idiots.”
“We are idiots,” I say. “I should think that’s obvious. It’s a handicap, but we’ll just have to work with it.” With that, I turn and walk off in the direction of the bar.
Tully runs after me. “Hey!” he says.
I stop.
“It’s none of my business,” he says, looking vaguely embarrassed. “But you’re not going to get another drink, are you?”
As a matter of fact, that wasn’t my plan at all. But now that he mentions it, it sounds like a good idea. “Perhaps a wee one,” I say.
Tully and I enter the lounge. My new best friend, Ruby, is behind the bar. She grins and waves.
The leather creaks as Tully and I mount our saddles. I’m beginning to enjoy sitting on a saddle. It’s like riding a carousel. After enough gin, it may even go up and down.
“Howdy, again,” Ruby says to me. She’s not ignoring Tully; it’s more like she doesn’t see him, like he doesn’t exist. “Double martini?” she says.
I laugh. “A single, please.”
“On a health kick?” Tully says.
“Just pacing myself,” I say.
Ruby at last notices Tully. “Get you something, sir?” she says. He orders a ginger ale, and Ruby moves off to get our drinks.
I’m meditating on the good news—that we’re close to finding Georgia—when Tully reaches up and touches the back of my head. “You’ve got a cocklebur in your hair,” he says.
There’s a mirror behind the bar, and I watch Tully’s reflection as he pulls at the offending matter. “Got it,” he finally says. He flicks the bur away.
With his hand still on my head, Tully smooths my hair. His gaze meets mine in the mirror. For an instant, we stare at each other.
All right, yes, I admit it. Rumpled, distracted, arrogant Tully may be, but he’s also compellingly male. I’m conscious of the closeness of his body, the sweet muskiness of it.
I drop my gaze. I swallow. Tully removes his hand. “Well,” he says.
I scramble for something, anything, to talk about. I give voice to the first thing that pops into my mind. “Do you know,” I say, “I haven’t seen Georgia in years. I’m not sure I’ll recognize her. What’s her hair like these days? Short? Long?”
“Long,” he says.
“Still that incredible red?”
“Yup.”
Ruby returns with our drinks and places them on a pair of cowboy coasters. Two athletic-looking women in white Bermudas and polo shirts come into the lounge. They mount up at the end of the bar. Ruby goes to wait on them.
“We know Georgia’s here,” Tully says, stating the obvious. “What I want to know is, what are your intentions?”
I smile.
“What?” he says.
“It’s the way you say ‘intentions.’ Like you’re worried someone will seduce you.” I don’t know why I said that. I wish I hadn’t.
Tully reddens.
I feel clumsy and self-conscious. Any moment, I expect I’ll simply slide off my saddle and roll around on the floor, speaking in tongues.
After a while, Ruby returns to our part of the bar and begins mopping the counter with a small towel. Contrary to what Tully believes, the reason I’ve come into the lounge is not to get a drink—not entirely, anyway—but to winkle information out of Ruby.
“Ruby,” I say, “could you tell me if you know a young woman, very pretty, with long red hair?” I bring a hand up even with my shoulder. “Her name is Georgia—or possibly Jade. Though by now it could be Topaz or Malachite. She’s staying at this hotel.”
Ruby stops mopping and looks thoughtful. “Sounds sorta like the gal who drank all those dreamy monkeys. She’s a redhead. Don’t know her name, but I told you about her, remember?”
“I remember. You said her friends carried her to her room. What room is that?”
“No idea. They paid cash, so there wasn’t a room tab. The two gals who were with her, though, they’re sitting over there.”
She points to the athletic-looking duo at the end of the bar who came in after we did. I stare at them. I study their buff
“We are idiots,” I say. “I should think that’s obvious. It’s a handicap, but we’ll just have to work with it.” With that, I turn and walk off in the direction of the bar.
Tully runs after me. “Hey!” he says.
I stop.
“It’s none of my business,” he says, looking vaguely embarrassed. “But you’re not going to get another drink, are you?”
As a matter of fact, that wasn’t my plan at all. But now that he mentions it, it sounds like a good idea. “Perhaps a wee one,” I say.
Tully and I enter the lounge. My new best friend, Ruby, is behind the bar. She grins and waves.
The leather creaks as Tully and I mount our saddles. I’m beginning to enjoy sitting on a saddle. It’s like riding a carousel. After enough gin, it may even go up and down.
“Howdy, again,” Ruby says to me. She’s not ignoring Tully; it’s more like she doesn’t see him, like he doesn’t exist. “Double martini?” she says.
I laugh. “A single, please.”
“On a health kick?” Tully says.
“Just pacing myself,” I say.
Ruby at last notices Tully. “Get you something, sir?” she says. He orders a ginger ale, and Ruby moves off to get our drinks.
I’m meditating on the good news—that we’re close to finding Georgia—when Tully reaches up and touches the back of my head. “You’ve got a cocklebur in your hair,” he says.
There’s a mirror behind the bar, and I watch Tully’s reflection as he pulls at the offending matter. “Got it,” he finally says. He flicks the bur away.
With his hand still on my head, Tully smooths my hair. His gaze meets mine in the mirror. For an instant, we stare at each other.
All right, yes, I admit it. Rumpled, distracted, arrogant Tully may be, but he’s also compellingly male. I’m conscious of the closeness of his body, the sweet muskiness of it.
I drop my gaze. I swallow. Tully removes his hand. “Well,” he says.
I scramble for something, anything, to talk about. I give voice to the first thing that pops into my mind. “Do you know,” I say, “I haven’t seen Georgia in years. I’m not sure I’ll recognize her. What’s her hair like these days? Short? Long?”
“Long,” he says.
“Still that incredible red?”
“Yup.”
Ruby returns with our drinks and places them on a pair of cowboy coasters. Two athletic-looking women in white Bermudas and polo shirts come into the lounge. They mount up at the end of the bar. Ruby goes to wait on them.
“We know Georgia’s here,” Tully says, stating the obvious. “What I want to know is, what are your intentions?”
I smile.
“What?” he says.
“It’s the way you say ‘intentions.’ Like you’re worried someone will seduce you.” I don’t know why I said that. I wish I hadn’t.
Tully reddens.
I feel clumsy and self-conscious. Any moment, I expect I’ll simply slide off my saddle and roll around on the floor, speaking in tongues.
After a while, Ruby returns to our part of the bar and begins mopping the counter with a small towel. Contrary to what Tully believes, the reason I’ve come into the lounge is not to get a drink—not entirely, anyway—but to winkle information out of Ruby.
“Ruby,” I say, “could you tell me if you know a young woman, very pretty, with long red hair?” I bring a hand up even with my shoulder. “Her name is Georgia—or possibly Jade. Though by now it could be Topaz or Malachite. She’s staying at this hotel.”
Ruby stops mopping and looks thoughtful. “Sounds sorta like the gal who drank all those dreamy monkeys. She’s a redhead. Don’t know her name, but I told you about her, remember?”
“I remember. You said her friends carried her to her room. What room is that?”
“No idea. They paid cash, so there wasn’t a room tab. The two gals who were with her, though, they’re sitting over there.”
She points to the athletic-looking duo at the end of the bar who came in after we did. I stare at them. I study their buff
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