Grant (Riding Hard) - Jennifer Ashley Page 0,21

finally arrived, plunked down by an unsmiling Mrs. Ward, Grant was afraid she’d have made the steaks tasteless to show her disapproval of Karen.

The first bite put his fears to rest. Mrs. Ward took a lot of pride in her cooking; she’d never make a bad meal.

“This is good,” Karen said, as though she’d expected otherwise. “Can’t be good for you, though. Everything on this plate is white.”

“People have been eating white food for centuries,” Grant said. “And we’re all still here.”

“True,” Karen conceded. She took another tiny bite. “You have a good way of putting things, Grant. I like that.”

Grant wasn’t certain he liked her liking it. He tried to enjoy his lunch, but it was tough with Christina’s eyes on the back of his head. He knew she was watching him, because whenever he looked into the mirror, her gaze was on him.

Christina was beautiful today, her short black hair curling every which way, a tank top with skinny straps showing off her hot body. Grant was going to get a kink in his neck staring at her.

Her coffee-dark eyes were fixed on Grant, which was about the only thing Grant remembered about that lunch with Karen Marvin. The chicken-fried steak, the script, Karen’s smooth voice, the cold stares of the townspeople … none of it mattered.

All that mattered was Christina looking at him, and the hunger in his heart.

Christina needed to warn him. She realized Grant had no idea what was wrong as he sat talking to the ice-queen from hell. His smiles had been too forthcoming, his laugh too easy.

He didn’t know the entire town was furious at Karen Marvin. The way he nodded at everyone as he rose from the booth and walked Karen out told her that. He was the usual charming Grant, everyone’s friend.

Christina watched him settle his black cowboy hat on his head as he ushered Karen from the restaurant. His hand hovered at the small of Karen’s back as he walked her into the street and opened the driver’s side door of her car for her. Grant then walked around the car to the passenger side and got in with her.

As soon as his door closed, the diner exploded in gossip, heavy with disapproval. Did you see that? Can you believe a Campbell would do such a thing? Why is Grant with her?

“He doesn’t know,” Christina said loudly, angry on his behalf. The sleek BMW started up and pulled smoothly away from the curb, a chance reflection flashing into the restaurant. “No one told him.”

“Oh, come on,” a guy from the feed store said. “Everyone knows.”

“He was being polite to her,” Mrs. Ward put in. “She was his guest, a business client, and he couldn’t make a scene. Just shows his good upbringing.” She glared pointedly at the man who’d spoken.

Christina knew Grant better than anyone, and one thing Grant Campbell was not was subtle. If Grant had an opinion on something, everyone on the planet knew. If he’d been angry at Karen, his politeness would have been tinged with chill, not friendliness.

Christina fished out money for her sandwich and drink, and squirmed out from the booth. “I’m going to go talk to him,” she told Lucy.

Lucy looked as though she hadn’t decided who to believe, but she nodded. “Do what you gotta. I have a lot of packing to finish.” Lucy was heading back to Houston tomorrow, her visit home over.

Christina squeezed her hand. “See you before you go.”

Lucy squeezed her hand in return, but she didn’t try to make Christina linger. She understood Christina’s hurry.

“Disgrace to his mama,” an older man muttered as Christina went by him. “I told Olivia he was no good after he drove his pickup right into my store.”

Grant had been fifteen. He’d worked all through high school to pay for the damage, Christina remembered. Grant and Adam had been wild boys, but they’d always righted their wrongs.

Christina left the diner, jumped into her truck, and drove away from the biggest gossips in Riverbend.

She was getting tired of living in a fishbowl. When she’d gone to stay with Lucy in Houston for a week this January, she’d been amazed at the anonymity of the city.

Lucy had told her that there were pockets of neighborhoods where people were close, but what Christina saw were folks so busy with their own lives they didn’t have time to worry about hers. Walking around shopping without the entire town knowing exactly what she’d bought, for whom, and why, had