Oh, brother. Can we say obvious?
Blair slides into the chair opposite me. As Jack sits back down between us, she scoots over close to him and pats his hand, showing off her signature long red fingernails. “I’ll just be a fly on the wall. You won’t even notice I’m here.”
Her perfume alone makes that an impossibility, but I sit down and open my notebook.
She motions the cameraman to start rolling. “Sooo,” she purrs to Jack, “what time do you think the meeting will start?”
He looks at me and raises a brow. “You ready to get this done?”
I nod.
Blair frowns, but I notice her forehead doesn’t wrinkle. Oh, the wonders of Botox. “Where is the rest of the committee?”
“For right now, I’m it.” I tap my notebook and look at Jack. “First let’s talk about the concession stand.”
“Wait,” Blair interjects, the buzziest fly on the wall I’ve ever seen. “Do you mean our fair city’s centennial celebration committee consists of one person?”
“No, but the other members weren’t able to make it tonight,” I say through clenched teeth. No use in even telling her that I’m just filling in.
“Weren’t able to make it?” she asks. “Why not?”
“Personal reasons.” She’s a reporter; let her figure it out. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we need to get a few details taken care of.”
She sits back in her chair and crosses her legs. Could that suit skirt be any shorter?
I start with the concession stand items, partly because I figure this is the least controversial, and I’m not about to fuel Blair’s apparent love of tabloid-style reporting.
Jack pulls out two pieces of paper from his folder, keeps one, and gives me one.
I read the list of conventional concession stand items: hot dogs, popcorn, nachos, candy.
“Uh, Jack, I was thinking that maybe this year, we could, you know, maybe add some healthy alternatives. Sliced apples? Salad in a bag?” I put down the sheet. “I saw this company that makes vegetable wraps, and they looked so—”
“You’re kidding, right?”
I expect the words from Jack, perhaps, but not Blair, who has apparently lost all attempts at objectivity. “Health food at a rodeo?” She leans back, shaking her blond curls, one eyebrow cocked. “Puh–lease.”
I glance at Jack. I see what looks like a small battle waging on his face, between agreeing with her and not wanting to make a scene on local television.
Oh yeah, that’s right. Local television. I shoot a glance at the camera and pick up the sheet of concession items.
“This is a good start, however.”
Jack gives me the briefest of dubious looks before he says, “Our company orders the food and provides people to work the concession stand.”
I remember what Ron said about saving money. “I thought we’d have volunteers do that.” Oops, more controversy. I force a smile.
He shrugs. “If you want to, you can, but most people find it easier to let us do it.”
“For a larger cut of the profits.” I lower my voice as I say this, though. Maybe they won’t catch it on camera.
“Well, yes.” A wry grin edges his lips upward. “We don’t do it for free.”
“Normally I’d say let’s do it the easiest way, but I crunched some numbers earlier, and unless we figure out a way to raise the attendance figures above average, we won’t be making much of a profit anyway. So I vote volunteers.”
“Whatever you think,” Jack says.
See, that wasn’t so hard. We’ll get back to the food later. Meanwhile, I turn to Blair. Might as well make use of her presence. “If you could put out an on-air call for concession stand volunteers. . .”
She smirks. “ ‘Get Real, Shady Grove’ is about the funny side of the celebration preparations. It’s not a charity drive.”
“I thought you might want to do something useful for a change,” I mutter.
She seems to take that as some sort of subtexted line in the sand, because she leans forward, pushes her microphone in my face, and asks sweetly, “The last time we saw you involved in the centennial celebration, you were showing off your very amateur landscaping skills.”
It takes all my willpower to return her smile, but I remember how skillful she is at editing these clips. “Yes, I worked with my friend Allie Richards of TLC Landscaping. She won the competition and is now in charge of the landscaping for the city of Shady Grove.”
Blair’s nostrils flare, but she quickly recovers. “So is this another case of helping someone you care about? What”—she gives a pointed look at Jack—“or should I say who, has fired your passion for the centennial celebration rodeo, Dr. Donovan?”
