Falling For Fortune

That had to be it. Okay, that was a no-brainer.

The waitress returned with the margarita that Amber didn’t want, but she took a sip of it anyway to still her emotions and to cool whatever flush might have risen to the surface. But this time, she could blame it on the alcohol.

Fortunately, Gram and Elmer returned to save Amber from any further speculation of how unsuitable she and Jensen were.

As Elmer helped Gram into her seat, he said, “I’d have to say that me and Helen have the dance contest in the bag. They’re going with Tony Bennett. Again. Talk about Snoozeville. I’ll slip Clem Hodgkins a fiver to make sure we go after them. The Baumgartners will put the crowd to sleep, and then me and Helen will come along and bam! We’ll wake ’em right back up.”

Gram’s laughter tinkled out, and Amber had to wonder if she was merely being polite, or if she actually enjoyed the old man’s antics.

“So what music did you two select?” Jensen asked.

“Cotton-Eye Joe,” Elmer said smugly.

Amber slapped her hand to her forehead.

“What?” Elmer asked. “Do you think it’s too slow paced? Should we choose something livelier?”

Gram looked at her dancing partner, a furrow in her sweet brow, and Amber dumped the tequila shot into her margarita and took another drink. Heaven help her.

“Would you excuse me?” Jensen asked. “I need to tell my mother and Orlando that I’ve temporarily jumped ship.”

When he walked away, Elmer leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Did you do any fancy trick shooting for your audition?” Then he looked at Gram. “Maybe we should incorporate some pistols or something in our dance routine to really give it some pizzazz.”

“No!” Amber nearly shot out of her seat. When the other diners turned to look at their table, she lowered her voice. “No, you two may not do any trick shooting. It’s bad enough I have to worry about Gram breaking a hip, I don’t want to worry about her accidentally shooting somebody’s eye out.”

“What’s this about trick shooting?” Jensen asked, as he returned to the table.

“Amber is the best,” Elmer said.

“Like Annie Oakley?” Jensen’s smile was eager and almost hopeful.

The guy really needed to get a grip on this whole over-the-top Wild West fascination. Of course, it was people like him who would be paying customers, eager to see her show.

“Yes,” Amber admitted, “but when I do trick shooting, it’s in a controlled environment.”

“Oh.” The corners of his lips dropped and a look of dejection crossed his face. “So you don’t really know how to shoot then.”

Heck, the man acted as if she’d just told him Santa Claus wasn’t real. “Of course I know how to shoot.”

“A real gun?” His eyes sparkled with that same gleam Elmer’s had right before he’d confronted the Baumgartners.

“Yes, a real gun. I’m an excellent shot.”

“Care to make a wager on it?” Jensen smiled and cast a glance at Elmer, who’d scooted to the edge of his seat.

“I believe you still owe me from the last wager we made,” she pointed out. Their barbecue date had understandably been waylaid by Amelia’s recent delivery. And Amber had been looking forward to it.

“So then double or nothing,” Elmer shouted out, having no idea what the bet was in the first place. The man just loved a competition.

Amber lifted her brow at Jensen, waiting to see how he would react to the old marine’s suggestion.

But he didn’t give it a second thought. “Yes. Double or nothing.”

Chapter Six

Jensen wasn’t sure what the old man had planned for today’s shooting competition, but he knew one thing for certain—he had no plans of winning.

If he lost, he’d get to take Amber out on two dates, since he’d yet to collect on their original wager. And he’d been looking forward to their barbecue dinner.

Losing didn’t come easy to a man who’d grown up competitive. And he’d never thrown a bet in his life.

But for Amber, the temptation had been far too great to resist.

He shook his head at the silly trail of thoughts. The bloody competition had yet to even begin and he’d already planned his surrender. The little Texas cowgirl was making his mind spin in funny directions. Something about her had him doing things he’d never think of doing back in England.

He rolled the window down. Maybe it wasn’t Amber. Maybe it was something in the western breeze that blew tumbleweeds across the fields in summer and English bachelors willy-nilly in January.

