He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “At dinner I won’t be able to think about anything but when I get to kiss you again.”
She arched an eyebrow and slid her hands up his chest to put her arms around his neck. “Can’t have that.”
He smiled and kissed her. Drew her close with one hand on her back and one hand buried in her hair.
Hot. Sweet. Bone-melting. A thrust and parry of tongues that had her nipples tightening and the dull ache between her legs roaring to full throttle. She’d kissed him the morning after the ball, and again last night. But this kiss sizzled, leaving her primed and ready to rip off her clothes and his. This kiss said he wanted to take her to bed and do amazing things to her. And oh, my, God, she wanted him to.
Slowly, they broke the kiss. Stared silently at each other. Then they both smiled.
“So, did it help?” Savannah asked.
“The opposite,” he said. “Now I’m going to be thinking about kissing you even more than I was before.”
“I have a confession. I’ll be thinking about it too.”
Harlan groaned. “Not helping, Savannah.”
She laughed and patted his cheek.
Baron’s was one of the nicest restaurants in town, originally established by Baron Kelly himself. Kelly sold the place in short order, but the name stuck. Today Baron’s was owned by a cousin of the Kellys and his wife, Jasper and Judy Lang.
It was the picture of a Texas steakhouse with wooden chairs with red leather seats, red leather booths and an old-fashioned mahogany bar that ran the length of the main room. The bar wasn’t quite as distinctive as the one at Booze’s Place, but it was beautiful and the restaurant was a good bit newer. Hanging on the walls were old, faded photos of cowboys and cowgirls, horses, cattle, and dogs. One photo showed a man asleep on a hay bale in a barn, with several cats sleeping beside or on top of him. There were pictures of the Kelly clan of each generation.
There was a picture of Booze Kelly and his beautiful wife, Marguerite, surrounded by Booze’s famous whiskey barrels. One of Baron and Elsa, all dressed up in front of the new steakhouse. Wildcatter and Bianca were pictured in front of Wildcatter’s first oil well. There was even a picture of Boots Kelly and his ex-wife, Paloma, in front of the original Kelly Boots factory.
There were photos of the townspeople in various dress styles, from the eighteen-nineties onward. In a prominent place was a large picture of the original Whiskey River Ladies Relief Society, founded in the early nineteen-hundreds by Drew Harwood’s mother.
Aside from the photos, spurs, lariats, cowboy hats and branding irons graced the walls. It was dark, quiet, and elegant in a western way. The restaurant was well known for its romantic ambience as well as delicious food.
“You know this is known as one of the most, if notthemost, romantic places in town, right?”
Harlan shot her a wicked grin. “I might have heard that a time or two.”
The hostess seated them in an out-of-the-way corner booth, gave them menus and told them the waiter would be with them shortly. A few moments later Judy Lang stopped at their table. “Harlan, I heard you were in town.”
Harlan got up and they hugged each other enthusiastically. “It’s so good to see you. How long are you here for?”
“I’m here for good.”
“You’re kidding? Really?”
Harlan laughed. “You know Travis and Laurel have been after me to move back for a long time now.”
“Yes, but I didn’t think you’d ever listen.” Judy turned to Savannah. “Hi, Savannah. I didn’t mean to ignore you. How are you?”
“I’m good. And you?”
“Doing well.” They talked for a bit and then Judy said, “Here’s your waiter. I’ll leave you to your dinner. Harlan, give Alan a call. He has big news, but I’ll let him tell you.”
“Who’s Alan?” Savannah asked after the waiter left with their drink order.
“Her oldest son. He’s my godson.” He glanced at his menu and said, “I didn’t realize you and Judy knew each other.”
“It’s Whiskey River,” she reminded him. “Besides, we’re both in the WOWR, but we don’t really know each other that well. Now that you mention it, I do remember she has kids.”
The waiter brought their drinks, red wine for Savannah and a beer for Harlan, and took their order. Steaks for both of them, naturally. With all the fixings—crusty French bread, loaded baked potatoes, creamed spinach, and a choice of several mouth-watering desserts.
Harlan raised his glass. “To second chances.”
