The Best Blind Date In Texas. Victoria Chancellor
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got a job for you two,” he said in a near whisper.
That got their attention. “What kind of job?” the newspaper owner and editor asked.
“A little matchmakin’.” Ambrose smiled and leaned a bit closer. “I think my baby girl and our newest eligible bachelor would make quite a strikin’ pair, don’t you think?”
Joyce smiled and nudged Thelma’s side. “I think you’re right.”
GRAYSON PHILLIPS SENSED the tension building inside of him as he made the turn onto Deer Lick Road. His destination, the modest frame home next to Ranger Springs’s medical clinic, was in sight. He had nothing against the street, the house or even the woman inside, but still, his muscles tensed for battle and his breaths came faster, more shallow. He should have become accustomed to the feeling, but instead, he’d begun to resent the experience.
Gray wasn’t confronting an enemy or embarking on a dangerous activity. No, he’d been pressured into yet another blind date by resident matchmakers Thelma and Joyce, who had made his social life their exclusive business ever since he’d moved to town last summer.
Not that he’d resisted their efforts in the past. Many of their attempts to find him the perfect woman had been earnest, if misguided, efforts. He had yet to convince the two ladies he wasn’t looking for a future Mrs. Phillips. Hell, he’d tried married life, and in his opinion, being single was infinitely more desirable. And, despite a barrage of dates that involved dinners in some of Austin and San Antonio’s finest restaurants, charity galas and sporting events, dating was still much less expensive than catering to the whims of a wife.
But mostly, he’d realized just recently, their goal wasn’t only fixing him up. No, Thelma and Joyce had targeted him as the ideal blind date for whatever single woman under forty in town had a party, reunion, dance or other social obligation to attend.
His car eased into the driveway where his current—and soon to be one-time—date for the evening awaited. Slowly, aware of each crack in the concrete and each loose piece of gravel, he rolled toward the newly painted house. Apparently Dr. Wheatley—the retiring one, not his daughter—had bought the house years ago with plans to expand his practice someday. Gray had heard in town that the modest two-bedroom dwelling had been fixed up for the new doc.
He’d learned the hard way that the grapevine in Ranger Springs was usually accurate and exceedingly prompt. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that they were using some of the high-tech listening devices his company developed and manufactured. If he kissed a woman good-night, the entire downtown area was buzzing with the implications by lunchtime the next day. Thelma and Joyce seemed to be the ring leaders, although Gray had his suspicions that some of the older men who hung out at the Four Square Café were just as guilty.
He would have felt more used if he’d believed the two women were taking advantage of him. They weren’t. They simply couldn’t believe a single man was happy in his bachelor state. The two old friends believed they had a civic duty to see him matched up with some local woman who possessed the talent, grace or beauty necessary to win his heart.
“Right,” he muttered as he killed the engine of his silver Lexus. Little did they know how resistant he was finding the ideal mate. He’d loved his ex-wife, Connie, with the passion of youth, then with the settled assurance of married life. Sure, he’d spent much of his time building his invention into a business. He’d never realized she “suffered” from his lack of attention or absences. Not until he’d discovered her affair with one of his best friends. One of his former best friends.
Much to his surprise, his heart hadn’t died when he’d discovered his ex-wife’s betrayal, but his pride had suffered a major injury—one he was unwilling to repeat. The experience had reminded him of facts he’d learned from his divorced parents: first, relationships, especially marriages, should never be taken for granted, and second, nothing lasts forever.
His focus for the past four years had been building his company, Grayson Industries, into a high-tech competitor. The move from Dallas to Ranger Springs last year had been a good one. He provided jobs for many who chose to live in the Hill Country, plus his costs were way down since the move. And he was getting settled in a house that suited him on an ideal piece of land overlooking a rugged, winding valley.
Drawing in a deep breath, he ran his hands along the leather-covered steering wheel, letting the texture and shape calm him. He concentrated on everything that was right with his life at this moment: his business, this new town, his single status.
He slipped out of the warm interior of his car, welcoming the blast of cold air that swirled around the house from the north. He ducked his head against the head wind as he followed the cracked concrete walk past the yellow chrysanthemums and orange marigolds. His imported leather shoes made no sound as he climbed the two steps to the front porch. Before ringing the doorbell, he adjusted the lapels of his tux and ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair.
“Showtime,” he whispered as he pressed the buzzer.
AMY TOOK A DEEP BREATH, smoothed a hand down the simple lines of her ice blue, raw silk cocktail dress, and pushed out of the chair. She hadn’t heard her date arrive, despite sitting in her living room listening intently for the past ten minutes.
Not that she was anxious to meet him, or, for that matter, to even attend tonight’s function in Austin. No, she was simply curious about the man so many had praised as the perfect blind date. After her father had informed her he’d made the arrangements, Amy had gotten rave reviews on the man from everyone she’d met. She couldn’t remember any outsider who’d moved into the area who had been so totally accepted by the residents of Ranger Springs and beyond.
What could make this particular man so perfect? And why, unless he had a serious personality flaw or hygiene problem, did he need to go on so many blind dates? From her experience, good-looking, single men who were interested in women could get their own dates. She simply couldn’t imagine why everyone from Pastor Carl Schlepinger to the newest clerk at the Kash ’n’ Karry sang Grayson Phillips’s praises so highly.
Until she opened the door.
She snapped her mouth shut. Standing there gaping like a dead guppy wouldn’t give a great first impression to the tall, drop-dead gorgeous man with riveting gray eyes and dark hair liberally shot with silver. His wide shoulders more than did justice to the well-cut tuxedo and perfectly tailored white shirt.
No ruffles. No baby blue polyester.
“Miss Wheatley?” the Adonis at her door asked. “I’m Gray Phillips.”
“Dr. Wheatley,” she said automatically, her voice husky from disuse.
“Of course. My mistake,” he replied, his sculpted features and intelligent eyes giving nothing away. “I’ve met your father, and please, I mean this as no disrespect to him, but you hardly resemble my only experience with a small-town doctor.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, trying to get her brain and mouth working in sync as she stepped out of his way. “Please, come in. And call me Amy.”
As he walked past her, she noticed that he smelled as good as he looked. So much for her theory on over-thirty single men, personal hygiene and blind dates.
She led him into the living room—not that there was much leading to be done. The front door opened into the room without so much as a half wall to divide the space. New beige carpet covered the floor, and the walls had been painted a pleasing eggshell, but there was only so much a person could do in the week and a half she’d been in town. Decorating hadn’t been high on her list of priorities, so the black leather sofa and matching chair she’d moved with her, along with a couple of nondescript tables, sat abandoned against the walls.
“I’m afraid I haven’t settled in much,” she explained as she rubbed her hands against the chill of the November air that entered along with her date for the evening. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
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