“What do you mean, there are no caterers in Ranger Springs?” Robin asked the startled lady at the Chamber of Commerce office the next morning. She knew her voice showed her panic, but she couldn’t help herself. Even though she knew the town boasted no mall or fancy restaurants, she’d never considered that she couldn’t get a decently prepared meal from some food professional in town.
“You might check at the café. They could fix you some ‘to go’ food. Their chicken-fried steak is mighty tasty.”
“I can’t serve chicken-fried steak! No one would believe I fixed that as an entrée!”
Robin knew her voice was rising to near hysteria, but she couldn’t believe the situation she’d gotten herself into. Of course, she thought as her gaze darted around the old converted bank building that now housed the Chamber of Commerce, Visitor’s Bureau and Historical Society, she shouldn’t be surprised. Ranger Springs was a small town, a down-home, Texas-y place, where chicken-fried steak was considered the best a restaurant could offer. How could she have forgotten where she was staying when she’d invited Ethan to dinner tonight?
Tonight! She had to get busy.
“Or you could wait until next Wednesday night,” the middle aged lady offered. “The Methodist church has a covered dish supper once a month. All the women bring their best. You’d be sure to get some good food there.”
“I’m sure I would,” Robin replied, her tone reflecting her despair. But she wasn’t going to accomplish anything by panicking. She’d just have to come up with another plan.
“How about the grocery stores. Do they sell prepared foods?”
The woman appeared confused. “I don’t think so, unless you mean those frozen dinners.”
“No, I’m talking about rotisserie chicken, spiral cut hams, that sort of thing?”
“I’ve never seen anything like that. Most of the women in town fix their own chickens. Well, not real live chickens, mind you. You can get good fryers or roasters at the grocery store.”
Robin rested her chin in her hand as she leaned against the high counter. “How long does it take to drive to Austin or San Antonio?”
“About an hour to the outskirts of San Antonio, about forty-five minutes to the Austin area.”
“Okay. They’ll have caterers.”
“I suppose so.” The woman tilted her head to the side, then asked, “You really don’t cook?”
“Not much.” And what she did cook rarely turned out looking like the recipe or tasting like the dish she was trying to imitate—even though she never tried anything elaborate or difficult. Her mother didn’t cook, and Great-aunt Sylvia limited her kitchen time to an occasional batch of cookies. Robin had accepted the fact she’d never be a cook, although she could set an elegant and innovative table.
“Thank you,” Robin told the nice lady who still looked confused. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention this to anyone. I’m not going to be in town for very long, but it’s kind of embarrassing for others to know I can’t fix a decent meal.” Especially the chief of police or his nice aunt, she silently added.
Robin slipped on her sunglasses and stepped into the Texas summer heat. She unlocked the car, let the hot air escape, then sat down in the cushy driver’s seat. She’d calmed down; there was no reason to panic. She could get what she needed and still be back by one o’clock.
The evening would be pleasant. She’d explain to Ethan again that she only thought of him as a friend; she wasn’t looking for a romantic relationship. She’d thank him for making her feel welcome in town, and send him on his way. No awkward scenes at the front door. No near-kisses in the car or on the porch.
Absolutely not. As soon as she had this food situation under control, she’d feel much more incharge when it came to Ethan Parker and his reluctant, sexy smiles. And his bedroom eyes. And his to-die-for body.
All she needed was some good food and fresh flowers. She’d do what she did best: create a relaxing and decorative environment. Then everything would be fine.
ROBIN HAD DECIDED on a summer theme of red, white and blue. Using Mrs. Franklin’s casual white fluted place settings and her pistol-grip handle flatware, she’d had set the table with blue and white toile place mats. At a lovely shop in Dripping Springs, a suburb of Austin, she’d found red gingham napkins which she folded in a fleur-de-lis shape. Then she’d gathered blue Delft pottery from around the house and created a centerpiece of Texas bluebonnets, white delphinia and red tulips from a florist shop in the same suburb where she’d located a gourmet restaurant that catered.
Of course, she’d spent entirely too much time shopping, and too much money on the new-potato salad, roasted chicken, risotto and marinated string beans. That hadn’t stopped her from buying for dessert an adorable blueberry, strawberry and whipped cream confection in the design of an American flag.