Even his penchant for old cowboy movies couldn’t explain the relaxing effects of being in Texas. And for once, overseeing the family investments and holdings, as well as Chesterfield Ltd., and keeping his siblings out of the tabloid limelight no longer seemed like the only things that mattered.

For some damned reason, he now found himself watching airplanes take off, riding horses on bulky Western saddles out to watering holes and kissing a rodeo queen behind a darkened feed store. He also found himself smiling for no reason at all, which he hadn’t done since...well, in longer than he cared to ponder.

Now, as he eased Quinn’s pickup along the dirt driveway and headed toward a parking area near the Broken R barn, he spotted Elmer Murdock and did a double take.

The stocky, elderly was man toting liter-sized bottles of soda out of the back of the spiffed-up muscle car. But why was he dressed like a leprechaun playing in a polo match at the VFW hall?

Jensen parked and exited the truck.

The old man, wearing tight white jodhpurs on his short, bowed legs, waved him over. “Top o’ the morning to ya.”

As Jensen made his way to Mr. Murdock’s open trunk, the elderly man handed him a crate holding eight plastic bottles filled with bright neon-pink soda.

Jensen looked at the array of containers. What in the world was he doing with so much...? He glanced at the label. Caliente Pepper Fiz?

“Were they having a special at the grocery?” Jensen asked.

“They sure was, but not at the Superette here in town. I picked these up over at the discount drug place on the way to Lubbock. Seems they didn’t sell as well as storeowners hoped, so they were just sitting on a pallet out back, expiring in the sun.”

“Did they go bad in the heat?” That would explain the unnatural neon-pink color.

“I don’t reckon so. This here is their strawberry-cream-flavored line. The regular hot sauce flavored soda is pretty tasty, but no one seemed to like it much when they added the strawberries to the original mix.”

Jensen looked again at the label. These Texans and their food products could sure be inventive. “Hmm. You’d think they wouldn’t be able to keep hot sauce-flavored cola on the shelf.”

“I know,” Mr. Murdock said, not recognizing Jensen’s sarcasm. “Oh well, it’s the Caliente Company’s loss and our gain, right ol’ chap?”

Jensen was raised to be polite, but there was no bet in the world that would make him drink strawberry-cream-and-hot-sauce-flavored cola—let alone nearly fifty bottles of the wretched stuff. “Tell me why it’s our gain?”

“They make perfect targets, son. When your bullet hits one of these suckers, boom! Hot-pink juice explodes everywhere. Not only is it fun to look at, it saves the range master some footwork. He doesn’t have to run back and forth to measure the targets. And since that’ll be my job for this here competition, I figured I’ll save my legs for that upcoming dance contest.”

Just then, Amber stepped out of the ranch house cradling a rifle and a box of ammunition.

She looked just as serious as Wyatt Earp himself making his way to the OK Corral. Of course, Wyatt Earp didn’t look as sexy. Her snug jeans hugged her curvy hips, tempting a man to want to go out and buy her a dress... Or maybe some silky lingerie.

Jensen came to a complete stop, not even noticing the weight of the bottles in his arms as he watched Amber walk toward him. She wore a shiny silver belt buckle along a tiny waist a man could span his hands—

“Are you ready to get beat by a girl, Sir Jensen?” she asked.

He forced himself to pull his gaze away from her dangerous torso to her seductive brown eyes. And to be honest, if he was ever ready get bested by a girl, it was today. And it was this girl. Or rather, this woman. No doubt about that.

His throat worked to swallow, but his mouth was so dry he almost opened one of the discolored sodas and took a huge sip.

What a mistake that would be.

Back in London, he’d never been tongue-tied around the beautiful socialites and jet-setters who made up his social circle. Then again, they didn’t have anyone quite like Amber Rogers in the British Isles—or all of Europe, for that matter.

A hand smacked against his back, pitching him forward. “Keep it moving, son. I got an appointment with my podiatrist at one o’clock to see about my bunions. And if I win our bet, Helen said she’d go with me afterward to that remodeled movie theater over in Vicker’s Corners.”

