Page 19 of Parker

“How’s that?”

“Can’t let you ask her out,” he says, leaning closer to Mr. Westin’s good ear, “seeing as Parker Stewart’s my girl.”

“Wha’s that, now?”

“Parker and me. We’re together. You probably didn’t know that, but now you do, sir.”

Mr. Westin turns to me, one bushy white eyebrow touching his hairline. “You datin’ this young one?”

I take a deep breath.The frying pan or the fire?I glance at Quinn, then back at Mr. Westin.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, my ’pologies, Morgan. Didn’t know she was spoken for. Hope I didn’t cause offense.”

“No offense taken, sir. Just an honest mistake.”

It’s nothing short of misogynistic, the way these old guys talk to and about women, but the fact is, I’ve encountered these types of men all my life, and to my relief, Quinn has too. He knows as well as I do that the fastest way to get Mr. Westin off my tail for the next few days is for another man to lay claim tomy attention. I hate it on one hand, but on the other, I have to admit that I’m grateful for Quinn’s intervention.

“Sorry, miss. You have a good convention, now. Say hey to your Paw-Paw from me,” says Mr. Westin, nodding at me politely before sidling away.

I watch him go, then look up at Quinn. “Ugh. Thanks.”

He shrugs, a little grin playing on his lips. “I owed you one. Thanks for setting up my table this morning.”

“You looked a little frazzled.”

“First convention. I left the setup for this morning when I should’ve done it last night. Rookie move, I guess.”

“Live and learn.”

“Guess so.” He leans a touch closer, and unlike Buck Westin, there’s no stink of tobacco or whiskey to singe my nose hairs. “So…where are we meeting for dinner?”

“Yeah, right.”

Something flits across his face, but I don’t have time to identify it since he turns to walk back to his table.

“Hey, Quinn!” I call to his back. He looks at me over his shoulder. “Be careful of Skylar Jones.”

He casts a glance over at her table, then turns around to face me. “Why?”

“She’s got a mean streak. Used to make trouble for Harper when they played high school soccer. And Hunter said her brother’s a real piece of work.”

“Do you know her personally?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips.

“I don’t,” I say. “Not really.”

“Then you probably shouldn’t be talking shit about her, Parker.”

He gives me a reproving look before walking away, and it makes me feel petty and shallow. He’s right. I shouldn’t be talking shit about Skylar Jones. It’s none of my business thatQuinn’s interested in her, and it’s none of my business if that interest gets him in trouble.

I take a deep breath, plaster a smile onto my face, and greet a group of cheerful travel agents approaching my table.

***

After being on my feet all day in a packed, stuffy convention hall, all I want is some fresh air, but in Vegas, “fresh” is not much on offer. Eau d’Strip is a combination of rotten eggs, exhaust fumes, cigarette smoke, and too-strong cologne. It’s the epitome of “stale,” which is the opposite of what I crave.

From the windows of my room, I’m treated to a visual cacophony of glass, metal, and concrete flatlands that ends, blessedly, at the low, reddish mountains in the distance. Not the jagged, fir-covered mountains of my beloved Skagway, but the closest bit of “nature” to where I’m standing right now. I know from previous visits to Las Vegas that Red Rock Canyon is only twenty minutes from the hotel, and I consider ways to get there and enjoy it for an hour before the sun sets. But I didn’t rent a car, and without a vehicle to drive out there, I’m at a loss.

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