counter from Crystal.
"Lupe, will you see to our guests, please? Tell them I'll be along shortly. And, Lupe, try to be civil."
The big woman scowled, but she went out obediently to do as she had been told. When she was gone, he turned back to Crystal.
"I can always make it an order," he said bluntly.
She shot him a disbelieving look, but knew immediately that he meant it. The sharp line of his jaw was stern. The cold blue eyes stared back, implacable and hard.
"You can't make me go out there and pretend to be your date!" she snapped.
"Can't I?" Fine dark brows rose in challenge. "It's a long walk back to Dallas."
He was threatening to put her out of his house! Rage boiled up in Crystal. Who did this man think he was anyway?
"You are vile, Mr. Dean," she enunciated calmly, but her insides twisted and turned in outrage and shock.
"When I have to be, Miss Gentry." An odd, almost sad parody of a smile twisted his sculptured lips.
Crystal would have gladly slapped the smile from his face then, but her mind was working along strangely logical pathways. There was no choice, really. None. She was stranded out here a hundred miles from nowhere, a prisoner of sorts. She had no money, no real friends, no place to go if he should actually throw her out, and at the moment, she believed he would.
Silent, challenging, he slid the door back and stepped aside, bowing slightly at the waist. Resigned to the role he forced upon her, Crystal climbed down off her stool. He inclined his head, signaling for her to precede him out into the courtyard. Imperiously she gathered up her skirts and slid past him out into the cool shadows of the archway.
The stillness of the courtyard contrasted sharply with the rage broiling inside of her. Their guests lolled about on small divans, sipping from drinks provided by Lupe. There were three couples, all of them looking slightly uncomfortable in the absence of their host.
Garrett took her arm just above the elbow. "Smile," he hissed beneath his breath.
She looked up, green eyes popping with defiance. "Am I under orders to be happy about this?" she whispered through clenched teeth.
"You're under orders to act like you enjoy my company whether you do or not," came the threatening rumble. He escorted her from the shadows into the soft flicker of torchlight.
Crystal pasted a plastic smile across her face and steeled herself for an uncomfortable evening. They reached the little group of people as the gentlemen came to their feet. They were a fancy lot, dressed to the teeth in evening finery. The blonde chilled her with a contemptuous stare over the rim of her glass. Crystal felt awkward and out-of-step, underdressed, tacky, and very, very nervous. For just a fraction of a second she thought about bolting and running to her room.
As if reading her thoughts, Garrett slipped an arm around her, his big hand biting into her waist. Her skin felt hot where he touched her, and she sensed the color rising to her cheeks.
"Folks, this is Miss Crystal Gentry, my date for this evening."
A murmur of greeting went around the group, and Garrett proceeded with the introductions. "Crystal, this is Ernest Mead and his lovely wife, Janette."
The Meads each nodded graciously. Through her fog, Crystal noticed an odd little smile toying with the corners of Ernest Mead's puffy mouth. He was a stout man with a mane of unruly gray hair. A thin, pale woman stood at his elbow and nodded solemnly.
"Well, well!" exclaimed a tall, balding man. "Where have you been keeping this cupcake, Garrett old boy?" He presented a limp, clammy hand for Crystal to shake.
"Down, boy," cracked his wife, a bosomy, freckle-faced brunette wearing a most unbecoming fuchsia gown. "I'm Marion Swain," she introduced herself, elbowing her husband away. "And this is German, my better half. We call him Germ for short."
"Oh, really, Marion, don't you ever get tired of that boring old joke?" he whimpered. "Ignore her, cupcake, I do."
Before further
"Lupe, will you see to our guests, please? Tell them I'll be along shortly. And, Lupe, try to be civil."
The big woman scowled, but she went out obediently to do as she had been told. When she was gone, he turned back to Crystal.
"I can always make it an order," he said bluntly.
She shot him a disbelieving look, but knew immediately that he meant it. The sharp line of his jaw was stern. The cold blue eyes stared back, implacable and hard.
"You can't make me go out there and pretend to be your date!" she snapped.
"Can't I?" Fine dark brows rose in challenge. "It's a long walk back to Dallas."
He was threatening to put her out of his house! Rage boiled up in Crystal. Who did this man think he was anyway?
"You are vile, Mr. Dean," she enunciated calmly, but her insides twisted and turned in outrage and shock.
"When I have to be, Miss Gentry." An odd, almost sad parody of a smile twisted his sculptured lips.
Crystal would have gladly slapped the smile from his face then, but her mind was working along strangely logical pathways. There was no choice, really. None. She was stranded out here a hundred miles from nowhere, a prisoner of sorts. She had no money, no real friends, no place to go if he should actually throw her out, and at the moment, she believed he would.
Silent, challenging, he slid the door back and stepped aside, bowing slightly at the waist. Resigned to the role he forced upon her, Crystal climbed down off her stool. He inclined his head, signaling for her to precede him out into the courtyard. Imperiously she gathered up her skirts and slid past him out into the cool shadows of the archway.
The stillness of the courtyard contrasted sharply with the rage broiling inside of her. Their guests lolled about on small divans, sipping from drinks provided by Lupe. There were three couples, all of them looking slightly uncomfortable in the absence of their host.
Garrett took her arm just above the elbow. "Smile," he hissed beneath his breath.
She looked up, green eyes popping with defiance. "Am I under orders to be happy about this?" she whispered through clenched teeth.
"You're under orders to act like you enjoy my company whether you do or not," came the threatening rumble. He escorted her from the shadows into the soft flicker of torchlight.
Crystal pasted a plastic smile across her face and steeled herself for an uncomfortable evening. They reached the little group of people as the gentlemen came to their feet. They were a fancy lot, dressed to the teeth in evening finery. The blonde chilled her with a contemptuous stare over the rim of her glass. Crystal felt awkward and out-of-step, underdressed, tacky, and very, very nervous. For just a fraction of a second she thought about bolting and running to her room.
As if reading her thoughts, Garrett slipped an arm around her, his big hand biting into her waist. Her skin felt hot where he touched her, and she sensed the color rising to her cheeks.
"Folks, this is Miss Crystal Gentry, my date for this evening."
A murmur of greeting went around the group, and Garrett proceeded with the introductions. "Crystal, this is Ernest Mead and his lovely wife, Janette."
The Meads each nodded graciously. Through her fog, Crystal noticed an odd little smile toying with the corners of Ernest Mead's puffy mouth. He was a stout man with a mane of unruly gray hair. A thin, pale woman stood at his elbow and nodded solemnly.
"Well, well!" exclaimed a tall, balding man. "Where have you been keeping this cupcake, Garrett old boy?" He presented a limp, clammy hand for Crystal to shake.
"Down, boy," cracked his wife, a bosomy, freckle-faced brunette wearing a most unbecoming fuchsia gown. "I'm Marion Swain," she introduced herself, elbowing her husband away. "And this is German, my better half. We call him Germ for short."
"Oh, really, Marion, don't you ever get tired of that boring old joke?" he whimpered. "Ignore her, cupcake, I do."
Before further
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