“Perfect,” she said, adjusting the last tulip so it draped artfully over the edge of the blue-and-white pottery. All she had to do was light the two white tapers and the setting would be suitable for a Fourth of July Traditional Home photo shoot.
She’d enjoyed the preparations and the decorating. But how was she going to get through the next weeks without the adrenaline high of searching for caterers in a small town? Or preparing for a special guest? Or having a relaxing and fun evening with a…friend?
She’d wanted to get away from friends and family, but she hadn’t really thought through the reality of living alone in a town where she knew no one. Or practically no one. Bess and Ethan were the only two people she could call close acquaintances, and the older lady only because of Great-aunt Sylvia.
She was going to get darn lonely. And broke. Since she’d cleared her professional commitments in preparation for the wedding, she had no money coming in. What was left in her checking account should have lasted two months, if she’d been careful. But she’d foolishly blown her weekly budget on food, flowers and napkins for one night. Why? Was she so lonely for company that she’d courted Ethan’s approval and attention?
Under regular circumstances, with her normal income, she could have filled countless days scouring antique stores, flea markets and garage sales throughout the area. But not with her present finances! How, she wondered, was she going to fill up her days and nights without work, shopping or friends?
The fact that she hadn’t included her former fiancé in her thoughts was another indication she’d done the right thing by calling off the wedding. If she’d been madly in love with Gig Harrelson, she would be missing him terribly. All she felt was an enormous sense of relief. Her reason for marrying him was wrong, and she would have realized it earlier if she’d allowed herself to step back and think about their relationship. Yes, she still missed the familiarity, but not the particular man with whom she had nearly pledged to spend the rest of her life.
She was learning a lot about herself, but she was also going to get lonesome before long. She might have to return to Houston early, even though she’d signed a contract with the real estate agent to stay in the house two months. Funny thing was, she really didn’t want to go back to her condo, to her life, just yet. She’d rather enjoyed her temporary stay in Ranger Springs so far. She’d continue enjoying it if she had a little more money and she could remain friends with Ethan. And spend time with Bess, when the older woman returned from San Antonio.
Robin just had to remember to treat Ethan exactly as she did his elderly aunt.
She smiled as she straightened, thinking that she needed a little time to freshen up before Ethan arrived. She’d focused almost all her attention on the table, telling herself her appearance wasn’t all that important. After all, she wasn’t trying to attract Ethan’s attention. She certainly didn’t want to appear as polished and perfect as her table setting. She simply wanted to be…neat. Clean. She didn’t want to look like she’d been rushing around all afternoon like a madwoman.
When she glanced at her watch, however, she realized “freshening up” might consist of patting the perspiration off her forehead and running a brush through her hair. Ethan was scheduled to arrive in ten minutes, and she assumed the food would be warm by then.
As if thinking about dinner had made it a reality, the smell of scorching vegetables wafted through the open kitchen doorway. She recognized the odor immediately; her cooking usually took on this particular odor before she dumped it down the garbage disposal.
“Darn it,” she muttered, rushing into the spacious kitchen and jerking open the oven. The roasted chicken was hissing at her from inside the hot interior, and the string beans had shriveled into wrinkled green ropes in the middle of a large but attractive enamel pot on the stove. She pulled the pot off the burner just as the doorbell rang—and noticed that she’d totally forgotten to warm the risotto.
“Great. He’s early,” she mumbled as she pulled the sputtering chicken from the oven. The skin of the roasted bird seemed to have a life of its own as steam escaped from various crannies. “Yuck.” She should have chosen a nice, quiet chicken breast filet instead of this whole bird, which seemed reluctant to make it to the table.
The doorbell rang again. Using the kitchen towel, Robin patted her face and neck, straightened her mid-calf-length sundress and ran both hands through her hair. Ethan would just have to face her as she was; she didn’t have time for even minimal primping. She rushed toward the entryway.
“Hello,” she said breathlessly as she opened the door.
“Hi,” he said, his eyes skimming her quickly. “You look great.” He immediately clamped his mouth shut, as though he’d already said too much.
