, what did he care what she did with her life or her future anyway?
* * *
The Hollows Cantina was busy tonight. Each of the outdoor tables that lined the sidewalk was taken, the heaters blasting to keep the bundled-up diners protected from the brisk, January evening.
The second story, an open-air terrace adorned with little white lights, appeared to be just as full.
Jensen opened the door for his mother, and she stepped inside, followed by Orlando.
The distinguished pilot greeted the hostess, a lovely brunette with long straight hair and striking blue eyes. “Looks like you have a full house tonight, Rachel.”
“We do, but I have a table upstairs. It’s not quite ready. If you don’t mind waiting a couple of minutes, I’ll take you to it.”
“That’s fine,” Jensen said. “Thank you.”
“You were telling me about your sons,” Josephine said to Orlando.
“Yes, Cisco and Matteo have just settled in Horseback Hollow. I’m glad to have them nearby.”
“I’m sure you are. I’ll be spending more time here, now that...” She scanned the area, then lowered her voice. “Well, you know.”
Orlando nodded. “I completely understand. Maybe you should consider getting a small home here, unless you want to stay with your daughter and son-in-law.”
“That’s a good idea, Orlando. I’ll give that some thought. Maybe I can encourage my other children to buy vacation homes in Horseback Hollow. I think it would be especially good for Oliver and Brodie to have a closer relationship with their new family—at least for part of the year.”
Jensen couldn’t imagine either of his older brothers leaving the UK. Goodness, even Charles and Lucie couldn’t get home fast enough as it was.
“Your table is ready,” the hostess—Rachel—said. Then the attractive woman led them upstairs.
Jensen had no more than reached the landing when he spotted Amber seated at a table near the bar with a man he didn’t recognize.
The gent was older than she—in his forties perhaps. Not bad looking—if you liked men who wore golf clothing when they socialized.
“Is this table all right?” the hostess asked, drawing Jensen’s attention, but just barely.
“It’s fine. Thank you.”
Orlando held a chair for Josephine, yet Jensen couldn’t seem to take a seat. His interest was drawn to that table for two, especially because the older man leaned forward as though pressing Amber, urging her to...?
What?
“Is there something wrong, sir?” the hostess asked.
Jensen snapped his attention back to the people he was with. “No, I’m sorry. I thought I spotted someone I knew.”
His mum chuckled softly. “You did, son. Isn’t that Amber Rogers, the young woman who owns the ranch near Quinn’s?”
“Um. Yes,” he said. “So it is.”
“If I’m not mistaken, that also appears to be the young woman the tabloids spotted with you...perhaps...Photoshopped a perfectly simple picture to look like the two of you were kissing.”
Jensen reached for a glass of water and took a sip. He knew exactly where this conversation was heading, and he wished she’d let it drop—especially in front of Orlando.
“I wonder who that man is?” his mother asked. “He seems quite enamored of Amber. But then, what man wouldn’t be. She’s actually quite lovely.”
Jensen ought to be annoyed with his mum for taunting him, but he was too caught up in what was going on at Amber’s table. He couldn’t help his interest—nor the sharp poke of jealousy that needled him.
Somewhere along the way, they’d placed drink orders, and he’d ended up with a longneck bottle of beer. But he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but Amber and that older man who was doing all the talking.
What in the hell was he saying?
She actually looked as though she’d rather be somewhere else.
Did she want to escape? Jensen was feeling rather chivalrous.
His mother was saying something, although he’d be damned if he knew what it was. He’d completely lost track of the conversation at his table and decided to put an end to his curiosity.
So he picked up his bottle of beer, stood and said the only two words he’d wanted to say since laying eyes on Amber just minutes ago. “Excuse me.”
* * *
Amber wasn’t sure how long Jensen had been in the restaurant before she spotted him, but he hadn’t kept his eyes off her for a moment.
About the time she was trying to snatch her hand out of Byerly’s and tell him she was no cancan dancer and that she didn’t care if the company was prepared to hire a dance instructor to help her prepare for the stupid audition, a cool British voice said, “Miss Rogers. What a surprise.”
A flood of warmth rushed through her. She wished she could say it was the effects of Jose Cuervo making its way through her system, but she was afraid it was none other than Jensen Fortune Chesterfield who’d done the trick.
Either way, she welcomed the distraction and used it as her excuse to break away.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, tearing her hand from the casting director’s grip. “Mr. Byerly was just proposing a project he wanted me to consider, but I really need to get back to my table.”
