Ain't She Sweet (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #2) - Whitney Dineen Page 0,60
for a break. He stops the bull and rushes over so he can help her down. Whatever he whispers in her ear has her laughing. She neatly sidesteps him, and I hear her say, “While I appreciate the offer, I don’t think my boyfriend would be okay with that.”
I push out of the booth like the Incredible Hulk after a nap and a double espresso and hurry to her side. I pull her into my arms and kiss her with such ownership I should be worried she’s going to punch me. Tara doesn’t try to wiggle out of my embrace, she leans into it. Is she acting? Because God knows I’m not. I savor the feeling of this remarkable woman in my arms. I’m so turned on right now, I want to drag her off to a dark corner and get to know her in ways that would surely get my nose broken.
Before I can act on my desires, she puts her hands on my chest and gently pushes. I take the hint immediately. “I’m sorry,” I say while taking a step back. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“You don’t?” She releases a giggle. “I think that bull riding is representative of something else, which is why it’s so popular in a setting like this.”
There’s no way to comment without sounding pervy, so I opt for, “You ready to eat?”
“I’m starving.”
When we’re back in our booth, our waitress comes over and asks, “You want food or are you just drinking?”
“We’re eating,” I tell her. “Do you have your fish and chips tonight?”
“Sure do,”
I tell Tara, “You need to get that. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”
She smiles at the waitress. “With extra coleslaw, please.”
I stare at Tara across the table. For the first time since meeting her, I begin to wonder what it would be like if we were really a couple. She’s so much more than just a pretty face. She’s compassionate and caring, she’s bold and brave, and she’s adventurous. I’m willing to bet she’d be the perfect woman if she weren’t also famous.
Chapter Thirty-One
Gwen
After putting a tuna casserole in the oven, Gwen scurries around Tara’s house, lighting candles and fluffing pillows on the sofa. A flurry of butterflies whip through her stomach like they’re caught in a tornado when she hears the doorbell ring.
She checks her hair in the mirror hanging on the entryway wall, and gives her cheeks a sharp pinch before opening the door. Billy is dressed in chinos with a sharp crease down the center. His light blue button-down shirt is a perfect match for his eyes.
“Hello,” Gwen greets somewhat breathlessly while reaching out a hand to pull him inside.
He hands her a bottle of wine. “I figured white would go well with tuna.”
“Thank you.” Gwen takes the wine and leads Billy into the living room.
“This sure is a nice place,” he says. “It’s been a while since I’ve been inside a house like this.” His eyes are unfocused like he’s been transported to another time and place.
“Ruby tells me you’re a bit of a camper.” His previous living situation hadn’t come up during their first meal together.
“I think most people would call it homeless,” Billy answers with a look of concern etched across his face.
“But you’re happy in the cabin now?” Gwen asks. She doesn’t want to embarrass him, and it doesn’t matter to her where he used to live. Billy is the most grounded person she can remember knowing.
Instead of answering her question, he asks, “How ’bout if I open that wine for you?”
Over dinner, Billy tells Gwen, “I know I’m not like most folks. I had some trouble after the war and I just needed to quiet my head and commune with God. I had to put things right with my soul.”
Gwen reaches for his hand across the table. “What happened to you?” A tight knot of worry grips her chest like a tightening vise.
He takes a slow sip of wine before answering. “War is the ugliest thing you can imagine. The world’s leaders who declare it, and make all the decisions regarding it, treat it like a board game. They think of it in terms of numbers and not people, and they’re willing to lose a lot of them as long as they win the game.”
Gwen doesn’t respond. She just squeezes Billy’s hand to show sympathy and to encourage him to keep talking if he wants to. He does.