Robin grinned. Despite saying she wasn’t going to get involved, despite assurances to him and to herself that she wasn’t ready for any kind of romantic relationship, there was nothing like a good-looking man’s appreciative stare to make a woman feel good. And heavens, Ethan did look good tonight in a solid, dark red shirt and body-hugging jeans. He was one-hundred percent Texas male, from his regulation haircut to his worn-but-shiny cowboy boots. Yes, this man’s compliment made her pulse race and her palms itch.
Even if she did have a hissing chicken and stringy beans waiting to bring her back to reality.
TWO THINGS HIT Ethan simultaneously as soon as he tore his attention away from Robin: first, the house—specifically the dining room—looked like something from one of those fancy decorating magazines Susie, his daytime dispatcher, provided for the police department waiting room; and second, it smelled like something from his early college days when he was still learning to scorch his meals to bachelorhood perfection.
“Please, come in,” Robin said, her voice breathless and sexy as hell. He didn’t suppose she meant to sound like she’d just had a satisfying roll in the hay. But darn it, she looked like she’d been caught doing something very naughty and pleasurable, and he couldn’t help it if his mind automatically jumped to conclusions. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink, her eyes were sparkling and a damp sheen made her filmy sundress cling to every curve of her body.
“I’m a mess,” she apologized as she walked into the living room, talking over her shoulder. “I do this all the time; I get carried away with decorating and forget I have other things to do.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear as she stopped beside the couch. “I meant to freshen up a little before you arrived.”
“I’m probably early. And you look…fine.”
“Thanks,” she said with a laugh. “That’s very gentlemanly of you.”
“It’s the least I can say after showing up before you were expecting me.”
Robin laughed. “If I tell my friends in Houston seven o’clock, most of them will show up from seven-fifteen to seven-thirty. A few might even stretch it to eight.”
“That’s one of the differences between the city and the country,” Ethan replied, presenting a bag that contained a six-pack of his favorite beer, plus something for her. “Can I put this in the refrigerator?”
“I’ll take it.” Her hands brushed over his as she tried to scoop the heavy bag into her arms.
“Let me,” he said at the same time.
She laughed, relinquishing her hold, as he tried to control his reaction to her innocent and fleeting touch. Man, he was in trouble if he couldn’t get through the first few minutes without thinking about how sexy she looked and sounded, and how he wanted to be the reason her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was shallow.
“Follow me.”
Gladly, he silently answered, as she breezed into the kitchen. Her hips swayed ever so slightly. Only her lower calves and ankles were visible beneath the hem of her sundress. But to him, the sight was very arousing.
She opened the side-by-side refrigerator, gesturing inside. “Put it anywhere it will fit.”
“I brought some white wine for you. I wasn’t sure if you were a beer drinker.”
“Thanks. I’d love a glass of wine. I didn’t bring any with me when I left Houston. I forgot how difficult it was to find a store out in the boonies…Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound disparaging of your town. I like it very much. Really.”
He handed her the bottle of chardonnay, then extracted a bottle of beer for himself. “No problem. I like being out in the boonies.” But her comments had reinforced one of their main differences—big city and small town, just like wine and beer, didn’t mix. No matter how attractive he found Robin, he had to keep that fact in mind.
“I’ll get you a glass.”
“Not necessary,” he said, twisting off the cap. “Can I get the cork for you?”
“I’ll do it. Just make yourself at home.”
She searched in two drawers before she found the corkscrew. “I’m still getting used to the house.”
“I’m sure it’s very different from your place in Houston.”
“Very. I live in a high-rise condo without much storage. My kitchen cabinets hold a small set of dinnerware and a wide variety of glasses—I admit I eat most meals out. And my drawers aren’t full of all the gadgets Mrs. Franklin obviously uses.”
“So you’re not really into cooking.”
She froze, looking at him with wide eyes. Then she bestowed a big, fake smile and said, “Not as much as I’m into decorating.”
Ethan smiled in reply, speculating that her remark was a huge understatement. Somehow, the knowledge that she’d gone to so much trouble to fix dinner for him when she obviously didn’t enjoy cooking made the evening more special. For a special friend, he reminded himself. Ever since her phone call yesterday, he’d told himself many times how grateful he was that she’d made her intentions known up front. He’d been very worried that Robin wanted more of a romantic relationship than he could give her.
