Page 35 of Winter Vows

“Besides, you’re a blunt, straightforward woman. I’m sure you’ll let me know if you change your mind,” he suggested.

“I won’t change my mind.”

“Okay, then. It’s settled. Can I get back to work now?”

“Of course.” She reached for the bag of chips and began munching them as if she hadn’t eaten for a month. After a couple of minutes she stared at them as if she had no idea how they’d gotten into her hand. Scowling, she dropped the bag as though she’d just discovered it was filled with worms.

“Anything wrong?” he asked.

“Not a thing,” she said firmly. “I think I’ll go sweep out the storeroom.”

He grinned as she backed out of the room, carrying the broom in front of her as if it was meant to ward off any unwanted advances.

Oh, she wanted him, all right. Hardy recognized the signs. Unfortunately he had no idea what he should—or dared—to do about it. He had a feeling that the longer he went on playing with fire, the greater the odds were that someone was going to get burned. He had an even stronger, even more troubling feeling that this time—for the first time in the history of his social life—it could be him.

Nine

Hardy headed straight for Garden City the minute he and Trish wrapped up work on Saturday. He needed a drink. He needed a heavy dose of uncomplicated flirting. He needed to go home with a woman who wouldn’t wake up in the morning with expectations.

Of course, as usual lately, what he needed and what he got were two different things.

Harlan Patrick was seated at the bar, listening raptly as his wife performed her latest song in a test run before a very friendly audience. In this one, the romance had a happy ending and the tune was upbeat, reflecting the state of their marriage. Hardy was a whole lot more comfortable hearing about broken hearts. Those songs reaffirmed his cynical conviction that real love didn’t exist.

Harlan Patrick gestured toward the vacant bar stool next to him. “Join me. I’ll buy you a beer.”

Hardy figured the beer would come with strings attached. Harlan Patrick would probably waste no time pumping him for information about Trish and the state of the romance everyone in the Adams clan was hoping for.

“Sure, why not?” he agreed, hiding his reluctance. Hoping for at least a temporary distraction, he added, “Laurie sounds good.”

Harlan Patrick’s expression brightened. “She always does.”

“The song’s a little different from her usual.”

“Yeah. She’s worried about it, too,” he admitted.

“She thinks happiness is boring and that she’s losing her edge. I keep telling her she could sing the phone book and her fans would be ecstatic.”

“I’m sure she finds that reassuring,” Hardy commented.

“No, as a matter of fact, she gives me the same ‘oh sure’ look you’re giving me.”

“Does she have another concert tour coming up?”

As Hardy expected, Harlan Patrick’s expression soured.

“Not for a few more months, but that’s too soon for me. I’m hoping there’s enough time for me to persuade her to do a television special instead.”

“You really hate it when she’s on the road, don’t you?”

Harlan Patrick nodded. “And now with two kids, there’s even more reason for her to stay put, but I learned my lesson a few years back. If touring makes her happy, I’ll figure out a way to live with it.”

Laurie wrapped up her set, strolled over and put her arms around Harlan Patrick’s neck. “Hey, cowboy, buy a girl a drink?”

“You’ve got it,” he said, brightening at once.

Laurie grinned at Hardy. “So how much work did you and Trish actually get done today?”

“I see the White Pines grapevine is alive and well,” Hardy noted, ignoring the question.

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