The Texan. Catherine Lanigan
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bags?” Angela asked and instantly looked under her chair for her purse. “Since when have I ever had bags? God! Getting old is the pits,” she said, but Ilsa and Julia weren’t listening. They were too busy dissecting Angela’s life for her. “I’ve been working overtime lately. I’m trying to make a living,” she replied with false haughtiness. “I would never waste a minute’s sleep over a man. You can be sure of that.”
“Certainly not,” Ilsa commented as her eyes zeroed in on a tall, lean, blond cowboy in a very tight pair of jeans and a black hat. “Anyway, I overheard Randy barking orders at you last week to get your sales up.”
“Don’t remind me. Not on my birthday. Okay?”
“I think she’s absolutely right to give up men,” Julia said flatly as she took a long sip of a gigantic frozen margarita in front of her.
“You do?” Angela’s eyes widened in shock. “Why?”
“Take a look at your track record. First was James. What a loser that guy was. He couldn’t keep a job for more than six months. Once you finally kicked him out of the apartment, you discovered he’d maxed your cards.”
“That was six years ago,” Angela said.
“Yeah. And it took you eighteen months to pay off the bills. Then there was Rick who thought it was okay to hit on all your girlfriends.”
“A real peach of a guy,” Ilsa agreed, munching on her sixth handful of snack mix.
“Last but not least was Larry. The jerk of all jerks who not only married your college roommate, but screwed you out of at least six months of real estate commissions. Remember the rules? Never sleep with a Realtor.”
Angela was more depressed than ever. “Let’s not drag up the past, shall we?”
“We learn from the past,” Julia wagged her finger at her friend.
“That is precisely what I’m talking about. Men today aren’t real men like...my great-grandfather was.”
“Do we have to hear this story again?” Julia frowned.
Ilsa cut her off. “But it’s so romantic. Tell us again, Angela.”
“He fell in love with my great-grandmother the first time he laid eyes on her at the Governor’s Ball in New Orleans. He told her they would build a wonderful life together on his ranch west of San Antonio. She loved him, too, and married him the next month. She worked right alongside him every day of her life. They were never apart. Not even for a single night. Until the day they died, they were kind and considerate toward one another.”
“I do love this story,” Ilsa sighed.
“Men today are afraid of commitment. Afraid of working. Afraid of children. Afraid to live. So, why should I waste my precious time on any of them?”
Julia munched on the piece of lime in her margarita. “You have a point. However, this isn’t 1895. This is the Post Oak Ranch. It’s a bar. A meeting place. Not a real ranch, okay?”
“I’m not an idiot, you know,” Angela sniffed.
“No, you’re our best friend,” Ilsa chimed in while giving Julia a stabbing look.
Julia’s eyes filled with apology. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I want you to be happy. And I’m going to make up by finding you just the right dancing partner for tonight. Let’s see,” Julia’s eyes scrupulously examined every unattached man. “No, too old. That one is too cocky. And that blond, tall drink of water over there is... is... heading this way.”
“Oh, my God!” Angela blushed, then smiled at the handsome man who smiled back at her. At least that was what it seemed like he was doing.
The man walked up to their table and put his arm on the back of Julia’s chair. “Would you like to dance?” he asked.
Julia’s breath caught in her throat. “I—I—” She looked at Angela who nodded back. “I’d love to.”
Not five seconds later a dark-haired younger man wearing jeans, a plaid shirt and tennis shoes asked Ilsa to dance.
Angela was alone at last, which was just the way she liked it. “Now I can daydream all I want without feeling guilty,” she mumbled to herself as she let her mind wander.
She knew her friends meant well, but they simply didn’t understand her. Glaringly aware of all her past mistakes, Angela resolved that on this birthday, the beginning of a new decade in her life, she would never, ever fall in love again, though she really didn’t want to give up men all together.
If there ever was a “next time” in her life, she would be sensible. She would test his motives and learn to be friends first and lovers later. Integrity and loyalty in a man counted for more than just sexual attraction. She would never again settle for anyone who wasn’t the kind of man her great-grandfather had been.
“See? This isn’t so bad, is it, Rafe?” Matt asked as the bartender placed two long-necked beer bottles in front of them.
Rafe took a long draw on the beer as he looked around the room. It was the usual mesh of working girls looking for a man to take care of them and the even more usual ogling businessmen who wanted to do the caring...but only for one night. “Nothing changes much, does it?” Rafe scoffed and turned back to the bar.
Just then, out of the comer of his eye, Rafe caught a glimpse of bobbing black-and-white balloons. “I don’t believe it. It really is someone’s birthday,” he said with surprise.
Rafe was about to make another wisecrack when the softest pair of brown eyes set in the most ethereal face he’d ever seen looked straight at him.
His breath caught in his throat as her eyes settled on his face with a look of endearment he’d only previously seen in his mother’s eyes. He couldn’t tell if she was actually seeing him or looking through him. She didn’t appear to mind that he was staring back. Neither smiling nor acknowledging his presence, her face shone with an inner peace he wished he’d cultivated for himself.
Looking rather out of place amid the harshly made-up women around her, the “birthday girl” as he mentally referred to her, wore little makeup and her blond hair fell in soft, natural waves down the sides of her heart-shaped ivory-pale face to her shoulders. He wanted to believe she used very little hair spray and certainly would never entertain the thought of having her hair “woven” with acrylic strands, the way Cheryl had. Women had millions of beauty secrets from fake eyelashes to plastic nails, silicone breasts and dyed, false hair to make them beautiful. Rafe wanted to believe that just this once, he’d found someone whose beauty was natural. Maybe it was possible this “birthday girl” could restore his faith.
Matt started to respond to Rafe’s quip but stopped himself in time to watch his friend’s decidedly strong reaction to the pretty blonde who looked as if this birthday would be the one to truly bury her. Matt couldn’t figure out what held Rafe so spellbound. She wasn’t half the “looker” type Rafe usually preferred and she looked so utterly... sad. Matt thought his friend needed a cheerleader to zap him out of his depressed state. A quick fling would do the trick, Matt thought. This girl was too much peaches and cream and too much of a real person.
Rafe slid his beer bottle onto the bar.
“Where you goin’?” Matt asked.
“To celebrate someone’s birthday,” Rafe said without looking back at Matt.
Angela was unaware of the soft dreamy look on her face as she mused about her fantasy hero. He would be tall, strong and good-looking, but he would have a gentleman’s manners and a code of ethics others would admire. He would be kind to children and animals. And when he spoke, he’d have a voice that sounded like...
“Happy birthday,” a velvety, sensual voice poured over her.
Angela