Montana by Debbie Macomber Page B

would have expected in a lawyer, but it made him all the more endearing. She liked him already.
    â€œI’m sure you’ve had plenty of phone calls.” This sounded more like a question.
    â€œSome.” A lady from the local Baptist church and a return call from the school-district office, but that was it. Men weren’t exactly pounding down her door, but it didn’t hurt her ego any that Russell assumed otherwise.
    The waiter, a staid older man, delivered their wine, and after Russell had tasted it, filled their goblets. Russell had chosen well, Molly determined after her first sip. The California merlot was excellent.
    She finished her glass and allowed Russell to refill it. A relaxing evening out was just what Molly needed, especially after the long week she’d endured. She’d driven from California to Montana, carting all her worldly belongings. She’d refereed her sons’ battles across several states, dealt with the realities of Gramps’s health and had begun to improve the appalling condition of the ranch house. It was a week to remember.
    After ordering dinner, they chatted amicably. Russell had charming manners and Molly was soon enjoying herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent a quiet evening in the company of an attractive man.
    The band arrived, and around nine o’clock, the music started. Not the country-and-western tunes Molly expected, but the mellow sound of light rock. The music was an accompaniment, not an intrusion into their conversation. A few couples got up to dance, and Molly glanced enviously toward the small hardwood floor.
    â€œWould you like to take a spin?” Russell asked, and held out his hand. His eyes twinkled as if he’d been waiting for her cue. A woman could get used to a man this sensitive, she mused.
    Not until Russell had placed his arms around her waist and brought her close did she experience a sense of disappointment. It took her a couple of anxious moments to understand what was happening.
    The last man to hold her close was Sam Dakota. His hands on her shoulders had been strong and forceful; his touch had rocked her, but his kiss had been gentle. The contrast had been…shocking. Memorable. Twenty-four hours later, and that memory was still potent.
    Molly closed her eyes in an effort to banish Sam Dakota from her mind. Russell was handsome and well educated. Polite. Successful. Exactly the type of man she’d hoped to meet. Sam, though, was hard and lean and rough as rawhide. A hired hand. She knew almost nothing about his past, nothing about his future.
    It exasperated her that she could be in the arms of a perfectly good dinner date and her mind was full of another man. The wrong man!
    Despite her determination to put Sam out of her thoughts, Molly found it difficult. She was grateful when their meal arrived and she could sit across from Russell and talk.
    â€œYou might remember there was something I needed to discuss with you,” Russell said. He smoothed the napkin onto his lap and sipped his wine.
    Molly had the impression he wanted to get this matter, whatever it was, settled now. Immediately. From the way he nervously toyed with his wineglass, she guessed this wasn’t a discussion he’d been looking forward to.
    â€œI imagine you’re curious as to what I wanted to ask you,” he began, gripping his goblet with both hands.
    Until he’d mentioned it, Molly had actually forgotten the reason behind this dinner invitation. “Naturally,” she responded, pretending she’d been breathlessly awaiting their discussion.
    â€œI realize this is a bit premature,” he said. “Personally I’d prefer to wait, but my client is anxious, which is understandable.” His eyes darkened with sincerity. “Forgive me, Molly, if this offends you.”
    â€œOffends me?” Client. He was talking to her on behalf of a client? None of this made sense. She’d