Million Dollar Christmas Bride - Holly Rayner Page 0,33

I can handle it.”

She shook her head. “No, no… I couldn’t. What year did you graduate?”

When he rattled off the year, Bianca did some quick math and figured out that Jackson was forty-one.

It amazed her that he was in his forties—he looked like he could be in his early thirties. Apparently, his money bought him more than just multiple nice sports cars; he could also afford luxuries that kept him in glowing health. She imagined organic fresh foods, a staff of people to prepare meals, facials, personal trainers, and anything else he wanted or needed.

It was nice to know that he was a few years older than her. She was surprised to find that, with that knowledge, she felt even more attracted to him.

“So you’re forty-one,” she said. “When you were graduating high school, I was still in elementary school.”

“Oh really?” he said. “Well then you have some nerve, calling me names for going to Bertram Woods.”

She laughed. “Hey, I didn’t say any of the names. I just said we had some. I went to Memphis High, and believe me, we needed reasons to feel superior to you guys. We lost every sporting event we ever played with you, so we resorted to name-calling.”

“That’s not very fair, is it?” Jackson asked, as a female server paused at the table to unload a few pints of beer from her crowded tray.

“You two order the Ho Ho Hops?” she asked.

“Yes, that’s us,” Jackson said. He slid one of the overflowing pint glasses over to Bianca, and she accepted it with a smile.

As the server departed, Jackson shook his head and said under his breath, “So… she doesn’t believe I’m a simple guy.”

“Maybe you don’t really know what simple means,” Bianca said.

Jackson grinned. “I like being challenged,” he said. “How am I going to convince you that I’m really a down-home kind of guy?”

Bianca pretended to think this over, but really she was reveling in the flirtatious energy that had blossomed at their table.

She took a sip of her drink and noted that it lived up to its description. The flavor was perfect—not too bitter, and not too sweet. It was standard at the Corner Bar to work with a tag-team of servers, so she wasn’t surprised that no one had asked them about food yet. It occurred to her that if she drank the beer without eating, the alcohol would go right to her head. But as she sipped, she found that she didn’t mind. It might be nice to have a beer buzz in Jackson’s presence.

A giddy sense of excitement filled her body, as effervescent as the drink in her hands.

“I know,” Jackson said. “How about this. Do you hear the song playing?”

Bianca focused her attention on the tune that emanated from the outdoor speakers. For once, the song wasn’t Holiday themed, a rare occurrence in public spaces ever since the beginning of November. Instead, it was a country song that had been popular about ten years before.

She laughed. “Sure, this is Billy Finn… his big hit from that summer when so many country songs were about tractors.”

Jackson laughed. “Yes, ma’am!” he said. “And guess what I was doing when I first heard this song.”

“What?” she asked skeptically. She lifted her beer to her lips and took a refreshing sip.

“I was driving down Ashcroft road, south of the city, on my way to the Wyatt fishing hole.”

Bianca narrowed her eyes. “Really?”

“Sure thing,” he said with a nod. “Caught a thirteen-inch largemouth bass. It was one of the best fishing days I had that year, and it was even better because my favorite radio station played this song about a dozen times.”

Bianca found herself tapping her foot to the beat of the song. It really was good, and Jackson’s story brought her memory back to the first time she’d heard it, too.

“Wow,” she said. “I remember I was driving to work when it came on. I was giving my friend Jolene a ride and we rolled the windows down and played it loud as we pulled into the shopping center.”

Jackson chuckled at this.

Bianca grinned, too. It was fun to remember how carefree she’d felt at age twenty-four, the summer when the song had first been released. “So, you have a good memory, I take it,” she said. “Do you remember every fish you ever caught?”

He sipped his beer and then shook his head. “Only the fish I caught on the really good, five-star days; those days when the sun glitters on the