Yes, he was aware that Texas was a Very Big State. You never met a Texan who didn’t tell you just how big it was.
He bought more than he should have (boredom and hunger were known as the two most dangerous shopping companions) and had come back with enough liquor and food to host a weekend house party. Then he’d tried to pass the time by wandering around the house, checking out the upstairs. Every room had been done in a Christmas theme. There was the white wonderland, the cozy cabin; the Santa’s workshop decor, complete with small toys decorating the tree. Someone had put a lot of time and effort into the Christmas theme.
When he knew the mansion by heart, he’d decided there was no shame in having a cocktail before five. He’d made his martini and was going to sit on the couch and admire the large central Christmas tree and try and think. He was planning to cook for himself this evening, but it was too early for it. Harrison liked to cook. This house had a very fancy range with a grill built into the stovetop. Steaks and potatoes had seemed perfect for gray, wet weather. As did sourdough rolls, key lime pie, some potato chips as an appetizer, and why even bother if you didn’t have dip? He was going to feast like a king. He’d worry about keeping his weight down when he decided what he was doing with his life. When was he going to do that, again?
Now seemed good. He’d just sat on the couch to start thinking,seriouslythinking, when his eye caught something on the deck. He stood up, moved to the glass doors.
That was Amy on her back on the deck. His first instinct was a surge of adrenaline and alarm. He thought heart attack, or stroke. But then he noticed two fingers casually scratch Duchess. So, she wasn’t dead. Butwhy was she lying there? It was chilly and damp and the wind was picking up. He went outside to assure himself she was okay. He meant to simply check on her and go, because Amy had been adamant they were to keep their distance from one another. He’d kept his distance, and his effort, in his opinion, was admirable. When the very large house began to shrink around him, he’d even left to keep his distance.
But now she was inside, following him, because in a moment of weakness, he had offered to make her a martini. He never dreamed she would take him up on it, but here she was.
“What kind of martini would you like?” he asked as they walked into the kitchen. He guessed she was a Gibson girl.
“What do you mean? Is there more than one?”
So not a Gibson girl. Not even a martini girl. “Do you prefer gin or vodka?”
“Umm…” She pulled her hair from the topknot, and it tumbled enticingly around her shoulders. The twinkle of red and green and white Christmas lights behind her cast a bit of a halo over her head. A Christmas angel.Okay, Neely, turn down the Hallmark movie vibe a notch.“I’m not sure.”
She sounded as if she’d never had a drink in her life. He hoped he wasn’t corrupting her with his offer. “And you can have it wet or dry, depending on how much vermouth you like,” he added.
“Vermouth, huh?” She drummed her fingers on the bar, studying the bottles.
“Or…maybe you like yours a little dirty.” When Amy glanced up, he smiled. “I like mine dirty.”
One of her brows lifted slightly. “I have no idea what any of that means, but I’m not opposed to dirty.” She smiled, too.
Score one for the soccer mom. He could feel his smile spread. “Dirty it is, then.” He began to pick up the bottles, pouring ingredients into a glass tumbler. He added some ice, put a silver cap on it, and shook it allup before pouring the drink into a martini glass and handing it to her. “Cheers.” He picked up his glass and lifted it in salute.
“Cheers.” She touched her glass to his, then sipped. Her eyes widened slightly. He expected her to cough or make some remark about how strong it was, but instead, she nodded her head. “That’s really good.”
“You like?”
“I do. It’s different and it’s fancy.” She did a little shimmy with her body. “Thanks!”
“I take it you’re not much of a drinker.”
“Why?”
“Well, because, the whole gin or vodka thing?”
Amy snorted. “Oh, I drink, Harry.”
“Harrison.”
“Harrison,” she corrected. “But I usually drink wine. You know, with friends. And beer in the summer when it’s hot. Nothing like a cold beer some days, am I right? But wine with friends is my thing.”
“What’s that? Like a book club or something?”
She laughed. “Exactly. It’s like a book club, but without books and with wine. You know.”
He shook his head.
“You get together with friends for wine? In a bar? Don’t you do that?”
“Umm…no. You make it sound like a national movement.”
“It should be.” She sipped her martini again.
