Falling For Fortune. Nancy Robards Thompson
working on the ranch. At first, she’d thought he might be assessing her choice of clothing, since the uptight Brit was so stoic and difficult for her to read.
But riding the pro rodeo circuit provided her with plenty of opportunity to study the male species and their mating rituals. And there appeared to be one thing that applied to all men around the world. They couldn’t hide their sexual interest in their eyes.
Whether Jensen was wearing a top hat or a Stetson or no head covering at all—like today, with just the Texas breeze to ruffle his dark locks—the intensity in his gaze couldn’t mask his obvious physical attraction.
Nor did Amber want it to. It caught her off guard and made her tremble as she walked toward the makeshift range Elmer had set up alongside the barn. It even filled her head with intoxicating ideas of what that gaze could lead to. It also made her feel like a desirable worldly woman, one who hadn’t given up her career to breed horses at the family ranch in the middle of Texas.
She didn’t know what it all meant, but she certainly liked the way it made her feel, the way it made her walk a little taller and with a little more sway to her hips. And she’d be darned if she wouldn’t win this shooting competition and have a night on the town with him because in no time at all, he’d return to London, leaving her in Horseback Hollow, where she’d be forced to read about his dates—rumored or real—in all the tabloids.
She’d once dreamed of riding the rodeo, traveling the world and tasting all it had to offer. And she did accomplish her goal—sort of, given that she’d never made it outside the borders of North America. Jensen provided a glimpse into that lifestyle that she would never have. But Horseback Hollow and the Broken R had always been home to her. And when push came to shove, she’d always known she’d end up back here one day anyway.
And if that meant she had to shoot her best today to get a small taste of glamour for two nights at best, then that’s exactly what she would do.
So she lifted the stock to her shoulder, took careful aim at the Caliente soda bottle and squeezed the trigger.
“Hot damn!” Elmer shrieked as the neon pink liquid sprayed into the air.
Gram clapped politely from her seat off to the side. “Three more shots to go.”
Amber made all of them, blasting strawberry-cream-and-hot-sauce-flavored soda with each direct hit.
“That’s our girl!” The retired marine patted her back, then hurried out to place new targets for Jensen’s turn.
Amber passed the rifle over to her competitor and smiled.
“Well-done, Miss Rogers.” Jensen loaded the shotgun, took aim and shot through the bottle, blasting a spray of pink liquid. Then he turned to her and winked. “I prefer the British Boss over the American Remington, but I believe this rifle will get the job done.”
Amber crossed her arms. “We’ll see who’s ‘boss’ when it comes to shooting then, won’t we?”
“So we shall. And to be perfectly honest, I’d enjoy competing with you just to have what you Americans call bragging rights.”
“We’ll see who’s bragging when it’s all said and done, Sir Jensen.”
He flashed her a handsome grin, then proceeded to fire again, nailing the next two targets.
Amber’s pulse rate soared. She’d always enjoyed the adrenaline rush of competition—friendly or otherwise. But this was different. Each time Jensen cast a glance her way, his brow lifted, his lips quirked in a boyish grin, a glimmer in his eyes, her heart did all kinds of loop-de-loops.
Talk about a rush...
As Jensen took aim at the last target and drew back on the trigger, he pulled his right shoulder back a bit too much, and his round veered into the fence post.
“Whoop-dee-doo!” Elmer shouted. “We won!” He lifted Amber into the air and twirled her around in his stocky arms.
While she appreciated Elmer’s support and enthusiasm, she didn’t want to rub Jensen’s loss in his face. She might be a born competitor, but she was also a good sport.
So was Jensen, it seemed, because losing didn’t seem to bother him at all. In fact, a smile tugged at his lips, and a glimmer lit his eyes. Surely he hadn’t missed his last shot on purpose...?
When Jensen set down the rifle, and Elmer set her down to hurry over to Gram, Amber held out her right hand.
“Good game,” she said.
Jensen accepted her offer of sportsmanship with grace and class, although he held her hand a bit longer than necessary, and his smile deepened. “Make sure you wear those jeans when we go to dinner.”
With that, he released her, but his gaze held her steady and tight—so much so that she had to will herself to take a breath. Finally she glanced down at her Wrangler jeans. “Why do you want me to wear these?”
“They’re a nice fit.”
She’d been thinking about wearing a dress, but maybe he hadn’t meant their dinner date to be a...date.
“All right. It’s a da...deal.”
Jensen glanced toward the back porch, where Gram was sitting, smiling with Elmer, and winked.
Amber was more surprised to see that it was Gram who actually returned Jensen’s wink.
* * *
Amber walked into Smokey Joe’s, her favorite barbecue joint and honky-tonk in Lubbock. Normally the place was bright and loud during the dinner rush, then the staff moved the tables and dimmed the lights. That’s when the drinkers and line dancers showed up.
She wore new boots—and the jeans Jensen hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off that morning. She also found a black, ruffled halter top in the back of her closet and threw a short suede jacket over it. She doubted Jensen would be up for any dancing afterward, but she dressed in layers, just in case.
It may be cool outside, but when the crowds settled in and the music got going, small places like Smokey Joe’s could heat up quickly.
She was met by the hostess, a peppy college-age girl with a vivacious smile, a low-cut blouse and a pair of Daisy Duke–style shorts.
“I’m meeting someone,” Amber said.
The young woman, whose name tag read Maddie and whose legs looked as if they could use a lot more covering than what the skimpy denim provided, smiled. “A tall, formal, good-looking dude?”
At Smokey Joe’s? That description couldn’t possibly describe anyone else. Amber nodded, then followed the hostess.
For the eighth time that night, she wondered if she’d put on too much makeup or if she’d overdressed. She ran a hand through her long and loose hair, wishing she’d clipped it back or pinned it up.
This wasn’t a date. And she didn’t want Jensen getting the idea that she was trying to dress to impress him. But it was too late to change course now, so she continued on, past the makeshift seating on the dance floor and then the bar itself. They even passed the kitchen with its open window letting out scents of smoked meat and tangy sauce.
She’d eaten here plenty of times, but she had no idea there was more seating this far back. Where the heck was Maddie the hostess taking her?
Maybe she’d misunderstood. Maybe there were two tall, handsome, formal dudes in this neck of the woods.
Dang, maybe there was some private party going on, and Amber was about to crash it. But just as they rounded a corner, Jensen, who’d been seated at a small table in a hidden alcove, stood to greet her. “Hello, Amber.”
She looked around, still curious about this secluded corner. “Well, what do you know? I had no idea they had a room back here.”
“I thought it would be quieter than out front.”