Chapter Eleven
The three hours from the time we left the café until six, when Jackson was supposed to arrive, were worse than the times I’d spent in a hotel room before I went to a poker game.
I shuffled my lucky deck of cards a dozen times, not to bring me good fortune in a poker game, but hopefully for a bit of luck on my first-ever real date.
I hadn’t seen a restaurant in Dell City fancy enough for one of the dresses I wore to my card games, but I still changed my clothes five times.
A pile of discarded things lay on the bed, along with three pairs of shoes and a dozen pieces of jewelry.
I finally decided to go casual with a pair of jeans and a mossy-green sweater, but I added a pair of heels to dress the outfit up and give me a little more height.
At the last minute, I twisted my hair up into a messy bun and let two tendrils fall to frame my face. With fresh lipstick application and one final check in the mirror, I reached the end of the hallway at the same time Jackson knocked on the door, but Scarlett opened it before I could get there.
“Come on in, Jackson. Most of us are ready to go, but Rosie is still redoing her hair,” she said. “It takes a while to get her dark curls tamed after wearing it in a bonnet all day. I can fix you a glass of tea or a cup of coffee while we wait.”
The poor man looked thunderstruck, and it wasn’t from my beauty or lack of it. “I . . . well . . . ,” he stammered.
“Carla didn’t tell you that we were going with y’all, did she? It’s not that we don’t trust you. Don’t get that idea in your mind, because we do. This is just what we always do.”
Rosalie came down the hall wearing her faded chenille robe that she changed into every evening when we got to the trailer. Her hair looked like it had been combed with a garden rake, and she was barefoot.
“I’m running a little late,” she said, and went into the bathroom.
“Did you think we were going to let Carla go out without chaperones?” Scarlett asked. “That doesn’t happen until the third date. Rosie went with me on my first two with Grady to be sure that he was a decent man.”
“Whoa! Y’all wait a minute.” My voice sounded like a hoot owl in my own ears. “I am thirty years old, and you are not going on a date with me. No way! No how! So back off.”
“Neither of us knew the rules, but it’s okay,” Jackson said calmly. “I will call the café and tell them that we need a table for four.”
Scarlett hip-bumped me. “They don’t take reservations—and we’re just messin’ with you. But rest assured that Rosie and I will come looking for you if she’s not home by midnight.”
I popped my hands on my hips. “Oh, no, you will not!”
“Okay, okay, she can stay out until one o’clock, but not a minute longer,” she teased. “And yes, I’m joking.”
“Thank God!” Jackson grinned.
“I will get even,” I whispered as I passed Scarlett and got my coat from the rack.
“I’m sure you will try,” she said.
Jackson helped me with my coat, opened the door for me, and then heaved a sigh when we were in his truck. “I thought she was serious.”
“So did I, but it was not happening.”
He started the engine and then turned to look at me. “You look beautiful.”
“You clean up pretty good yourself.” I wanted to put the words right back into my mouth and swallow them. “And that sounded like a line from a bad movie.”
He made a U-turn and drove out to the road. “So did what I said, but I meant it. And, honey, I’ll take a compliment however I can get it.”
“Forget what I said before,” I told him. “You are one handsome, sexy guy, and that green shirt makes your eyes sparkle.”
His smile got wider. “So, you think I’m sexy, do you?”
“I have twenty-twenty vision.”
“What does that have to do with me being sexy?” he asked.
“It means that you are probably used to seeing women’s heads turn when you walk into a room. That means you know you are sexy.”
“Maybe so, but I like that you think I am,” he said and pointed ahead. “Look at that.”
“It’s dark, Jackson. I don’t see anything. Did a deer run across the road in front of us? I saw a whole herd of them on my way back from Cloudcroft last evening.”
“No, it’s starting to snow. I wonder if the blizzard is arriving a little early. Have you heard the weather report today?”
No, I was too busy worrying about this date and what to wear.
That’s what I thought, but my reply was, “No, I haven’t. Ada Lou talked about it but said it was supposed to hit tomorrow morning.”
He eased into a parking spot in front of a small café in Dell City. “That’s the last report I got, too. We’ve shut down all the work at the rig until the storm blows through.”
I had always loved snow. There’s something about it that brings peace to my soul when it covers the world with a beautiful white blanket. And there was plenty of ugly in this area that badly needed it. I stopped in the middle of the parking lot and caught a few flakes on my tongue.