“Let me help. If you’ll show me where the lids are, I’ll try to keep the chicken and green beans warm while we relax a moment. You look as if you could use a glass of wine.”
“That obvious, huh?” she said with amusement in her voice. Her smile changed to a frown. “Lids. I’m not sure—”
“I’ll look,” Ethan offered. He had no trouble locating them in Mrs. Franklin’s well-organized and equipped kitchen. Within a few moments, he and Robin both had a cold drink and had headed into the living room.
He’d been nervous about coming to dinner tonight, but now he was glad he’d accepted Robin’s invitation. She was lonely, just as her aunt had said, even if she had wanted him to kiss her last night in the Bronco. Her reaction was probably an abnormality, brought on by the night, her loneliness, and who knew what other emotions. He’d never been great at reading women. If he’d been more in tune to their moods and needs, he wouldn’t be sitting here with Robin tonight. He’d be with someone else—in a much more permanent situation.
His first impression of Robin as a hard-hearted man-killer who thought nothing of leaving her fiancé at the altar was as wrong as could be. Given his background, though, how could anyone blame him for being suspicious? Thank heavens he wouldn’t have to relive any of those painful memories, especially since he and Robin were going to be just friends.
“SO THAT’S WHAT decorators do,” Robin said, finishing her glass of wine. They’d cleared the table and disposed of the remains of the overdone-but-tasty dinner. What had been left wasn’t salvageable for leftovers—not that Robin looked like the type of woman who saved leftovers. She seemed like the sort who preferred catered meals and restaurant fare—and Ethan didn’t mean fast food. He and Robin were as different as armadillos and rattlesnakes.
“So you do what the client wants,” Ethan said as he sat beside her—but not too close—on the couch.
“Well, within reason. For example, if I had a client who wanted a nubby beige sofa, white walls and ‘starving artist’ oil paintings, I’d advise them against using me as a decorator. They can get that sort of thing at any furniture store.”
Ethan cringed inwardly. Aunt Bess didn’t seem to mind their decor, which had pretty much come from the local furniture store, and the white walls, which had been painted just prior to his buying the one-story, ranch-style home on two acres of land. He’d picked the house because of its location near the main road—rural but not far from the municipal building—and the fact there weren’t steps for Aunt Bess to climb. Since moving to Ranger Springs, he’d rarely thought about how the house looked inside.
Of course, he wanted a well-kept yard, which he mowed and trimmed weekly. The interior always seemed to him the domain of the “woman of the house,” and in his case, that was his elderly aunt. If he’d gotten married a few years ago, he might not spend his evenings in his comfortable lounger with his aunt sitting on the nubby beige sofa beneath the cheap oil painting of sea grass on a sandy dune.
“So what if a client already had that sort of style and wanted something else? What would you do?”
“I’d ask them what they liked, what kind of lifestyle they lived, how long they were going to be in the house, and what budget they were considering. Then I could come up with some preliminary ideas. Many clients enjoy shopping with me at design centers, antique stores and specialty shops for ideas and accessories.” She paused. “If I were in Houston, of course. I haven’t even seen an antique store in Ranger Springs.”
He’d always thought the fact that Ranger Springs didn’t have an antique store was a point in its favor, but he supposed Robin wouldn’t appreciate his opinion. Most of the stuff he’d seen inside those stores, on the two occasions he’d gone with his aunt, looked to him like someone else’s discards. “So you wouldn’t hold it against the client if they didn’t have a lot of stylish furniture and…knick-knacks to begin with?”
Robin laughed. “No, I wouldn’t. The most important thing is that the client and I can agree on a strategy for improving the look and function of their home.”
“Sounds like a big job.”
“I think so. People make fun of decorators, but we enjoy helping people live in a better environment. Some decorators work very closely with energy-saving and earth-friendly products, or with architects who design state-of-the-art houses. Most clients don’t want their homes to look like computer workstations or industrial sites.”
“I can understand that. I like a real homey look myself, but I have a hard time knowing what that means, exactly.” He took a sip of iced tea, enjoying the low-key conversation more than he’d imagined. “It’s like a lot of things—you just know it when you see it.”
