Falling For Fortune. Nancy Robards Thompson
last night after dancing with Jensen and remembering how good it felt to be held in his arms.
Or how his kiss had rocked her to the core.
As she shut off the ignition, she noticed the green Dodge Charger parked near the back door. The light was still on in the kitchen.
Obviously, Gram had company for dinner. Again.
It’s not that Amber minded Elmer being at their house so much lately. It was just that she didn’t want to have to make conversation tonight or have the perceptive old man quiz her about Jensen and about what he suspected might be going on between them.
Because the truth of the matter was, even if Amber wanted to be perfectly open and up-front, she didn’t have an answer for him—or for anyone.
While she’d worked the horses this morning and then during the drive both to and from the ranch near Lubbock, she’d run the whole situation backward and forward in her mind. Yet, she still had trouble knowing what to make of it all—the fun she had when they were together, the attraction she felt for him, the sexual feeling he aroused in her. And he seemed to be experiencing those same things—although she could certainly be reading into that all wrong.
Sometimes, when she found herself losing focus or direction, she’d put on headphones and pump Garth Brooks as loud as she could stand it, just to help her mind clear. And if her mind ever needed some clearing, it was tonight.
Yet, cruising down the highway, with the horse trailer hitched behind, the last thing she wanted to be reminded about was how things between her and Jensen could never work out. So when Garth had come on the radio, singing about Papa lovin’ Mama into an early grave, she’d switched the dial to a loud rock station. There’d be no songs about fatal attractions or star-crossed lovers for her tonight.
Now, as she walked toward the front porch, her ears were still ringing from the electric guitars that had blasted the entire ride home.
She didn’t want to deal with Gram or Elmer Murdock or even the empty horse trailer she’d left hitched to the truck. All she wanted was a piece of Gram’s leftover cornbread and maybe a cold glass of milk before taking a nice hot shower and hitting the sheets.
When she entered the house, she spotted Elmer resting comfortably in Pop’s old leather recliner. So comfortably, in fact, that his age-spotted hands were crossed over his extended belly and his mouth hung wide open. His snores were loud enough to trigger the lowering of the guardrail on a railroad track.
Amber didn’t appreciate another man taking Pop’s place in the ranch house, but at least Elmer was sound asleep. Thank goodness for small favors.
She heard the sink water shut off, so she made her way into the kitchen, where Gram was drying dishes with an old flour sackcloth.
Helen Rogers always claimed a woman did her best thinking standing in front of a kitchen sink. And Amber had found that to be true, as well. In fact, the kitchen was a special place. Some of their best conversations happened right there on that worn spot of pine boards in front of the faucet. So she picked up another cloth and took a wet plate from the dish rack, as Gram turned and greeted her with a warm smile.
“I see you’ve got company.” Amber nodded her head toward the living room, where the television hummed with the nightly newscast.
“Poor Elmer plum tuckered himself out today, so I figured I’d let him rest up before he had to drive home.”
“How’d he wear himself out?” Amber asked, before she could stop herself. She didn’t mean to imply that the man was lazy. A tornado couldn’t keep up with him. But he was clearly basking in Snoozeville while Gram was cleaning up.
Of course, Pop never had lifted a finger around the house, since it had always been Gram’s domain, but still, he’d worked hard on the ranch.
“Elmer cooked dinner,” Gram said. “He made an amazing beef Wellington and the most delicious fingerling potatoes. He even baked a chocolate soufflé for dessert. You wouldn’t guess it by the way he won that chicken wing–eating contest over at the Moose Lodge last week, but he’s quite the gourmet.”
No, Amber wouldn’t believe it. And she was tempted to check the fridge to see if there were any leftovers in there to prove it. But she’d take Gram’s word for it.
“So how did the delivery go?” Gram asked, thankfully changing the subject.
“Pretty well. Stumpy Thomas was pleased with the gelding, and his granddaughter went nuts over the young mare. He cut me a check while I was there, so if you’re going into town tomorrow, could you swing by the bank?”
“Well, I do have that tea planned with the garden committee. It’s not even spring and already they’re planning for the Blue Ribbon Floral Spectacular. Elmer thinks my roses are going to bloom early this year. And he was online all yesterday afternoon researching alternative fertilizing techniques.”
Amber couldn’t see the old man maneuvering his way around the World Wide Web, but he certainly knew his way around winning competitions he had no business entering. So if Elmer was backing Gram’s rose bushes, that blue ribbon was as good as hers.
“So what’s going on with you and Elmer, anyway?” Amber asked as she put away a bowl and reached for the wet silverware. Please say you’re just friends.
“I guess the same thing that’s going on with you and that Sir Jensen you’ve been spending so much time with.”
Sure, Amber told everyone she and Jensen were just friends, and while things had definitely been getting a lot more than friendly between them, she didn’t want to think that something similar between Gram and the retired marine might be heating up, as well. Gross.
But since Amber didn’t want to have that conversation with her grandmother, she kept her mouth closed.
After a couple of minutes, Gram dried her hands and took off her apron. Then she turned to Amber. “Why don’t you like Elmer?”
“It’s not that. I’ve always enjoyed his humor. Who doesn’t? He’s very entertaining. But as far as the two of you go, I guess I just don’t get what you find so appealing about him.”
“He has a romantic streak.”
Amber glanced over her shoulder and into the living room at the snoring old coot. “You gotta be kidding.”
“This afternoon, he took me to the Golden Horseshoe, the old theater that was refurbished last fall, the one offering old classics at a low price.”
“You found that romantic? The place charges three bucks to see super old movies that you can watch on TV for free.”
“But it’s not the same as sitting side by side, sharing Milk Duds in the dark and watching them on the big screen.”
Amber took another look at the man and wondered if sticky caramels were good for his dentures, which were, at this very moment, at risk of sliding out of his slack mouth.
“Plus,” Gram added, “on Sundays they do a senior special. And Elmer said he saved five dollars on our tickets and popcorn combo.”
Not that Pop had been rolling in the dough, but Gram deserved a nicer date than some discount movie theater. Of course, Mr. Murdock was probably on a limited income with his military retirement, but did he have to be so obvious in his money-saving techniques?
“Okay,” Amber said, deciding to focus on the positive. “I’ll give you that the theater definitely has ambiance. So what did you see?”
“Urban Cowboy.”
“And you thought that was romantic?”
“Actually, yes. Have you ever seen it?”
Amber nodded. “Once. About a year ago, when I couldn’t sleep. It was on television. The music was pretty cool—for an old classic—but I can think of a lot better romantic movies.”