Conceal, Protect - By Carol Ericson Page 0,30
either.
He scrambled from the truck and circled to the passenger side. “Well?”
He took her arm to cross the slick asphalt and felt her shiver beneath her coat.
“Yep, same number. Like I said, unless he has a different cell phone, he didn’t send me that text.”
“Let’s see if we can find out why old Bruce followed you to Colorado.” He entwined his fingers with hers as they walked up the expansive steps of the Buck Ridge Lodge.
If she didn’t want Pierpont making moves on her, he’d make sure that didn’t happen—not that protecting her from unwanted male attention fell into his job description.
Guests packed the lobby lounge area, sipping hot drinks and sharing pitchers of beer, all gravitating toward the blazing warmth in the fireplace. No sign of Ted and his companions this time.
They crossed the lobby and descended a flight of stairs to the restaurant. Low voices and clinking silverware hinted at a different atmosphere down here. Definitely more Pierpont’s style than the rabble upstairs.
“Table for two?” The hostess smiled, pencil poised above her book.
“Actually, we’re meeting someone—Pierpont?” J.D. tugged off his gloves and shoved them in his pockets. He wanted to grab Noelle’s hand again but after removing her own gloves, she’d left her hands in her pockets.
“He’s already here.” The hostess dropped her pencil and led them past a bar into the main dining room.
Pierpont spied their approach and rose in greeting. “Coat hooks on the other side of the booth. That hat suits you, Noelle.”
“Thanks.” She took it off her head and shook out her hair.
J.D. helped her with her coat before Pierpont could get his hands on her, and he hung it up next to his.
She scooted into the booth across from Pierpont, and J.D. slid in after her.
Pierpont tapped the wine list. “I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of wine for the table. Do you drink wine, J.D.?”
“On occasion.”
“Bruce not only collects art, he’s also a connoisseur of fine wines.” Noelle flicked her napkin onto her lap.
“That’s comforting.” J.D. couldn’t care less about fine wines, or fine art for that matter, although he was sure he’d like whatever kind of art Noelle created, starting with that picture in the living room at the ranch house.
Pierpont gave him a tight smile. “What does J.D. stand for? I don’t think I caught your last name.”
“Jim Davis, but everybody calls me J.D.”
“That’s...convenient.”
“Convenient?”
“Initials—I guess BCP, my initials, just don’t have the same ring to them as J.D.”
J.D. shrugged and tipped his chin at the waiter hovering at their table, showing a wine label to Pierpont. “Is that our fine wine?”
Pierpont studied the label as if the waiter was trying to pull a fast one on him.
“Perfect.”
The waiter poured a thimbleful into Pierpont’s glass. He swirled it around and sniffed it, closing his eyes.
With Pierpont’s eyes closed, J.D. took the opportunity to nudge Noelle in the side. She rewarded him with a kick under the table.
Pierpont finally sipped the ruby liquid and then proceeded to swish it around in his mouth.
J.D. coughed, trying to choke back a laugh, and this time Noelle pinched his thigh. He liked that a lot better than the kick and squeezed her knee back.
The ritual over, Pierpont swallowed and nodded his approval to the waiter.
As the waiter filled Noelle’s glass first, J.D. said, “Whew—for a minute there I thought you were going to start gargling with it.”
Noelle snorted and the waiter’s hand trembled just a little before he started pouring some of the wine into J.D.’s proffered glass.
“That’s how it’s done, J.D.” Pierpont spread his delicate-looking hands.
The guy had probably never done a lick of manual labor in his life.
The waiter left the bottle, and Pierpont pinched the stem of his glass between two fingers. “What branch of the service were you in?”
J.D. had the wineglass halfway to his lips but set it down so that the liquid sloshed against the sides. “I don’t recall mentioning I was in the service.”
“You didn’t. It’s your bearing, certainly not your haircut.” Pierpont chuckled. “Living in D.C. for as long as I did, you see a lot of military. I recognize the stance.”
Pierpont’s eyes turned stony above the fake smile.
This guy was more on the ball than he’d figured. He needed to tread lightly—as much fun as it was to antagonize Bruce Chandler Pierpont the Third.
If Pierpont, with all his resources, started investigating J.D.’s background, he’d definitely have some explaining to do to Noelle. Time for some damage control.
J.D. brought the glass to his lips and