I give her my best professional smile. “Maybe we can do an interview later, but right now we’re in the middle of a meeting.”
Jack is grinning.
Blair shoots me a glare.
Jack’s smile dims. He clears his throat and hands me a new paper. “Here’s the proposed program order.”
I look down at the straightforward list of rodeo events.
“I wrote these out in the usual order, but if we have a lot of contestants in the junior events, maybe we should consider doing ten-ten-ten.”
I give him a benign smile, determined not to show my ignorance in front of Blair.
He apparently picks up on my confusion—hopefully the camera doesn’t—because he jumps in to expound. “We’d start off with the little guys mutton busting, but then we’d have ten contestants in the sorting, ten in the goat tying—”
“Goat tying?” I shake my head. “Are we locked into these events?”
“Why?” Jack asks.
“Because I’ve always thought goat tying was barbaric.” I must sound like a softhearted idiot, but I can’t help it. “Have you seen one of those little goats? Poor little fella. After the contestant unties him, he lies there and pretends he’s dead—” I break off as I notice Blair motion the cameraman to zoom in on me. Oops, again.
“We can discuss it later.”
Blair pastes on what I’m coming to think of as her buzzard smile. She has an unerring radar for weak spots. “Dr. Donovan, I would guess that your committee needs publicity for the rodeo. If you don’t let us have a behind-the-scenes feel, then how can you expect to raise interest?” Apparently it’s a rhetorical question, because she turns to Jack. “I’ve never seen goat tying, but it certainly sounds barbaric. What do you think?”
He gives me a level look that I roughly translate into “Why did you get me into this crazy mess?” then turns his gaze back to her. “I guess it just depends on how you look at it. Goats are known for being stubborn, and they’re certainly not mistreated in our rodeos.”
“Do you feel they’re mistreated, Dr. Donovan?”
Oh good grief. Jack cocks his head as if he’s truly interested and not holding himself back from strangling me. Committee meetings—more fun than a barrel of goats.
I keep my voice cool. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a rodeo.” I run my finger along the list of events and stare for a second at my short, unpainted nails. Prada versus practicality—that’s Blair and me. But I will not rise to her bait. “You were explaining the ten-ten-ten schedule,” I remind Jack. Code for “Let’s keep going and get this over with.”
Jack nods. “Yes, so after the mutton busting, we’d just have ten contestants in each event, the barrels, the poles, and so on, until the bull riding. Then, after we do all the bull riders, we’d start over with the remaining contestants in the other events and call out the winners.”
I frown. “What’s the logic in doing it that way?”
He leans forward. “Keeps the crowd from getting bored. Most people are waiting for the bull riding.”
“Says who?”
Okay, so that sounds a little junior-highish, but as a former barrel-racing champion, I’m insulted to the tips of my figurative cowgirl boots.
Blair’s laugh trills th
rough the room. Clearly, I’m also hilarious.
Jack shoots her a look.
“Well, she’s right. It’s not about the bull riding.” She leans close to Jack and touches his arm. I see him freeze, even if she doesn’t. “Everybody knows it’s the big brave bull riders we want to see.”
“I didn’t mean—” I start, but Jack is already on his feet.
“I think our time’s up for tonight. Thanks for coming, Ms. Winchester.”
She bats her eyes at him. “Aren’t you going to finish discussing the program? I’m sure you need to know—”
“We’ll take it up next meeting.” He looks at me and touches his hat. But his eyes are cold. “Good night.”
I can’t help but feel confusion as I watch him leave. I know Blair comes across a little—okay, a lot—strong, but isn’t he used to gorgeous women throwing themselves at him?
Blair watches him leave then turns back to me. “Does he always call the shots? I thought he works for the committee.”
I consider the best answer and my gaze falls on a menu. “Blair, have you tried Daniel’s new Absolutely Amazing Allie Cappuccino?”
