His Valentine Bride. Cindy Kirk
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Betsy’s gaze drifted to the groups already forming for the game. She wrinkled her nose. “I hate charades.”
“That makes two of us,” Ryan said. “Want to sneak out?”
A look he couldn’t quite decipher skittered across Betsy’s face. Then she sighed. “You came with Mitzi, remember?”
Mitzi? Heck, he hadn’t seen the brunette since he’d walked through the door behind her. And that was just the way they both wanted it. “We drove separately.”
Ryan thought for a minute. He hadn’t seen Betsy with anyone all night, with the exception of him, of course. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t come with someone. “What about you?”
“I’m on my own.” The words came out on a little sigh.
“Good.”
She cocked her head. “Why good?”
He smiled. “Because you and I are going to do some serious partying and now there’s nothing standing in our way.”
Chapter Three
Betsy glanced at the glass of wine in her hand. Could someone have slipped something in her drink? That was the only explanation. She had to be hallucinating. There was no way on God’s green earth that Ryan Harcourt would ask her to party with him.
She glanced up and into those eyes that reminded her of liquid silver. “Pardon?”
“Good. I knew you’d be up for it.” He disappeared into a bedroom and returned with two coats—her Eskimo-inspired parka and his stylish but rugged L.L.Bean coat.
“How did you know this one was mine?” she asked, slipping her arm into one sleeve.
“You’ve worn it to the office every day this week.”
Yes, but it had also been safely tucked into the coat closet by the time he arrived. While it was warm, Betsy was well aware it wasn’t the most fashionable of outerwear. Obviously all her stealth had been for nothing.
The man was observant. Too observant. Alarm bells began ringing in her head. He’d noticed her coat. What would be next? Would he one day look in her eyes and see what she tried so hard to hide?
He can’t know I love him. I won’t allow that to happen.
“Nothing gets past you,” she said with a halfhearted chuckle.
“Thanks for the compliment,” he said, sounding pleased.
Before Betsy knew what was happening, he’d hauled her off to the hostess, and they’d said their goodbyes to everyone, including Adrianna, who seemed oddly pleased to see her best friend leaving the party early.
Because Betsy and Ryan both lived not far from downtown Jackson, she dropped her car at her home and they took his truck from there. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea. What if she wanted to leave the bar before Ryan was ready to go? But he assured her that he would leave whenever she said the word.
It made sense, she supposed, to ride together. After all, parking was at a premium in downtown Jackson, especially on a weekend night. Luckily a big Ram 4x4 was just pulling out of a spot on the street when they drew close.
Ryan shot a smile at her and stopped to wait. “Looks like this is our lucky day.”
Our lucky day. Not his lucky day. Not her lucky day. But ours.
Even though Betsy liked the sound of that—liked it a lot—it didn’t mean she’d lost all power of rational thought. She knew she’d simply been in the right place at the right time. Ryan had wanted to ditch the party and it looked better to be leaving with her than to leave alone. Still, “our lucky day” did have a nice ring.
“I’m going to leave my coat in the car,” Betsy said as he pulled into the vacated parking spot. She unfastened her seat belt, then reached for the zipper to her parka.
“Let me help you with that.” Ryan leaned over and assisted her with slipping the jacket from her shoulders.
She looked up and their eyes met. Electricity filled the air. Betsy held her breath.
But when he stepped from the truck without saying another word, she decided it must have been only her own overactive imagination conjuring up something that wasn’t there.
“I’m glad we found a close spot,” Betsy said over her shoulder. She’d started hurrying along the sidewalk the second her boots hit the pavement. Although she knew it would be toasty warm inside the crowded bar, outside the wind held a bone-chilling bite.
Despite her rush, Ryan still reached the door to the bar first. Like a proper gentleman, he pulled it open, then stepped aside, motioning her inside.
Betsy slipped past him, taking one deep breath of his spicy cologne before the pleasing scent was lost in the smell of sawdust, French fried potatoes and peanuts.
Ryan leaned close, shouting in her ear, “It’s packed tonight.”
She nodded, unable to keep the smile from her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy. Okay, it had been Tuesday when Ryan had told her the job was hers. And again that day, when she’d learned that the salary was considerably higher than what she’d been making at her previous position.
But this, well, this was different. This was a fantasy come to life. A night out with Ryan. She felt as if she was at a craps table in Vegas rolling sevens.
“Ryan, ohmigod, someone said you weren’t coming tonight.”
The sexy, breathless voice belonged to one of the blondes Betsy had seen him with last week. Her hair was tousled around her pretty face, but it wasn’t her bright smile that seemed to capture Ryan’s attention. It was her chambray shirt with pearl buttons hanging open, showing an amazing amount of cleavage. Even Betsy was impressed.
Snake eyes, she could almost hear the craps dealer call out. Her luck had come to an end.
“Who’s she?” The young blonde’s brows furrowed as she finally noticed the former bull rider wasn’t alone.
“This is Betsy,” Ryan crooked a companionable arm around her shoulders. “She’s an old friend.”
Old friend. Hmm. Better than saying she was his employee.
The blonde looked her up and down, clearly not liking where Ryan’s arm was positioned. “I bet you don’t play darts.”
Before Betsy could answer, the woman jerked a thumb toward Ryan. “Me and him are a winning combination.”
“Actually I’ve tossed quite a few in my time.” Quite a few may have been a bit of an exaggeration, but Keenan had taught her how to hold and toss a dart. At one time she’d been pretty good at it, too, but that had been years ago.
“I don’t think so.” The girl sniffed.
Betsy felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She narrowed her gaze. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“Ladies, ladies.” Ryan may have spoken to both of them, but it was Betsy who found herself on the end of his conciliatory smile. “There’s no shame in not playing.”
He thought she was lying, too. Betsy pressed her lips together and counted to ten. When she finally found her voice, she pinned the young blonde with her gaze. “Let’s play a game. Then you can offer me an apology.”
A momentary indecision filled the girl’s gaze. She shot a glance in Ryan’s direction.
Someone handed him a beer and he smiled benignly at the two women. “Sounds like a good solution to me,” he said, taking a sip.
Suspicion filled the blonde’s eyes. She glanced from Ryan to Betsy. “Is this some kind of setup?”