Texas Wedding. Nancy Robards Thompson
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by the first few booths, it looked like the festival was about froufrou food; he craved something substantial. He inhaled again to make sure the delicious smell of something cooking on the grill hadn’t been a sensory mirage. It was still there. It made his mouth water.
“Hi! I’m Deloris. Care to try my salmon mousse?” A petite, middle-age woman, who looked like she would be more at home in a Junior League meeting than hawking fishy fluff, held out a white plastic spoon heaped with the unappetizing stuff. “I made it myself. When I bring it to parties everyone just goes wild over it and asks me for the recipe. They always say, ‘Deloris, you should go into business and sell that mousse of yours.’ So I did. Here, hon, have some.”
She seemed so proud. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings. He wasn’t picky, but the fact that he could smell the goo from a distance made him hesitate, despite how a steady stream of people drifted by and grabbed spoons.
“You know what? I just got here and I’m making my rounds to see what looks good. I don’t want to get too full too fast.”
She smiled. “Well, I understand. But you come back and see me. I’ll save you a bite, okay?”
He tilted his chin in what he hoped was a noncommittal gesture. “By the way, would you happen to know where I could find the Celebrations, Inc., Catering booth?”
“I don’t know right off the top of my head, hon, but I’ll look at the festival map and find out for you.”
She placed the mousse spoon on an iced silver tray, walked to a table at the back of the tent and returned with a map of vendor locations.
“Let’s see...” She traced the page with a nail that was painted the same color as her mousse. “Ah! Here we go. We’re here.” She tapped the paper. “You’ll want to scoot right across there.” She traced a path away from her booth, around the large gazebo in the center of the square—where a Country-Western band was playing and people were line dancing—to the other side of the square. “Celebrations, Inc. is in tent number 78. Right under that big old oak tree, across from where everyone’s dancing. Would you like to take this with you?” She offered him the map.
“You might need it later. But thanks for your help.”
She rolled the map into a cylinder. “It was my pleasure. But hey, before you go, are you looking to secure a catering company for an upcoming event? Because I know AJ and if you told her you wanted her to use my mousse, I know she’d do it.”
“Actually, I’m just stopping by her booth to say hello.”
“Oh. Ooh!” Her eyes sparkled as if Shane had confided that he was there to propose to AJ. “How long have you known our AJ?”
Another thing he hated about small towns was how good news tended to travel fast. He needed to nip this in the bud before Deloris told the entire town he and AJ were engaged.
“Actually, I don’t really know her. We have a mutual friend, and I was just stopping by for a second to say hello.”
“Oh.” Deloris looked decidedly disappointed.
As luck would have it, three women walked up to the booth, all hugs and squeals, apparently delighted to have found Deloris and her delicacies. Shane took that opportunity to wave goodbye and make his exit.
He meandered in the general direction Deloris had outlined, past the gazebo, toward the stately oak tree, counting down the booths until he came to number 78. That’s when he realized that the heavenly scent of burgers on the grill was coming from the Celebrations, Inc. tent.
Like a petite, blonde angel, AJ was setting down a tray of small burgers. Exactly what he was craving.
Maybe I should ask her to marry me right now.
Chapter Three
Fluffy clouds like white cotton candy stood out against the brilliant blue sky. What a glorious day to be outside, giving away food. All morning, AJ kept thinking she saw—of all people—that soldier who’d brought her the chocolate. Out of the corner of her eye, she’d catch a glimpse of a tall, broad-shouldered blond guy and immediately her thoughts would skitter to Shane Harrison. Each time it turned out not to be him, a vague sense of disappointment would press down on her.
It was peculiar that she kept thinking she saw him. Usually when that happened, she would end up seeing the person who’d been on her mind.
She didn’t claim to be psychic or think that the false sightings were some sort of precognition; it was just uncanny how often it happened that she thought about someone and later they’d turn up. With the number of false soldier sightings she’d had today, AJ shouldn’t have been surprised when she turned around to set out her ninth tray of samples and found him standing at her tent. Nonetheless her stomach did a triple gainer.
“There you are,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head slightly to the right. “You were expecting me?”
Ugh. “Did I say that out loud?”
“You did.”
She set down the tray on the table and adjusted her latex gloves and smiled at the other people who came up and grabbed the small plates of food she was offering. The festival was so busy and she’d been working at such a brisk clip her thought must have slipped out. Out loud.
Great.
Note to self. Check internal filter. Make sure it is firmly in place.
“Actually, I was speaking in generic terms,” she hedged. Oh, peachy. If she kept this up she’d end up digging herself into a deeper hole. Heat began to creep up her neck. “I knew someone was behind me—lots of people have visited my tent today—and I—I meant to say, ‘There you are.’ You know...as in ‘look what we have here.’ This is for you.”
She nudged the tray toward him. “Have some.” But he continued to squint at her for a few more beats before shifting his gaze to the proffered platter.
“Okay. So, what do we have here?”
“Sliders. Three kinds. I call this one the Tailgater. It’s a beef patty with bacon, cheddar and caramelized onions with barbecue sauce on the side. This one’s the Parisian. It has Brie, ham and sautéed mushrooms. Then there’s the Antipasto. It’s topped with roasted red peppers, spicy salami, provolone and a garlic-basil aioli.”
As he contemplated the platter of mini burgers, it was the first time AJ had the chance to get a good, uninterrupted look at him. She drank him in, his close-cropped sandy hair, the high cheekbones and his straight, slightly too-big nose that balanced his good looks with just the right amount of brawn. He would be too pretty with a nose any smaller—especially given the particular fullness of his lips. Yes, the lips were...sexy.
He looked up and caught her staring.
“May I try one?”
“Of course.”
Her gaze slid down his broad shoulders to his arms, which were tanned to gorgeous end-of-summer bronze perfection. Her focus finally found the tray of sliders.
“In fact, I’d appreciate it if you would try all three and tell me which one you like best,” she said.
“I’d love to,” he said. “I’m somewhat of a burger expert.”
“You are?”
She grabbed a larger paper plate from the supply she’d stashed under the table and used the tongs to dish up three sliders. When he reached for the plate, she noticed his hands were rugged, but the fingernails were short and clean.
Mentally, she checked off the clean hands item on the list of “Man Criteria” she kept in her head. Clean hands told a lot about a guy. Soft, manicured hands would be weird, but clean with short nails were still manly and indicated good grooming. As far as she was concerned, nasty hands were a definite