Just a few minutes ago, she’d called the ranch foreman and had asked someone to come and give Danny Boy a ride home. She hadn’t planned on having a drink tonight—but then again, she hadn’t expected to feel the need for one.
“You have my card,” Byerly said. “Please call me.”
“I told you I’d think about it. And I can’t do that if you won’t give me the time I need. So do us both a favor and let me be the one to make contact, okay?”
Once she’d left Byerly’s table, she thanked Jensen for the interruption. “That guy doesn’t take ‘we’ll see’ for an answer.”
“Then I’m glad I could help.”
“I’m...uh, here with Gram—and Elmer Murdock, apparently. It seems my grandmother is full of surprises.”
“Actually, I’m here with Orlando Mendoza and my mother. We just came in from the airfield, where we dropped off my sister and brother, who are heading back to London. When I saw you, I thought I’d come over and say hello.”
Amber glanced at Gram, who’d lifted her hand and was waving her fingers at Jensen.
He’d no more than walked over to their table and greeted them when Elmer pointed toward the stairs, a gleam in his eyes. “Oh, Helen, look. Here come the Baumgartners. Let’s go schmooze it up with them and find out what song they’re planning for the dance contest. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, I always say.”
With that, Elmer pulled back Gram’s chair and helped her to feet that had never danced even a two-step, at least as far as Amber knew.
But before he could sweep Helen away, Amber placed her hand on her grandmother’s arm and asked, “Since when are you and Estelle Baumgartner enemies?”
“Elmer is just teasing, honey. He says they’re our stiffest competition. Besides, I think he’s just trying to give you and your young man some time alone.”
“Try the twofer happy hour special, son. They make a mean margarita here, and you can’t beat the price.” Elmer winked at Jensen as he ushered Helen away, his gnarled hand a little too low on Gram’s back.
Jensen was most certainly not her young man. And while she appreciated Elmer giving them some privacy, she didn’t like him putting fanciful notions in her grandmother’s head. It was bad enough the tabloids were spreading that rumor all over the county—and the world, for that matter.
“I hear they’re having quite the bang-up price on them until seven o’clock.” Jensen, still standing, nodded toward her margarita glass. “Can I get you another one of those frozen drinks?”
“Oh, goodness no. Thank you. I didn’t even want this one.”
He raised his eyebrow at her almost empty cup, as if questioning why she would’ve drunk the thing down in three gulps if she hadn’t wanted it in the first place. And with the way he was looking down at her, she was reminded of the first time they met. Although this time, it was her neck hurting, not her pride.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit down?” she asked.
“Maybe for a moment.” He took the seat next to hers.
“So how did the airport run go?”
“Without a snag. My brother and sister are on their way back across the pond as we speak.”
“So you’re staying on here a little longer?” She wanted him to think she was just making casual small talk and that his decision to stay in town wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference to her. It wouldn’t, of course. But thoughts of that second kiss he’d given her after dropping her off near the VFW the other night made her insides turn to gelatin and her mouth go dry.
How did one explain the chemistry in a reaction like that?
Her hand shook as she reached for her empty glass. Well, duh. Now what? The only thing in front of her was the shot of tequila Elmer had ordered—the drink she hadn’t planned on drinking.
Trying to play it cool, she downed that, then winced.
“Here.” Jensen handed her his cold longneck bottle of beer.
She took a swig, then winced even more. “What is this?” She turned the label around and saw the harp logo on the front.
“It’s Guinness. My cousin Wendy stocks up on it for us, since we’re not used to the American ales. They’re too watered-down.”
Too watered-down? Was he crazy? Give her a cold light American beer any day over this thick drudge. But she bit her tongue as she handed his bottle back to him.
He signaled a waitress and asked her to bring another margarita and some water.
“Have my mother and Mr. Mendoza ordered yet?”
“No, sir. My lord. Um, I mean...” The young waitress stammered, most likely at a complete loss.
“Please, just call me Jensen. Will you let them know that I’ll join them in a few moments?”
“Of course, Sir Jensen.” The blushing woman hurried back to the bar.
As Amber watched her go, she wondered when the town would finally get used to this British invasion. The Beatles probably had it easier than the poor Fortune Chesterfields did.
“Speaking of your mom,” Amber said, “Lady Josephine and Orlando seem to be hitting it off well.”
