“Good,” Wade said, pleased.
His hand lingered just a second longer at her back before he turned to the table.
“Gentlemen,” he said, gesturing toward her, “this is Isabella Moreno.”
A beat.
“Friend of our sheriff. Out of Denver. Runs a gallery.”
The men nodded. Measured. Interested.
Wade looked back at her.
“We’ll set something up before you leave,” he said. “I insist on it.”
“Dad, we’ve got a table,” Cal said, smooth and even.
“I’ll bring her by when you’re done here.”
Wade’s smile didn’t slip.
Not even a fraction.
“Wouldn’t dream of keeping her,” he said lightly.
But his eyes stayed on Izzy.
“Enjoy your meal, darlin’.”
Cal gave a small nod and guided her away.
Christie reappeared like she’d been waiting.
“This way,” she said, a touch too bright.
She led them the rest of the way to the windows, setting menus down with practiced ease.
“Your server will be right with you.”
Her smile for Cal lingered.
For Izzy—it didn’t.
Then she walked off.
Izzy slid into her chair, pulling off her sunglasses.
She glanced back once.
Wade was still standing.
Still watching.
Cigar in hand.
Smile in place.
She turned back to the table.