She purses her lips, probably remembering how hard she tried to get her talons into Allie’s fiancé back when they first met. He was a cameraman then, and Blair had him practically jumping through hoops until he got tired of it.
“No, I don’t believe I’ve tried that one. But I think I’ll pass. Some of Daniel’s concoctions are sickeningly sweet.” She stands and motions the cameraman to wrap it up. “Let me know when your next meeting is.”
Fat chance.
She and her tagalong leave in a huff, and I’m gathering my papers when, to my surprise, Jack walks back up to my table. “Is she gone? For real?”
Uh-oh. My heart does this little jump in my chest that has nothing to do with being startled. “I thought you left.”
“I hid over in the Christian romance section.”
“Learn anything interesting?”
“Christian girls like cowboys.”
Oh. Well, just to keep him honest, I snort. “Not all Christian girls.”
“That’s too bad.” He watches me as I finish putting the papers in my bag, as if he might want to say something. I sling the bag over my shoulder then turn to him.
He looks past me, out to the parking lot. Night has fallen, and with the glare from the windows, I know he can’t see a thing, so I guess he’s gathering his thoughts. Finally he speaks. “Listen, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. Of course people come to see all the events. She was twisting everything we said, and I just wasn’t thinking.”
I have to forgive him. For one thing, at least he sees Blair for what she is. That’s more than I can say for most men. “Well, I know a lot of people do come to see the bull riding, so I’ll let it slide.”
“While I’m ‘hat in hand,’ I guess I should be apologizing about inviting her. We need publicity, but that was clearly a bad move on my part. I’ll figure something else out for that.”
“Good idea.”
He sighs, and for a second, he’s got twelve-year-old sheepish boy all over his face. It’s so endearing, all my anger vanishes in a flash.
“Now that she’s gone, do you want to finish our meeting?”
“Sure.”
We make it through the next half hour with no disagreements, but I’m keenly aware of the intimate feeling of working with him alone on this project.
“Do you think I should try to find some other committee fill-ins?” I ask as we put away our papers.
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re doing fine. If we run into another problem, we’ll hash it out.”
“Okay.” I pick up my notebook and start to stand. He reaches toward my arm but stops short of touching me. “Rachel, would you let me buy you a latte?”
It’s the way he says it that stops me. With a sort of softness in his voice.
I will not be swayed by charm. “Thanks. But I really need to get home.” Even I can hear the insincerity in my voice.
He finds my eyes. “Stay. Because I don’t believe in accidents.”
“Accidents?” I’m still not sure where he’s going with this.
“I’ve been trying to catch your attention since we were fourteen or fifteen and never have been able to. I figure this committee thing may be God’s way of giving me a chance to finally get to know you. What do you think?”
I sit back down almost without realizing what I’m doing. I’ve never met anyone quite so straightforward. “I don’t know what you mean. You know me. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
And it’s true. I’ve known Jack practically since we were born. I don’t remember our first “meeting,” but I know we played together in our kitchens while our mothers canned for hours when we were tiny. And even though he was a grade ahead, we were in 4-H together. His smile is certainly familiar to me, at least the teasing element. Not so much the heart-stopping-dangerous part. That came after he left town apparently. And I remember how he could hang on to a bull, or get thrown and come up smiling. We were buds, certainly.
Then there was Brett. And from that night on I had no choice but to avoid Jack. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know him. “Really, Jack. I know you.”
Is that desperation in my voice?
“That’s what you think.” He leans toward me. “What’s my favorite color?”
I grin, drawn to him in spite of myself. “Green?”
He shrugs. “Lucky guess. But I don’t know yours.”
I cross my arms. I’ll play, but not willingly. “Red.”
Upon hearing this, most people say that I like red because my hair’s red. But Jack looks at me and nods. “Because red is the color of being alive and healthy?”
I blink. I couldn’t have said it better myself. “Yes,” I say quietly.
“All time favorite song?” he asks.
“Oh, that’s a tough one. There are so many.”