Robin laughed. “Believe me, I’ve heard that before, especially from male clients. Women tend to be more opinionated and have a better idea of their personal style.”
And some of them have a hard time admitting what they really want out of life, he thought. But again, he was thinking of his past, which had no bearing on the present. He couldn’t lump Robin in with other women he’d known.
“Do most of your clients want something modern? Bright colors and glass cubes and things like that?” he asked.
“Actually, most people want a fairly traditional look, but they want to make their statement, too. For example, they might have inherited fine cherry or mahogany dining room furniture, but they collect modern art. It’s easy for a decorator to combine the two to make a striking room, but it takes skill and confidence some home-owners don’t possess. Success comes from color and balance. Convincing a client to paint their walls dark red is a real challenge,” she added with a chuckle.
“Most people around here don’t collect modern art,” he observed.
“No, but I’ll bet a lot of them have some fine antiques that they’ve either inherited or purchased. Some people have trouble integrating those pieces with their existing furniture.” She finished her glass of wine, then smiled. “Why? Do you think Ranger Springs could use a decorator?”
He narrowed his eyes and studied her, trying to imagine her setting up shop in a small town. The possibilities were slim, so he settled on “Maybe.”
She shook her head. “I doubt it. A lot of people see decorators as an added expense they simply don’t need. They’re happy with their beige sofas and white walls.”
“But what if they’re not? Wouldn’t you like to help?”
“I’m almost always willing to help…for commission or a fee,” she said with a smile.
“How about my house? Would you help me get rid of the furniture-store look?”
“Your house?” She seemed to still, like a leaf momentarily caught in an updraft.
“Sure. I don’t know anything about decorating. Aunt Bess is as sweet as can be, but she’s happy with whatever pleases me. Oh, she’s got some antiques in her bedroom—a lot of knickknacks from her family. But they’re hers, not mine. Honestly, I think she’s kind of stuck in the sixties or seventies from what she said when we went shopping a few years ago. I’m beginning to think I need help.”
“You’re serious.”
“Very.” Hiring Robin to decorate his house would keep her busy, so she wouldn’t be lonely. And if he gave her free rein to buy all those little things that made a place look like a home, she’d be working and out of his hair during the day. He wouldn’t have to worry about her sitting alone in this big house with nothing to do but think about her friends and family—and ex-fiancé—back in Houston. And best of all, he’d get the kind of home he’d always wanted, but couldn’t decorate on his own.
Surely his aunt would agree that hiring Robin to decorate was an even better inspiration than taking her out to dinner or a movie.
He could tell Robin was seriously considering the offer. She didn’t hide her feelings very well; he had no idea whether she could conceal her emotions even if she tried.
Her eyes sparkled as she leaned slightly toward him. “I’d like to see your house and discuss what you want.”
Ethan shrugged. “Sure, but it’s pretty standard stuff. One-story brick, three bedrooms, two baths. And as for what I want, I’m not really sure. I just want to make it more…homey. You know, kind of personal but not too fussy. I don’t like fussy. No frilly lace curtains and tiny little chairs. And I’m not giving up my recliner or big-screen TV.”
Robin laughed. “Somehow, I could have guessed that.”
BEFORE LONG, ETHAN announced he needed to get home. He had to work tomorrow, but at least this evening hadn’t ended like the one two nights ago, with him looking at his watch with a panicked expression on his face. No, tonight he’d appeared relaxed and pleased.
“I enjoyed the dinner,” he said, as she opened the door for him.
“Even if it was a little overcooked.”
“Just a bit,” he said, smiling in the appealing way she’d appreciated from the very beginning. She suspected he wasn’t the type of man who smiled a lot at work, given his status as chief of police and his FBI training. But he had a lot of warmth inside. She could tell by the way he treated his aunt, and the way he offered a smile as if he wasn’t sure it would be accepted.
“I’ll need to have a look at your house. In the meantime, I’ll get my sample books and try to line up some local resources for whatever work you’d like to have done.”
“Work?” He sounded worried.
“Painting or simple woodwork,” she clarified. “I didn’t mean you’d want major remodeling.”
“Oh. Good.” He sighed in relief. “Why don’t you come by this weekend? I have Saturday and Sunday off. Aunt Bess and I were planning on working in the yard, but since she’s in San Antonio, I have both days free.”