Jensen picked up his pace, hoping Mr. Murdock wouldn’t miss out on his opportunity to squire Helen to the cinema.

Because there was no way Jensen was going to miss out on his own date with Amber. Instead he said, “I appreciate your vote of confidence.”

“Hell, son,” Murdock said. “I didn’t bet on you. I bet on our Amber over there.”

* * *

Amber’s hand held steady as she chambered the first, which was surprising since she’d caught the ways Jensen had studied the jeans she normally saved for when she wasn’t 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.”

And a lot more private. Did he do this sort of thing with all his dates?

Not a date! she reminded herself—and with a mental scolding.

He pulled out a chair for her and she took a seat. “I took the liberty of ordering a margarita with the tequila shot in it for you. You seemed to enjoy them when Mr. Murdock ordered them for you at the cantina.”

Great. Just what she needed—the possibility of losing all her inhibitions with the man. She should advise him not to take dating cues from Elmer Murdock.

Instead, she smiled and thanked him for his thoughtfulness.

Maddie handed them the menus. “Your waiter will be with you shortly. I’ll let him know where you are.”

You’d better. Something told her they could be left to die back here until closing time.

She scanned the area, where they were the only diners. “I wonder why they put us way out to pasture.”

“Oh, that was at my request. I asked them for something more private, where there would be less risk of being bothered by others.”

“You know, part of the barbecue experience is the communal tables and environment. I mean, I know this place isn’t swanky, but it has good food.”

“I can ask the hostess to reseat us, if you’d rather be in the dining hall area. I just assumed you would want to be away from the prying eyes of the public, and I didn’t want any more cameras catching us doing something as innocuous as sharing a meal.”

She hated to sound ungrateful. Besides, she didn’t want him to be uncomfortable if he preferred their out-of-the-way table. “No, this is fine.”

Although, it was much warmer back here. They must be sitting on the other side of the kitchen with its hot smoking pits. She took off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair before turning and catching the surprised look on his face.

He was staring at her blouse, and suddenly, she was glad she’d done so much riding and roping recently because she knew her shoulders and tight arms were her best features.

A waiter in a black Stetson came to take their order. “Wow. I heard we had a celebrity back here, but they didn’t say who it was.”

“I trust you’ll keep it to yourself until after we leave,” Jensen said.

“I sure will.” The young man cast a smile at Amber. “But I don’t suppose I could get your autograph before you go, Miss Rogers. It isn’t every day that we get a rodeo queen in here.”

She smiled. “Of course, you can.”

The waiter’s cheeks flushed. “My sister was a huge fan and followed your career. She even tried to barrel-race like you. ’Course she isn’t nearly as pretty as you are.”

“Thank you.” Amber glanced at Jensen, whose expression had grown serious.

After the waiter took their orders and returned to the kitchen, Jensen said, “Maybe we should move. It was cooler on the other side of the restaurant, and then you’d be able to keep your jacket on.”

“No, truly, this table is fine.” Didn’t Jensen like her top? He definitely didn’t seem to like their waiter, who’d continued to study her while they’d ordered.

After the waiter finally served their drinks, Jensen took a long draw from his bottle of Heineken, since there weren’t any stout British ales served here.

He chugged another long gulp.

Was something still bothering him?

Maybe she was reading too much into his expression.

“How’s Amelia feeling?” she asked, wanting to get back on neutral territory.

He looked up, his serious demeanor fading into a slow smile. “Quite well. She’s glad to finally have baby Clementine home.”

“I can imagine. I once had to go to the hospital to get my appendix out, and I couldn’t wait to leave. I missed everything about home, from Gram’s cooking to my horse. I promised to stay in bed for a week if the doctor would just let me leave, which was a pretty big promise for a twelve-year-old girl with a new horse and an upcoming junior state barrel-racing competition to make.”

“And when they finally did release you, did you stay in bed?”

