Victoria Chancellor - Texan for the Holidays

“You’re a bundle of joy, aren’t you? Just what I needed to cheer me up after talking to Claude McCaskie.” She accepted the white mug, wrapping it in her slender hands with the bright red nail polish on her fairly short nails. “But thanks for the hot chocolate.”

“I’m just joking with you.” Sort of. He wasn’t a big fan of California. He’d gone to a legal conference out there and had ended up stuck in traffic, confined to his hotel due to dangerous smoke in the air, and then had a flight delay after a small earthquake. Of course, the beach had been spectacular. Not to mention the beautiful, tanned California girls in bikinis. “Did Claude have some news about your car repairs?”

“No real news,” Scarlett said with a sigh. She updated James on the conversation she’d just had with the mechanic, even the part about getting rid of the Benz.

“So he mentioned junking it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She turned away and walked around the office. “It’s cozy in here. I like the exposed brick wall.”

“I do, too. This is one of the oldest brick buildings in town, built in the 1920s. Many of the original, frame structures burned after a particularly civic minded prohibitionist set fire to the local honky-tonk.”

“Hmm, sounds like they could have used a good lawyer.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure if there was one back then. Come to think of it, my predecessor could have been practicing then. He was pretty old when he passed on last year.”

“Is that when you moved back to town?”

“My parents became ill. My father first, and then my mother, from taking care of him. I knew I needed to move back here, even with their friends in town helping out. I was married at the time, and things got complicated.”

“Your wife didn’t want to move?”

“That’s right. How did you know?”

“I’m a stylist. Women tell me things. One of the biggest stresses in a marriage is when one of the spouses either gets transferred or decides to move. They think the other one will go along, but find out their partner doesn’t feel the same way. I see it from both sides—women who want to transfer and expect their husbands to understand, and women who are in peril of being uprooted when their husbands take a new job.”

“I thought Babs and I agreed on the importance of family, and had discussed the advantages of raising a family in the country.”

“Your wife was named Babs?”

“That was her nickname.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Scarlett replied, setting her empty mug down in the sink. “You know, discussing the relative merits of country versus city life is a lot different than actually moving.”

“I found that out the hard way.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Not like I should have if we were meant to stay together. Sometimes I think I miss being married, but no, I don’t miss her very much at all.” Especially after the rather nasty things she’d told him during the divorce. Damn it, he was not a boring country hick. He liked his roots in ranching country. His values came from his community and his family, and he wasn’t ashamed of either.

“Speaking of country,” Scarlett said, placing her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. Her movements drew his attention to the partially unzipped hooded sweatshirt and bright green T-shirt that stretched over her breasts. When he looked up, he saw amusement in her eyes. He’d been caught staring, and wondered if he should grin or apologize.

“I’d really like to see some of the ranches and land around here,” she said with humor in her voice. “And since I don’t have a car, I’m out of luck. Could I tempt you to play hooky from the office this afternoon?”

He took a deep breath. Could he just close up the office and drive around the countryside with Scarlett No-last-name? He didn’t have any appointments, but a potential client might stop by, or someone could need advice. Then there was that legal brief of a case he might be involved with before long, down at the county courthouse in Graham.

And then there was the thought of spending time with Scarlett. In just two days she’d made him ignore his good intentions twice—once to go into the salon instead of eating lunch first, then his impromptu invitation to dinner. Not to mention the way she’d raised his temper.

“That is, if your mommy doesn’t mind,” Scarlett added, and that sealed the deal.

He grabbed a sheet of paper, quickly wrote a note, and snatched a piece of tape off the dispenser on the reception desk. Then he checked to make sure the answering machine was on and that his cell phone was clipped to his waist. If anyone called, they’d get a recording that listed his mobile number. He might be playing hooky, but he did have a little sense left.

“Let’s go,” he said, switching off the lights.

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