Texas Magic. Nancy Robards Thompson

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СКАЧАТЬ sipped her wine, buying time. She rolled the liquid around on her tongue, savoring its cherries, plums and earthiness.

      Being put on the spot by Pepper sort of had the same effect as flipping a coin for an answer—in that flash of seconds before fate decided the answer, she knew what she wanted in her heart of hearts.

      Yes. She did want to see him again. They’d had a fabulous time together. A truly fabulous time. No one was more surprised by this than she was. He’d been sweet and gentle and interesting. What was more, he seemed genuinely interested in her.

      He would call.

      Wouldn’t he?

      Oh, God, what if he didn’t call?

      * * *

      Drew spent way too many hours in the office, but long hours were the nature of his job as editor-in-chief of the Dallas Journal of Business and Development.

      After taking three days off for the wedding and spending all day Sunday with Caroline, he faced the age-old problem when he returned to work on Monday: his head just wasn’t in the game. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Caroline since he’d left her at the door after kissing her goodbye last night.

      Even so, that morning, he’d hit the ground running—albeit with a smile on his face—and had not stopped all day.

      Now, his computer screen glowed in the dusk of his dimly lit office. An article that one of the reporters had written about the opening of a new credit union in the area stared back at him blankly, and all he could think about was that at this time last night, he’d been with Caroline.

      Come on, damn it. Focus on work.

      Drew narrowed his gaze at his screen, redoubling his effort. It was stuffy in his closed office despite the cool October weather. Too bad he couldn’t open a window and let in some fresh air. But the one window in his shoebox-size second-floor office was strictly for show and not function.

      He got up and opened his office door instead. The newsroom was quiet. Since it was after eight, all the cubicles were empty, including the one that belonged to managing editor Bia Anderson. Since Bia and the staff had worked double time in his absence, he had intended to work extra hard for the next four days to pull the rest of the week’s edition together. He’d sent her home early. He was alone in the office.

      The newsroom was eerily silent. The faint smell of coffee hung in the air, mingling with newsprint and something else that was unique to the office. Drew liked to think it was the smell of ambition.

      He made his way to the small kitchenette, and for a moment he thought about putting on another pot of coffee, but he dismissed the idea when he saw that someone had already cleaned up the coffee station. No use in dirtying it up again today, even though he was going to be there a while. He settled on a glass of cold water from the cooler next to the coffeemaker and made his way back to his desk.

      Since the Dallas Journal of Business and Development hit the stands on Friday—a strategy designed to allow the Journal a slim margin to scoop the competition—the daily paper’s special tabloid-size business section, which ran on Mondays—Drew’s week began on Friday and ended on Thursday.

      That meant he worked most weekends. Technically, Monday was midweek for him. After taking off Friday, Saturday and Sunday, he should have been way behind schedule. But since Bia had done such a beautiful job handling the first three days of the week, it wasn’t so bad.

      Of course, there were still things that only he could do...in addition to editing the handful of articles that were just coming across his desk.

      Being the editor-in-chief of the newspaper meant he had to be disciplined and had to keep everyone else on track. He shifted in his chair, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he took a long drink of water. He opened his eyes again.

      The Journal may have been a small operation, but Drew ran a tight ship and expected nothing less of everyone else.

      Yet, even as he resumed editing the credit union article, his thoughts drifted to the events of the past weekend.

      It had been a long time since he’d been distracted like this, and all he could think was, Damn, she was worth the wait. Even though he had no idea he’d been waiting. Or that he’d been waiting for her.

      This thought helped him power through the article. He finished it, saved the changes and exited out. Pushing back from his desk, he acknowledged that it was time to take a break more substantial than getting a glass of water. He’d worked through dinner. So maybe a break would leave him better off in the long run.

      He picked up the phone and dialed Caroline’s number. It rang four times. He thought it was going to voice mail when she picked up.

      “Hello?” Her voice sounded like heaven to his ears.

      “Hi, I have this tuxedo hanging in my closet. And I have this really hideous pumpkin-colored tie hanging there with it. I understand that you might know of someone who has an outfit—preferably a dress—that might complement it or at least make it look good.”

      Her laugh was low and sexy.

      “I think I know just the person you have in mind.”

      The sound of her voice made him smile. He leaned back in his chair, and for the first time since he’d left her at her front door last night, he felt the tension melt out of his shoulders.

      “So, where besides a wedding does one wear such unsightly pumpkin getups?” he asked.

      “That depends on the pumpkins involved,” she said. “Pumpkins are always welcome at the farmers’ markets. This time of year, they’re frequently spotted in the produce aisle of the grocery store. Or for the really adventurous, they’ve been known to frequent ravioli and various pies and pastries. But that’s not for the everyday pumpkin; definitely not for the faint of heart.”

      “That’s very good to know,” he said. “So, you’re not faint of heart, are you?”

      “Me? No. Not me. Not at all.”

      “Did not think so. I didn’t take you for that sort of girl.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her voice wavered a little bit.

      So she wasn’t as tough as she was pretending to be. Quick-witted, yes. But not tough.

      “That’s my lame way of asking you if you’d like to go to the farmers’ market with me Thursday night. We can put on our hideous pumpkin outfits and have a scandalous night on the town.”

      “The farmers’ market is only open on Saturday mornings. I don’t think we can have a night on the town there.”

      “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

      “No. I’m definitely not easy, if that’s what you were thinking.”

      He smiled. She wasn’t exactly what he would call bristly, but he could tell he’d struck a nerve. Of course she wasn’t easy; she was damn irresistible.

      “Then how about simply going out to dinner with me Thursday night?”

      After СКАЧАТЬ