Page 51 of Winter Vows

“I’ll get it,” she called out to Kelly.

She opened the door, then froze, mouth agape, her breath caught somewhere deep in her throat. Hardy was wearing a Western-style outfit, all in black. If she’d ever hoped for a pure rebel in her life, he personified it.

“You look...” they began in unison, then grinned.

“Gorgeous,” he concluded. “Very handsome,” she said.

And then they both seemed to run out of words, as if the importance of the evening ahead had finally sunk in.

“You two have a lovely evening,” Kelly said, breaking the silence as she came into the foyer, holding Laura in her arms.

“It’s just dinner and a movie,” Trish insisted.

Hardy said, “We will.” He glanced toward the baby. “Is Laura coming?”

Trish shook her head. “I decided she’d be better off right here. It’s a cold night.”

“Besides, one of these days Trish will move out and take this little darling with her. I want every second alone with her I can get,” Kelly declared.

Trish caught Hardy’s expression, watched it darken at Kelly’s words. He said very little until they were in the truck and underway.

“You planning on moving on, after all?” he asked finally.

“No, of course not,” she said, surprised not only because he’d misinterpreted Kelly’s remark, but because it seemed to bother him. “But I will have to find my own place one of these days. I can’t impose on Kelly and Jordan forever. We agreed I’d start looking as soon as the store is up and running.”

It sounded to her as if Hardy breathed a sigh of relief.

“You might have to build,” he said, his expression turning thoughtful. “There aren’t a lot of houses available around here. Families tend to stick close. If you decide to buy some land, let me know. I’ll drive you around. I’ve spotted a couple of pieces of property that might suit you.”

“Why haven’t you bought one of them for yourself?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Too much like settling down, I suppose. The bunkhouse suits me.”

See, she told herself. There was absolutely nothing to fear from spending the evening with him. Hardy Jones was not a marrying man. How many times did she have to hear that before she got the message? And why did hearing it once more irritate her so?

“You don’t need your own space?” she asked. “Not really. The place I grew up never felt much like a home, so I haven’t missed having one of my own. You can’t miss what you never knew. What about you?”

“I suppose I always assumed I’d have a house one day, complete with a white picket fence and a rose garden like the one Janet has at White Pines. I never wanted the sort of huge mansion my folks have. It’s a showplace. In fact, I think the only reason they bought it was because they figured it would be photographed every time someone wrote about my father.”

She sighed, then confessed, “The only place I ever felt really at home was at the little cottage they had at the beach near Galveston. My mother hated it, so she would send us kids off with the housekeeper for the summer. She and my father would pay us duty visits on weekends. They never arrived before dinnertime on Saturday and they were gone by noon on Sunday. I always laughed whenever she told a reporter about their weekend getaways as if they were some romantic little adventures she cherished.”

“Do they still have that house?”

“Dylan has it now. He bought it from them, and he and my brothers go there every chance they get. I suppose it’s their bachelor pad. They invite me once a year, and I’m sure it takes them a month to clean up before my visit.”

He grinned. “If they’re anything like the bachelors I know, it might take longer.”

A few minutes later they arrived in Garden City. Hardy pulled up in front of an old hotel that had clearly been restored in recent years.

“I hope this is okay. There’s a great little restaurant inside and there’s a dance floor.” He studied her uncertainly. “Sound all right?”

The mention of the dance floor set her pulse to pounding. The prospect of stepping into Hardy’s embrace, of feeling his body pressed against hers rattled her so badly she could do little more than nod.

He grinned. “Good. I’ve heard the band does all the old-fashioned stuff. I can’t promise you I can tell a waltz from a foxtrot, but I should be able to avoid stepping on your toes.”

As they walked through the lobby, Trish’s gaze shot to the registration desk. Of course there would be rooms upstairs. Was that why he had brought her here? Was he expecting something more out of tonight than dinner and dancing? And what about the movie they’d talked about? Maybe he’d been hoping she’d agree to watching one in bed. How many other women had he brought here and seduced? The rat! The louse! She was about to snap out some sarcastic observation when he grinned at her.

“You can forget about dragging me up to one of those rooms,” he taunted.

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