Riding Home. Vicki Thompson Lewis
it be, food or shopping?”
“Food. I’ll shop better on a full stomach. Besides, now that I know about your background, I have millions of questions about why you’re here and not there.”
“It’s simple.”
“I doubt it.”
He opened his door. “I promise you it is, but now that you know I have resources, will you let me buy dinner?”
“Absolutely not. If your suggestions work, then you saved my bacon on this case.”
“Don’t jump to any conclusions. I might have sent you and your assistant down the wrong bunny trail.”
“Or not. Assuming you set us on the right track, I owe you way more than a dinner.”
“Oh?” He couldn’t resist teasing her. After all, she was the one who’d called him sexy. “And what exactly did you have in mind that would repay that enormous debt?”
She met his gaze with a deadpan expression. “My eternal gratitude.”
“Damn. Guess I’m not quite sexy enough, even driving this big-ass truck.”
“Hold on.” Her green eyes danced with mischief. “You don’t know what my eternal gratitude might inspire me to do.”
Lust arrowed through him and centered in his crotch. He took a steadying breath. “Good point. Guess I’d better take your eternal gratitude for now and see how things work out. Let’s find some food.”
Twenty minutes later they were finally seated in a little Italian restaurant a block off the main square. It was the only place that didn’t have a two-hour wait. He should have anticipated that Jackson would be hopping on a Friday night in August, which was still officially tourist season. At least a table for two was easier to snag than if they’d had a larger party.
He ordered a bottle of Chianti and poured them each a full glass. They were on the far side of the square from the Western-wear store and the truck. By the time they ate, walked back around the square and shopped for her clothes, he’d be fine to drive.
Picking up his glass, he raised it in her direction. “Here’s to settling your case in your client’s favor.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She touched her glass to his and took a long swallow.
He watched her slender throat move, forgetting to drink his wine. All he could think about was pressing his mouth to that ivory skin and driving her wild with his kisses. She’d told her assistant he was sexy. He really wanted to prove that assumption.
“Zach? Are you okay?”
He snapped out of his sexual daze. “Great. Just great.”
“You haven’t touched your wine.”
“I was waiting for you.”
“Am I the taste tester? If I keel over, you’ll know not to drink it?”
“No, I... Ah, to hell with it. You’re beautiful, Jeannette. I’ve been trying to ignore that, but then you went and told your assistant that I’m sexy. That sort of changed the game for me.”
She put down her wine and gazed at him across the small table. “Okay, I’ll admit that you fascinate me, especially now that I know you had this whole other life before becoming a cowboy. What happened? Why did you give it up?”
“If I tell you that, I’m liable to lose some of my sexy quotient.”
That made her laugh. “I doubt it. Come on. We have time before our meal arrives, and I really want to know.”
He sighed. “Okay, might as well ruin my image sooner than later. I’d been dissatisfied for quite a while, although I wouldn’t admit it to myself. Couldn’t see myself walking away from all that money.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Nice try. But it’s not understandable when you figure I’d socked away enough to live comfortably for the rest of my life.”
Her eyes widened.
“Please don’t be impressed.”
“I’ll be impressed if I want to.”
“No, seriously, don’t be. You can make crazy money in Hollywood. But it’s a hectic life and your values can easily get skewed.”
“Sure, for the stars, but—”
“For anyone working in the business. I wasn’t morally bankrupt, at least not completely, but I was the contract lawyer for someone who was. He was a horse’s ass who never showed up at the set on time or else he’d be drunk, stoned or both. The studio finally fired him, but I got him the money, anyway. Millions. He sent me a case of Dom Pérignon and a pricey call girl.”
“Wow.”
“For the record, I kept the champagne but sent the call girl home.”
“You must be a damned good lawyer.”
“Used to be. Past tense.”
“That seems like a shame.” She picked up her wine and gazed at him over the rim of the glass. “All that education and experience, going to waste.”
“You’re not the first person to mention that.”
“I mean, sure, I can understand wanting to leave L.A. if you were burned out from that lifestyle, but you could set up shop somewhere else, especially if you have savings.”
“Just can’t get excited about doing that.”
“So you became a ranch hand, instead. Why?”
He sipped his wine as he thought how to answer without sounding starry-eyed. “I’ve been around Hollywood enough to know that the cowboy fantasy is a myth created by books and movies. But it’s a good myth, and it has some basis in fact.”
“Maybe it does.” Her green gaze became thoughtful. “Regan once said the guys he met at the Last Chance lived up to the image of what a cowboy should be—brave, honest, protective. I’m not surprised he’s happy to be part of that mystique. He’s all of those things.” Regret shone in her eyes. “He didn’t deserve—”
“Hey.” He leaned toward her. “He didn’t deserve ending up with the wrong person, either. Because of your actions, he didn’t. I propose a moratorium on guilt, at least for tonight.”
“Okay, but that goes for you, too. I hope you’re not still feeling guilty about the money you won for that actor.”
He thought about that. “I am, but you’re right. I need to lose the guilt. It’s over. Can’t do anything about it now.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, the reason I wanted to become a ranch hand is that cowboys are considered heroic, and I wanted to feel like that.” He shrugged. “Stupid, huh?”
She shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “Sweet.”
“Ugh. No man wants to be called sweet. The sweet guy is the best friend of the dude who gets the girl. Everybody who watches movies knows that.”
“That depends. Sometimes the sweet guy has a very good chance of gettin’ the girl.”
“He does?” Zach tried to read her expression to see if she was teasing him or not. The light had faded outside and the restaurant was lit by little candles that cast shadows everywhere.
“I’d say so.” She drained her wineglass and put it down carefully on the table. “I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, but bein’ with you is the most fun I’ve had in a long, long time.”
“Then I’m glad I suggested this.”
“Life’s not so fun when you don’t like yourself very much. Sometimes