“Sure. You can come out, and we’ll go riding. I have five hundred acres, so plenty of space to ride.”
“I’d love that.”
“Then we’ll do it.”
“So, you were asking me to go to dinner.” She grinned.
Rawley chuckled. “I was, wasn’t I? We got off track. I’d love to take you out to dinner, Skylar.”
“Anytime.”
“How about Friday night? We can go to The Hartland. I’ll see if I can get us in.”
“You need reservations, right?” Skylar tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to appear casual.
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it kind of late for Friday?”
“I’ll call the owner if I can’t get us in. He’s a good friend of mine.”
“Friends in high places.” She smiled.
“Yep.” He took a sip of his water.
“So, what do I wear? I mean is it a fancy place?”
“It is, but there’s no dress code. You can wear whatever you want.” His gaze lingered on her face for a moment.
Connie returned with their food, set it down, and asked if they needed anything else. Both declined. She smiled and walked off.
“Okay.” Skylar traced the condensation ring her water glass had left on the table.
“I’ll try for six o’clock, but I’ll let you know.” The afternoon sunlight streaming through the blinds cast golden stripes across his tanned forearms.
“Sounds good.” As she picked up her fork, Rawley’s phone vibrated, and he reached under his vest to remove it from the pocket on his blue T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and biceps.
“Damn.” His expression darkened as he glanced at the screen before putting the phone back into his pocket. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”
“Work?” She tried to hide her disappointment.
“Yes, ma’am.” He glanced around at the half-empty diner until he saw Connie and waved her over.
“Something wrong, hon?”
“No, Connie. Could I get this to go?”
“You get called out?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His jaw tightened slightly.
“Sure. I’ll get that for you right away.” Connie picked up his plate, the untouched burger and golden fries still steaming, and carried it into the kitchen.
“I’m really sorry, Skylar, but this can happen anytime.” His apologetic smile made her stomach flip.
“It’s fine. Let me know about Friday.” She fought the urge to reach across and touch his hand.
“I will.” He slid from the booth, the vinyl seat creaking softly. He picked up his Stetson, placed it on his head, and looked at her with those impossibly dark eyes. “Again, I apologize. I’ll be in touch.”
