Page 145 of Call Back

“No, I’m saying you’re acting uncharacteristically.”

I thought he might be insulted, but instead he flashed me a cavalier smile. “For the record, I did try to talk you out of it after our scare at the industrial park—a couple of times if I recall—but despite the rumors, I’m not all beauty and no brains. You’re a stubborn woman, Magnolia Steele, and I’m smart enough to know there’s no talking you out of something you want to do.”

“You’re not stupid, Colt,” I whispered, searching his face. That was the second time he’d defended his intelligence. It occurred to me that he and I were a lot alike. How many people had assumed I was empty-headed because they thought I was beautiful?

His smile faded. “At this very moment, that could be debated.”

Something was wrong, but I knew he wasn’t going to come out and tell me. Whatever he was wrapped up in had him too spooked. I’d have to find another way.

“For the record,” he said, “you’re here so I can keep an eye on you.”

“You think I’ll do something stupid?” I asked without any heat.

“No. I’m terrified someone else will do something to you.” He searched my eyes. “No matter how this all goes down tonight, you need to know that you’re my biggest priority. It didn’t start out that way, but that’s how it ends.”

I shuddered. “Don’t say ends, Colt. You’re scaring me.”

The music stopped and he placed a soft kiss on my lips. “Let’s get a drink.”

He slipped an arm around my back, and we pushed through the crowd toward a bar—where we came face-to-face with Brady.

How had I forgotten he was going to be here?

But there he stood in a black tux, his face expressionless. “Magnolia,” he said, using his detective voice. “I thought you were with your dying mother.”

I supposed I deserved that.

“Sorry if I borrowed her for the night,” Colt said, but his hand remained in place on my hip. “But I invited her last week . . . before you become Bragnolia.”

I shot him an annoyed glance, then turned to Brady. “My mother made me come.”

“And did she make you kiss Colt on the dance floor?”

Shit. “No.”

He turned and walked away.

“Hey,” Colt said, tugging on my hip. “You okay?”

I glanced up into his worried face. “As much as I can be, although I think I might have to kill you for coining the term Bragnolia.”

“What?” he said, pulling me a couple of steps closer to the bar. “It’s a good one, although I’m much more partial to Molt.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Molt? Isn’t that what lizards do when they shed their skin?”

He winked. “So maybe it needs more thought.”

“You’ve given us a couple name?” I asked, hating the question in my voice.

He turned serious. “I told you that you’re my number one priority.”

The couple in front of us moved out of the way, and—much to the confusion of the bartender—Colt ordered a club soda and coke and a glass of white wine. I gave him a questioning look when the bartender started filling his glass, but he gave me a tight smile. The club soda was to make it look like there was liquor in his drink, and the wine was probably to help take off my edge.

“When did you eat last?” he asked, steering me toward the buffet table. When I didn’t answer, he said, “That’s what I thought.”

I was too nervous to eat much, but I put a few of my favorites on my plate. I never could pass up Tilly’s bacon-wrapped shrimp.

Colt leaned into my ear. “You didn’t make those shrimp puffs, did you? I want to get one, but only if they’re safe.”

---