“That’s bloody unlikely.” Jensen chuckled at the possibility. “Mum is just being social. She’s quite the mingler. Besides, Mr. Mendoza and she are true opposites.” He took a sip of his Guinness. “If she were to ever...well, become romantically involved with anyone, it would be with someone like my father. He was her soul mate—and one in a million.” He paused and looked off in the distance.
In fact, he looked beyond Mr. Mendoza and Lady Josephine, who appeared so deep in conversation that they probably didn’t even notice that Jensen was no longer sitting with them—much like Gram and Elmer did whenever Amber was around. Talk about a couple of third wheels. Amber had to laugh. Now that’s something she and Jensen did have in common—the fact that they found themselves as odd men out.
“Anyway,” the handsome blue blood continued, “why would my mum ever remarry when the only man she’d ever find would be someone who would fall short in her eyes?”
Amber looked over at the silver-haired British woman and the suave Orlando Mendoza. The two didn’t seem to be all that mismatched to her.
But what did she know about romance or soul mates?
Then again, maybe Jensen was actually talking about his feelings for Amber—warning her that even though they shared a passionate kiss, he would never marry someone who clearly fell short in his eyes.
That had to be it. Okay, that was a no-brainer.
The waitress returned with the margarita that Amber didn’t want, but she took a sip of it anyway to still her emotions and to cool whatever flush might have risen to the surface. But this time, she could blame it on the alcohol.
Fortunately, Gram and Elmer returned to save Amber from any further speculation of how unsuitable she and Jensen were.
As Elmer helped Gram into her seat, he said, “I’d have to say that me and Helen have the dance contest in the bag. They’re going with Tony Bennett. Again. Talk about Snoozeville. I’ll slip Clem Hodgkins a fiver to make sure we go after them. The Baumgartners will put the crowd to sleep, and then me and Helen will come along and bam! We’ll wake ’em right back up.”
Gram’s laughter tinkled out, and Amber had to wonder if she was merely being polite, or if she actually enjoyed the old man’s antics.
“So what music did you two select?” Jensen asked.
“Cotton-Eye Joe,” Elmer said smugly.
Amber slapped her hand to her forehead.
“What?” Elmer asked. “Do you think it’s too slow paced? Should we choose something livelier?”
Gram looked at her dancing partner, a furrow in her sweet brow, and Amber dumped the tequila shot into her margarita and took another drink. Heaven help her.
“Would you excuse me?” Jensen asked. “I need to tell my mother and Orlando that I’ve temporarily jumped ship.”
When he walked away, Elmer leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Did you do any fancy trick shooting for your audition?” Then he looked at Gram. “Maybe we should incorporate some pistols or something in our dance routine to really give it some pizzazz.”
“No!” Amber nearly shot out of her seat. When the other diners turned to look at their table, she lowered her voice. “No, you two may not do any trick shooting. It’s bad enough I have to worry about Gram breaking a hip, I don’t want to worry about her accidentally shooting somebody’s eye out.”
“What’s this about trick shooting?” Jensen asked, as he returned to the table.
“Amber is the best,” Elmer said.
“Like Annie Oakley?” Jensen’s smile was eager and almost hopeful.
The guy really needed to get a grip on this whole over-the-top Wild West fascination. Of course, it was people like him who would be paying customers, eager to see her show.
“Yes,” Amber admitted, “but when I do trick shooting, it’s in a controlled environment.”
“Oh.” The corners of his lips dropped and a look of dejection crossed his face. “So you don’t really know how to shoot then.”
Heck, the man acted as if she’d just told him Santa Claus wasn’t real. “Of course I know how to shoot.”
“A real gun?” His eyes sparkled with that same gleam Elmer’s had right before he’d confronted the Baumgartners.
“Yes, a real gun. I’m an excellent shot.”
“Care to make a wager on it?” Jensen smiled and cast a glance at Elmer, who’d scooted to the edge of his seat.
“I believe you still owe me from the last wager we made,” she pointed out. Their barbecue date had understandably been waylaid by Amelia’s recent delivery. And Amber had been looking forward to it.
“So then double or nothing,” Elmer shouted out, having no idea what the bet was in the first place. The man just loved a competition.
Amber lifted her brow at Jensen, waiting to see how he would react to the old marine’s suggestion.
But he didn’t give it a second thought. “Yes. Double or nothing.”
