won the grand jackpot. Ten thousand dollars! Ten—count ‘em— thousand dollars!
“I don’t believe it,” she mumbled under her breath. “Guess that’s the old rule of ‘them that has,’ huh?” she asked, turning to Holden.
“Believe it or not, Taylor,” he answered, not smiling, “I’d still call the two of them underprivileged children, if that saying is still in style.”
Taylor closed her eyes a moment, knowing exactly what Holden meant. Benevolent neglect would be the most flattering term she could come up with to describe Peter LeGrand’s parenting style. How lucky for Woody and Tiffany that they had Holden in their lives.
A half hour later, after Woody had had his picture taken next to the machine—and met his very own IRS agent—Tiffany was off to the second-floor shops with Amanda in tow, and Taylor and Holden were free to walk around the casino. Woody, however, had already found the roulette table and, or so he promised, would be staying right there until it was time to go to dinner, if anyone wanted to find him.
Nobody did. Or at least Taylor found herself to be curiously happy to finally be away from everyone and alone with Holden, who showed no inclination to place a single bet anywhere. Not that she’d tell him that she was pleased to be in his company. So they just walked along, looking at the millions of lights, the thousands of people, and not saying much of anything.
She thought she should feel awkward, being alone with him after what had happened on the beach only that morning, but she didn’t. She didn’t feel awkward and she was no longer angry. She felt happy andrelaxed, and curiously proud of how normal he seemed in the midst of all his fame, all the silly cra-ziness of having Woody and Tiffany—and even Thelma—in his life.
“You want to put a few coins through a machine?” Holden asked at last, as they reached an exit at the other side of the large casino.
She smiled and shook her head. “There’s no way I could even hope to top what Woody and Tiffany did. Wait until Thelma hears what happened. She’ll want Tiffany to come back here with her every day for the rest of the summer.”
Holden shook his head. “That won’t happen. Tiff bores easily, which is my only hope where Lance is concerned. If only Amanda would take the hint.”
Taylor enjoyed his discomfort. “That’s what happens when you’re seen everywhere together for nearly six months. A girl starts believing you really like her, although I have to admit I’m a little surprised she hasn’t simply slapped your face and gone away, because you’ve really thrown her a curve—if I might use a baseball analogy to a football man. She must really be smitten. Not that I’m in any danger of succumbing to the Masters charm myself, mind you. It would be pretty difficult to misunderstand the reason for our so-called engagement.”
Shut up, she told herself, snapping her teeth together. You’re babbling like the village idiot! Next you’ll be telling him how you’ve noticed that Amanda’s mouth doesn’t move when she talks, probably because she’s trying not to get wrinkles.
Holden looked at her, rather strangely, she thought, then said, “Speaking of which, let’s head upstairs to the jewelry store, all right? There’s still the matter of a ring, remember?”
Taylor stopped in her tracks, refusing to budge, all thoughts of Amanda Price and her immovable mouth deserting her. “No,” she said succinctly. “I know I’ve gone along with everything else—and the moment I figure out why I have, I’ll be a happy woman—but I draw the line at a ring, just as I told you this morning. So, thank you, but no.”
Holden took on a long-suffering expression, as if accustomed to women turning down his offers of jewelry, as if he had expected this reluctance, believing it was now his job to convince her to do what she wanted to do all along—which would be to take the diamonds and run. “Taylor, it’s
“I don’t believe it,” she mumbled under her breath. “Guess that’s the old rule of ‘them that has,’ huh?” she asked, turning to Holden.
“Believe it or not, Taylor,” he answered, not smiling, “I’d still call the two of them underprivileged children, if that saying is still in style.”
Taylor closed her eyes a moment, knowing exactly what Holden meant. Benevolent neglect would be the most flattering term she could come up with to describe Peter LeGrand’s parenting style. How lucky for Woody and Tiffany that they had Holden in their lives.
A half hour later, after Woody had had his picture taken next to the machine—and met his very own IRS agent—Tiffany was off to the second-floor shops with Amanda in tow, and Taylor and Holden were free to walk around the casino. Woody, however, had already found the roulette table and, or so he promised, would be staying right there until it was time to go to dinner, if anyone wanted to find him.
Nobody did. Or at least Taylor found herself to be curiously happy to finally be away from everyone and alone with Holden, who showed no inclination to place a single bet anywhere. Not that she’d tell him that she was pleased to be in his company. So they just walked along, looking at the millions of lights, the thousands of people, and not saying much of anything.
She thought she should feel awkward, being alone with him after what had happened on the beach only that morning, but she didn’t. She didn’t feel awkward and she was no longer angry. She felt happy andrelaxed, and curiously proud of how normal he seemed in the midst of all his fame, all the silly cra-ziness of having Woody and Tiffany—and even Thelma—in his life.
“You want to put a few coins through a machine?” Holden asked at last, as they reached an exit at the other side of the large casino.
She smiled and shook her head. “There’s no way I could even hope to top what Woody and Tiffany did. Wait until Thelma hears what happened. She’ll want Tiffany to come back here with her every day for the rest of the summer.”
Holden shook his head. “That won’t happen. Tiff bores easily, which is my only hope where Lance is concerned. If only Amanda would take the hint.”
Taylor enjoyed his discomfort. “That’s what happens when you’re seen everywhere together for nearly six months. A girl starts believing you really like her, although I have to admit I’m a little surprised she hasn’t simply slapped your face and gone away, because you’ve really thrown her a curve—if I might use a baseball analogy to a football man. She must really be smitten. Not that I’m in any danger of succumbing to the Masters charm myself, mind you. It would be pretty difficult to misunderstand the reason for our so-called engagement.”
Shut up, she told herself, snapping her teeth together. You’re babbling like the village idiot! Next you’ll be telling him how you’ve noticed that Amanda’s mouth doesn’t move when she talks, probably because she’s trying not to get wrinkles.
Holden looked at her, rather strangely, she thought, then said, “Speaking of which, let’s head upstairs to the jewelry store, all right? There’s still the matter of a ring, remember?”
Taylor stopped in her tracks, refusing to budge, all thoughts of Amanda Price and her immovable mouth deserting her. “No,” she said succinctly. “I know I’ve gone along with everything else—and the moment I figure out why I have, I’ll be a happy woman—but I draw the line at a ring, just as I told you this morning. So, thank you, but no.”
Holden took on a long-suffering expression, as if accustomed to women turning down his offers of jewelry, as if he had expected this reluctance, believing it was now his job to convince her to do what she wanted to do all along—which would be to take the diamonds and run. “Taylor, it’s
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