again.
“Hi.”
The simple word made her start. She twirled around and there he was, a dark curl tumbling down onto his forehead, a wicker basket in his hand.
“Hi, Houston.”
“Are you hungry?”
“As I mentioned yesterday, I really don’t have...” She sniffed the air as something spicy wafted her way. “Hey, is that chicken I smell?”
He patted the side of the basket. “Since you don’t have time to go out and dine, fair maiden, I have taken the liberty of bringing the food to you.”
“A picnic?” Her stomach made a noise she hoped he hadn’t heard.
“Complete with a checkered blanket. Let’s go find ourselves a tree to put it under, shall we?” He offered her his arm.
She hesitated. After all the effort he’d made to bring her lunch, it would be rude to refuse, wouldn’t it? And what could it hurt? A casual picnic would hardly compromise her virtue. Plus, she was damned curious about the guy. Houston was a walking, talking, leave-women-gawking contradiction. Emily wanted to solve the mystery of him.
And yet, she’d made a vow. She’d kept her New Year’s resolution to stop biting her nails. And she’d managed to cut down her salt intake by removing the shaker from her kitchen table. Those two acts proved that she wasn’t devoid of willpower, didn’t they? Then why did her problem with cowboys seem so difficult to control?
In the end, her belly settled the matter. She was hungry. And the chicken did smell good. Telling herself that her decision to accept his offer was based purely on the need for sustenance, she grasped the arm he held out to her.
Before, just touching him briefly had given her tingles. Now holding onto him, she felt a warmth drift all over her body.
They crossed the field without a word. Emily doubted she would have been able to carry on an intelligent conversation anyway. Feeling him this close did strange things to her. Her heart pumped faster, her breath came in shallow gasps. Somehow, this guy managed to make her endorphins do cartwheels.
Had she ever felt this way with another man? She supposed she must have, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember when. Or with whom. Houston Saveloy had managed to erase all other men from her memory, as if he had a magic magnetic strip, the kind that mess up your credit cards.
“This spot looks good.” He stopped beside a huge Manitoba maple. Its full, bright green branches formed a cool umbrella against the blue expanse above. Nearby, stood an old two-seater buggy, added for decoration and as a landmark for riders.
Emily looked out across the horizon from their hilltop perch. The few clouds that hung in the sky were lying low—fluffy on top, but flat on the bottom, as though some mighty hand had come along and trimmed off the edges. “Nice view,” she commented.
“Beautiful,” he replied, his gaze fixed on her.
Men had complimented her appearance before, but never quite in that way. There had always been a coarseness to it, with a “hey baby” leer attached. Not with Houston. The single word had been spoken with such awe. With such reverence.
While she stood there, trying not to gush like a teenager in the presence of a rock star, he flung the blanket out on the grass and gestured for her to take a seat.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I brought some of everything.” He opened the basket and pulled out an assortment of containers, along with cutlery, plates and napkins. “There’s chicken, spare ribs, potato salad, some pickles, vegetables and dip, butter and rolls—”
Emily smacked her lips together. “Where did you get all this food?”
“There’s a great deli, not far from my house.”
“What are these?” she asked, peeking into a container.
“Dried up sausages.” He gave her a wry smile. “An inside joke. I’ll tell you all about it. Later.”
He made himself busy, opening containers and positioning them on the blanket. He’d thought of everything, even bringing a thermos of
“Hi.”
The simple word made her start. She twirled around and there he was, a dark curl tumbling down onto his forehead, a wicker basket in his hand.
“Hi, Houston.”
“Are you hungry?”
“As I mentioned yesterday, I really don’t have...” She sniffed the air as something spicy wafted her way. “Hey, is that chicken I smell?”
He patted the side of the basket. “Since you don’t have time to go out and dine, fair maiden, I have taken the liberty of bringing the food to you.”
“A picnic?” Her stomach made a noise she hoped he hadn’t heard.
“Complete with a checkered blanket. Let’s go find ourselves a tree to put it under, shall we?” He offered her his arm.
She hesitated. After all the effort he’d made to bring her lunch, it would be rude to refuse, wouldn’t it? And what could it hurt? A casual picnic would hardly compromise her virtue. Plus, she was damned curious about the guy. Houston was a walking, talking, leave-women-gawking contradiction. Emily wanted to solve the mystery of him.
And yet, she’d made a vow. She’d kept her New Year’s resolution to stop biting her nails. And she’d managed to cut down her salt intake by removing the shaker from her kitchen table. Those two acts proved that she wasn’t devoid of willpower, didn’t they? Then why did her problem with cowboys seem so difficult to control?
In the end, her belly settled the matter. She was hungry. And the chicken did smell good. Telling herself that her decision to accept his offer was based purely on the need for sustenance, she grasped the arm he held out to her.
Before, just touching him briefly had given her tingles. Now holding onto him, she felt a warmth drift all over her body.
They crossed the field without a word. Emily doubted she would have been able to carry on an intelligent conversation anyway. Feeling him this close did strange things to her. Her heart pumped faster, her breath came in shallow gasps. Somehow, this guy managed to make her endorphins do cartwheels.
Had she ever felt this way with another man? She supposed she must have, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember when. Or with whom. Houston Saveloy had managed to erase all other men from her memory, as if he had a magic magnetic strip, the kind that mess up your credit cards.
“This spot looks good.” He stopped beside a huge Manitoba maple. Its full, bright green branches formed a cool umbrella against the blue expanse above. Nearby, stood an old two-seater buggy, added for decoration and as a landmark for riders.
Emily looked out across the horizon from their hilltop perch. The few clouds that hung in the sky were lying low—fluffy on top, but flat on the bottom, as though some mighty hand had come along and trimmed off the edges. “Nice view,” she commented.
“Beautiful,” he replied, his gaze fixed on her.
Men had complimented her appearance before, but never quite in that way. There had always been a coarseness to it, with a “hey baby” leer attached. Not with Houston. The single word had been spoken with such awe. With such reverence.
While she stood there, trying not to gush like a teenager in the presence of a rock star, he flung the blanket out on the grass and gestured for her to take a seat.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I brought some of everything.” He opened the basket and pulled out an assortment of containers, along with cutlery, plates and napkins. “There’s chicken, spare ribs, potato salad, some pickles, vegetables and dip, butter and rolls—”
Emily smacked her lips together. “Where did you get all this food?”
“There’s a great deli, not far from my house.”
“What are these?” she asked, peeking into a container.
“Dried up sausages.” He gave her a wry smile. “An inside joke. I’ll tell you all about it. Later.”
He made himself busy, opening containers and positioning them on the blanket. He’d thought of everything, even bringing a thermos of
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