“For one whole day. Pop caught me sneaking out to the stables a couple days later and let me ride for a few minutes before Gram found out and lit into us something fierce.”

“Your sweet grandmother? I can’t imagine her yelling.”

“She didn’t need to. She told one of the ranch hands to take Miss Muffin, my new horse, over to the Drummonds’ place so I couldn’t ride her. Then she went on strike in the kitchen, making Pop eat frozen dinners and cereal for the next two weeks to remind him that being an accomplice to a twelve-year-old’s whims, especially when she was recovering from surgery, wasn’t his smartest move. Needless to say, both Pop and I learned our lesson.”

“So you didn’t get to go to the junior state rodeo?”

“No, I still got to go, but I’d barely had any practice beforehand, so neither Miss Muffin nor I were up to speed. Literally. I came in second place to Starlight from Vicker’s Corners.”

“Well, then it all worked out well in the end.”

“No, it was the worst moment of my life. I hate coming in second place. And I hated it even more that snotty Molly Watkins won the buckle that should have been mine if it hadn’t been for my stupid appendix getting in the way of my training schedule. She was so smug with her perfectly curled red hair and expensive outfit that was better suited to a homecoming queen than a barrel racer.”

A glimmer lit Jensen’s eyes. “A bad sport, then, this Molly girl?”

“The worst. She told everyone that the reason I didn’t do well was because I’d tried to kiss Billy Carmichael behind the warm-up fences, and he’d pushed me away, making me too upset to do my ride.”

Jensen, who’d clearly been engaged in their conversation before, leaned forward. “Who was Billy Carmichael?”

Surely he wasn’t the least bit jealous of a thirteen-year-old boy—but she liked the idea that he might be interested in her romantic history—as short and unremarkable as it had been. “Billy’s dad was one of the rodeo clowns, and Billy was the top calf roper at the National Little Britches Rodeo Finals two years running. Let’s just say that for a junior high school girl, he was a big deal.”

“So Billy Carmichael didn’t defend your honor?”

“Nope. He liked everyone thinking that I had a crush on him.”

“What a cad.”

“Exactly.”

Jensen smiled, and her heart picked up speed. She took a drink of her margarita. With the way he was looking at her, she would’ve downed the whole thing. Luckily, the waiter, whose name tag read Danny, brought their food just then—as well as a sheet of paper he’d printed out with a photo of her in her barrel racing days.

She signed it to Bonnie Sue, wishing her all the best in her career.

“Would you mind posing for a photo?” Danny asked.

“Yes, we’d mind,” Jensen said.

Danny’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner. I could come back afterward.”

“I asked for this table because I like my privacy,” Jensen said. “I don’t want my picture taken.”

“Sorry, sir.” Danny said again. “I didn’t want you in it. I was hoping you’d take a shot of Amber and me with the camera in my cell phone.”

Amber laughed. It served Jensen right to realize there were some people more popular in Texas than a British noble. “Be a sport. It’ll only take a minute to make a girl’s day.”

And it did.

Moments later, after the happy waiter went back to the kitchen, Amber and Jensen dug into their meals. “So, did you ever get back at Molly what’s-her-name?” Jensen asked after spearing a bite of cooked rib tips.

“I got back at her every year after that. In the arena, that is. I never came in second to Molly Watkins again.”

Jensen laughed, and Amber tried the Campfire Beans.

“Oh, didn’t you order any of these?” she asked, looking at his plate.

“No, I chose the homemade coleslaw and the Belt-Bustin’ Baked Potato. And they’re very good. You were right. This is the best barbecue restaurant I’ve been to yet, although I’m afraid I’m still what you’d call a novice.”

“Here, try this.” She spooned a taste of seasoned beans into his mouth.

He reciprocated by giving her one of his rib tips.

They talked and shared food with each other as if they’d had countless dinners together. She fed him macaroni salad. He buttered cornbread and held it up to her mouth.

It wasn’t until the meal was over that Amber realized they could’ve easily just used their own utensils and eaten off each other’s plates. They didn’t have to feed one another.