“I’ll come by Saturday, then. Around ten o’clock?”
“Sounds good.” He smiled again as he opened the storm door and stepped out onto the porch. “I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Good night, Ethan.”
“Good night.” He paused, his smile fading a little as he looked at her across the few feet that separated them. “I really did have a good time.”
She tilted her head and hugged her arms. “I did, too.”
He nodded, then smiled again. She wondered briefly if he was going to do or say something else. But he turned and walked to his black Bronco, his long-legged, rolling stride reminding her much more of an old-time Texas lawman than a modern, FBI-trained cop.
She shook off her fanciful thoughts and locked the door, closing out the warm summer night and the vision of Ethan Parker. She had things to do—important tasks related to the work she loved. First of all, she had to make a list.
She hadn’t needed to set up a work center in the Franklin home; she hadn’t expected to work while she was here in Ranger Springs. But now she’d need paper, pencils, a sketchbook and all the tools of her trade that were back in the small office she shared with her partner, Jenny Smithson.
Fortunately, Robin had been at the end of her current projects because of the impending wedding. Only a few details and minor problems had to be resolved. Jenny had graciously agreed to take care of those remnants when she’d received Robin’s phone call, briefly revealing her retreat from Houston.
They weren’t close friends, but they complemented each other well in a professional sense. Jenny had a wonderful sense of the absurd; Robin had the ability to take the traditional elements of design and use them individually.
Her talent, she’d learned over the four years she’d been a professional decorator, was integrating a client’s collection into a total decorating scheme.
She paused, wondering if Ethan had any “collections.” Somehow, she doubted it, unless he had items from his childhood.
She found a yellow pad and pencil in one of the drawers in the kitchen. Taking a seat at the breakfast nook, she began to list what she knew—what she thought she knew—about Ethan. The exercise would be helpful in more ways than one. By accepting him as a client, she could look at him objectively. No longer would he be the sexy chief of police, nor would he be the nonsexual friend she’d tried to envision. Now he could be a real man—a client—with an expressed personality, goals and preferences. She could list those attributes, weigh them and analyze them.
In short, she could control her reaction to Ethan once he was reduced to a series of words on a piece of paper. The idea invigorated her. She experienced the sort of excitement she always felt when she took on a difficult or challenging task.
Purely professional, she told herself. Thinking of excitement and Ethan in the same context was only inviting trouble if she failed to remember he was a client, just like any other.
Pencil poised above the yellow pad, she began listing Ethan’s personality traits. Strong. Responsible. Punctual.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose. The word sexy kept popping into her mind, but she had to find another way to express it. Desirable. Definitely, but that hardly helped her keep her mind off the personal and on the professional. Appealing. Now there was a thought. He appealed to many people, she was sure, for his various abilities and his position in the community. The fact that he appealed to her on many levels was irrelevant; he was a bundle of tantalizing traits anyone would recognize.
She worked on the list for a few more minutes, adding words as they came to her: down-home, honest, country boy, educated, law-abiding, good-natured, Texan. In the end, she had about fifteen words and phrases that began to define Ethan Parker.
She couldn’t wait to start the project. She’d be required to spend plenty of time around him, but suddenly the prospect wasn’t scary. Now that he was a client, she wouldn’t have to worry about wild attraction or almost-kisses.
In bold strokes she printed “The Bachelor Project” on the top of the yellow sheet of paper. Now she had a project title, a real client and a plan of action.
For the first time since he’d answered her 9-1-1 call, she felt as if both her feet were firmly on the ground. Ethan would love her ideas for his home, she was sure. If he hadn’t wanted to spend time with her, have her help define his style and reveal his preferences for particular purchases, he certainly wouldn’t have asked her to redecorate his house. No one made that sort of commitment on a whim.
Yes, her stay in Ranger Springs was definitely looking up. Perhaps she’d be able to afford more than frozen dinners and an occasional fast-food burger. After tonight, she was more convinced than ever that she wasn’t going to be forced to learn to cook simply because she was living in the midst of Americana.
The country wasn’t going to rub off on a city girl like her, but with some skill and perseverance, a little bit of the city was about to rub off on Ranger Springs’s police chief.