“I’m so glad you did that,” Jackson said.
I started walking toward the small building. “Why?”
He opened the door, and warm air rushed out to greet us. “Because you don’t put on airs and pretend to be something you are not.”
“I don’t know how to be anyone else but me,” I told him.
The place was packed, but the waitress led the way to a booth in the back corner.
Jackson ushered me with his hand on my back, and again, his touch sent shock waves of desire down my spine.
I might not have been on a real date before, but that didn’t mean I was stupid when it came to attraction for a sexy man.
He helped me with my coat and then looked around for a coatrack or a place to hang it.
I held out a hand. “Just give it to me, and I’ll put it right here beside me.”
“Looks like everyone in town has gone out to eat before they get stuck at home for a few days,” he said as he slid into the booth across from me. “Do all the women in here have twenty-twenty vision, too?”
“Probably not, but I bet most of them have a lot of common sense,” I shot back.
He chuckled and then laughed out loud. “I guess they do at that.”
“Hello, Jackson.” A waitress appeared at our table with two menus, a basket of chips, and a bowl of salsa.
She was somewhere between fifty and sixty years old, but the way she lowered her voice to make it sexier and batted her fake eyelashes didn’t leave a single doubt that she was flirting with him.
He concentrated on the menu. “How are you tonight, Yolanda?”
“I’d be fine if you’d ask me to marry you,” she answered.
He looked up and slid a sly wink toward me. “I hired your husband at the drilling site last week. He could break me in half like a twig.”
Her dark eyes twinkled. “I should have never married that man. He won’t let me have any fun.”
“That’s not the truth. You love him,” Jackson said.
“Yeah, and only God knows why,” she said.
Jackson laid the menu to the side. “Come on, now. He’s got lots of good qualities.”
“Yes, he does, and he’s almost as pretty as you are—but since you won’t run away with me, then tell me what y’all want to drink.”
“Sweet tea for me, and bring us a bowl of queso,” Jackson answered and glanced over at me.
“I’ll have sweet tea, too.”
“Okay, then, I’ll get that ready while y’all look over the menu.” She shifted her gaze to me. “You are the new owner of the Tumbleweed, aren’t you?”
When she eyed me from my hair all the way down to my waist, I knew how a bug would feel under a microscope. “Yes, I am, as of New Year’s Day.”
I must have passed a test of some kind, because she smiled. “I clean the church with Rosie, and she has good things to say about you. Treat Jackson right, and I might have good things to say about you, too.” She turned around and headed for the drink fountain.
“Point proven?” I said when she was across the room.
He met my eyes and smiled. “What?”
“That all women flirt with you,” I answered.
“Yolanda and I always joke around,” he said. “Not all women.”
Two girls who couldn’t have been more than sixteen passed by our table and smiled at him. I could hear their giggles the moment they were in the small hallway leading to the ladies’ room. It didn’t take much imagination to know what they were whispering about.
“Want to retract that now or argue about it?” I tried to be serious but lost the battle with a grin.
“I don’t quarrel on second dates. I save that for the eighth or ninth.”
“Why? And this is our first date, not second.”
“Our first date was a week ago yesterday, when we broke corn bread together.”
“I told you that was not a date,” I disagreed.
“Even if the man does not get a kiss and he pays for the meal, it is a date. Check the rule book,” he teased.
“There’s a rule book?” There was no doubt in my mind that he was joking, but still I wished one existed—official, as in a paperback book, or unofficial, as in handed down by word of mouth through the ages.
“Of course, and on the eighth or ninth date, we will have a big fight. I don’t know what it will be about yet, but it will happen.”
“If we have all of those dates and we get along all of the others, why would we fight?” I asked.
“Rule book,” he answered.
“Then we break up?”
“No, then we have some great makeup sex,” he said.
Yolanda brought our drinks, took our orders, and rushed to the cash register to take care of the half dozen people waiting to pay their checks. I took a long gulp of my tea and hoped the chill from it would keep my cheeks from catching on fire.
“You really think we’ll have all those dates?” I finally asked.
“Yes, ma’am, and I’m looking forward to every one of them,” he answered. “We need each other.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We have to help one another decide which path to take for our future.”
“Well, there is that,” I agreed.
“Now, tell me about your visit to Cloudcroft. I hear it’s a great place to ski, and with a blizzard coming at us, the slopes should be good in a few days.”