She rubbed her bare arms, suddenly embarrassed at the shared intimacy.

Jensen’s eyes focused again on her skimpy top just as a fiddle player started warming up in the main dining room.

“Looks like the band is getting ready.” She felt a little silly for pointing out the obvious.

“Do you dance much?” he asked.

“I can hold my own. What about you?” She hoped he’d invite her to two-step.

“Yes, but not to this. Frankly, this may come as a surprise to you, but they don’t teach us country-and-western line dancing in cotillion class.”

“Really? And yet the waltz is so terribly popular in my neck of the woods.” She smiled, just as the band launched into full swing.

“Shall we have a dance-off then, Miss Rogers?” he asked as he scraped his chair back and offered his hand.

“I’d love to.” She pushed aside the Jose Cuervo she hadn’t touched and rose to join him. “But I should warn you.” She leaned toward him, her mouth aimed toward his ear as he guided her to the dance floor. “One day soon I aim to do a mean cancan.”

She caught herself the moment the words rolled out of her mouth, especially since she was merely entertaining the idea, especially after drinking a margarita.

“The cancan? My goodness, Miss Rogers. You’re full of surprises. I’d love to see that sometime—especially if you’re in costume.”

Gram planned to work on her fancy outfit, and if Amber gave her the go-ahead, that was something Jensen would never see. So she laughed off her slip of the tongue.

As she stood, Jensen said, “Don’t forget your coat.”

“Are you crazy? It’s too hot to think about wearing something like that on the dance floor.” She did, however, take her purse, which was a tiny little bag barely able to hold her keys, her ID, a credit card and some cash.

Jensen seemed to study her momentarily, and she patted the purse that hung at her side by a narrow shoulder strap. “I travel light when I plan to spend some time on a dance floor.”

He seemed to ponder that a moment, then spun her into his arms. A beat later, they joined the others two-stepping across the parquet floor.

Jensen did much better than she’d expected, and they were soon laughing and twirling their way around to various renditions of classic George Strait and Alan Jackson songs.

After the first set, the band paused for a break. She’d worked up a thirst. Jensen asked if she wanted to order another margarita, but since she was driving, she told him she’d prefer a glass of ice water to cool her down.

“This has been the most enjoyable night I’ve had since my arrival in Texas,” Jensen said, then he leaned in closer. “You’re an excellent dancer, Amber. And an enjoyable companion.”

She told herself that the loud music had forced them to talk into each other’s ears the past hour, and that they leaned into each other as a matter of habit.

“Companion, huh?” she said, maintaining the intimate proximity.

He glanced at the top she wore, which helped to keep her cool in the heated quarters. But there was another kind of closeness, another heat that had her steamed up. Him, too, it seemed.

When a cowboy walked by, carrying a longneck bottle of beer, he gave her a flirtatious grin and tipped his hat. But he hadn’t really meant anything by it. She was used to being recognized.

Jensen’s smile faded. “There are too many people ogling us in here. Maybe we should go outside. Why don’t you get your jacket?”

Just who was he to be concerned about them ogling? He certainly hadn’t staked his claim, and even if he had, she wasn’t about to let anyone tell her what she could and couldn’t wear out in public. The blouse wasn’t all that skimpy!

And while she wouldn’t mind going outside anyway, she fought the urge to go for her jacket. Her rebellious streak wouldn’t allow it, especially since Jensen was doing that judgmental upper-crust thing again, like he’d done that first day she’d met him on his sister’s porch.

That being the case, he’d need to learn that she wasn’t going to be intimated by him or his snobby attitude. “Apparently you don’t like my top.”

“It’s fine.”

The female singer stepped onto stage just as the chords for a Patsy Cline song sounded over the speakers. Couples made their way back onto the dance floor, but Jensen stood facing her—and looking down his aristocratic nose.

“If you were Pinocchio, your nose would stretch out a foot right now. And birds would be swooping down to build a nest on it.”