“I’ll narrow it down,” he offers. “All time favorite country song.”
I shrug, not willing to think too hard and give this man more of an insight into my soul. He already seems to have a clear view. “ ‘Mississippi Squirrel Revival’ by Ray Stevens.”
He leans back, and his eyes widen. “Your all-time favorite song is about a squirrel that gets loose in church?”
“Hey, I think it’s hilarious. And my brain freezes when you put me on the spot. So, Mr. Know-It-All, what’s yours?”
He pauses. “I’m not sure.”
I shake my head with a laugh. “You’re not getting off that easy. Name one.”
His brown eyes twinkle. “Now it’s my turn for brain freeze. Ask me something else, and I promise I’ll answer.”
He should really be more careful with his promises. Because one thing has been bothering me all evening. “Okay. What was that all about with Blair a while ago?”
The relaxed expression on his face disappears immediately, and his jaw muscle tightens. “She was messing up our meeting, so I decided it was best to get rid of her.”
I’m not buying that. I’ve had too many patients pull that innocent act—“No, Doc, I have no idea why I’m hurting. All I did was weed the garden and vacuum.” I narrow my eyes and reply, “You obviously have her wanting to start a fan club, but the minute she turns on the charm, you take off in a run.”
“I wasn’t running.”
“I practically got whiplash. And I’m the only person in town who can fix that, so that wouldn’t be pretty.” I smile, trying to take the edge off my words, but he doesn’t match it.
He shakes his head. “I’ve known women like Blair. All she sees when she looks at me is the thrill of danger.”
Oh. I know that’s probably true, but my stomach clenches. Oh please, I’m not jealous, am I? “And that’s bad?”
“No, it’s fine. Probably just what I should expect. So what’s your favorite movie?”
I laugh. “Nice try. But they didn’t call me ‘bulldog’
in chiropractic college for nothin’, pal.” I give him my best tough-guy glare, and he finally gives me a small grin. “Seriously, why does that bother you so badly? I guess I always thought bull riders wanted the girls to see them as a walk on the wild side. A good time.”
“Maybe I don’t want just a good time.” His gaze is even. “Maybe I want to be seen for the guy I am, not the image.”
Ah. “What was her name?” As soon as the words slip out, I regret speaking. If I’m going to maintain distance with this man, the last thing I need to do is pry into his past. And what if he decides to return the favor?
He looks up at me, his eyes dark. “I. . .really, what’s your favorite movie?”
I could give in. But a dangerous, even wild, thread, the one that probably got me into trouble in my youth, makes me speak. “You can tell me, Jack. I know how to keep a secret.”
Understatement of the year.
He regards me a long moment, during which I wonder if he’ll make me give him a secret in exchange, which I most certainly won’t do. So I’m surprised when he answers, “Maggie.”
“Maggie,” I repeat softly.
He takes a deep breath. “She was doing one of those coffee table books on rodeos. We dated for a year and a half. Me, her, and her camera.” He tries to grin, but the pain in his face is evident.
“A photojournalist?”
“I thought we had a future, but when the book was done, so were we, as far as she was concerned.”
Ouch. “I’m sorry.”
He runs his hand along the tabletop. “I reacted pretty stupidly at first. But we won’t go there.”
Not going to stupid things we did in the past. I can so relate. “Okay. So where were we? Oh, Steel Magnolias.”
He meets my eyes and smiles. “Incredible strength encased in a soft Southern accent and a tight circle of girlfriends. That makes sense.”
I never thought of it that way, but of course, he’s right. I lift a shoulder, but I feel as if I’ve told him way more than I should have. “Actually, I haven’t had time to see a movie in years. That was just a favorite when I was younger.”
He smiles at me. A sweet, curious smile that has my heart thumping. This must be what speed dating feels like. I’ve never done anything so impulsive in my life. A shadow creeps over me and my sudden good mood. Yes, I have. Once.
Along Came a Cowboy Page 8
