Diana Palmer Texan Lovers: Calhoun / Justin / Tyler / Sutton's Way / Ethan / Connal

“Five?”

“We’re going to Houston, remember?” he laughed softly.

“Dining and dancing.”

“Just that, if it’s what you want,” he said gently. “I won’t even touch you unless you want it.”

“That apartment,” she asked hesitantly. “Have you…have you taken a lot of women there?”

He didn’t answer her immediately. “While I was away those few days, I moved. I changed apartments,” he said. “This one is across town from the one I had. And I’ve never taken a woman there.”

She wondered at the switch, wondered why he’d bothered. Surely it couldn’t be to protect her from the memory of his old life, in case one day she did go there with him?

“I see,” she murmured.

“No, I don’t think you do,” he replied, his voice deep and soft. “Not yet, anyway. I’d better let you get to sleep. It’s late.”

She didn’t want him to hang up. She searched for something to say, something to keep him on the line, but her mind was blank.

“You and Justin never came to blows over Shelby, I guess,” she asked then, because it had just occurred to her that Justin had threatened to punch Calhoun the morning after the square dance.

“Justin and I had a long talk,” he replied. “Not that I expect it to do any good. He’s too set in his ways to bend, and he won’t let Shelby get near him.”

“Maybe someday he’ll listen.”

“Maybe.” He sighed. “Five tomorrow. Don’t forget.”

As if she could! She touched the receiver as if she were touching him. “Good night.”

“Good night, sweetheart,” he said softly, and the line went dead.

She floated into her nightgown and into bed, hearing nothing but the endearment, that unexpected, beautiful word, until sleep finally claimed her.

It was the longest Saturday of Abby’s life. She tried to sleep late, but she couldn’t. She went downstairs and had breakfast with Mrs. Simpson and then she went back to her room and forced herself to watch television. Having Saturdays free was still new. At the feedlot, she’d always worked them. Now she had the whole weekend off, and she didn’t know what to do with herself.

Time dragged all day long. She went for a ride just to give herself something to do and wound up in town shopping for a new dress to wear on her date with Calhoun.

She came out with a pretty red patterned silk skirt and matching sweater. It brought out her tan and made her look sophisticated. She thought about having her hair cut, but she’d gotten used to its length. She experimented with different hairstyles for an hour, only to brush it out and leave it around her shoulders afterward.

She was dressed and ready at 4:30. She tried to get interested in a book while she waited. Those thirty minutes were going to be agony.

Apparently Calhoun felt the same way, because he showed up twenty minutes early.

She forced herself not to run to let him in, but she was breathless all the same as she looked up into his dark, quiet eyes.

“Hi,” she said.

He smiled slowly, gazing approvingly not only at her outfit but at her hairdo as well. “Hi,” he replied lazily.

He was wearing a charcoal-gray suit with pale gray handtooled leather boots and a pearl Stetson. He looked so handsome that Abby could hardly believe he was really taking her out on a date. It was so new, so unreal.

“Are you sure you want to take me out?” she asked unexpectedly, her eyes troubled as they met his. “You don’t feel sorry for me—?”

He put his thumb gently against her lips, silencing her. “I wouldn’t take you to the post office out of pity,” he replied. “Are you getting cold feet?” he added softly.

She grimaced and stared at his jacket. “Yes.”

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, his voice quiet and deep. “I won’t rush you or embarrass you.”

She bit her lower lip. “It’s just that it’s…new.”

“You’ll get used to it.” He moved restlessly. “Are you ready to go? I’m early, but I was afraid I’d get held up if I didn’t leave while I could.”

“Yes. I’ll just get my purse.”

She got her purse and her black velvet blazer, as well, and let him escort her out to the Jaguar. She got more nervous by the minute, which was absurd considering how long she’d dreamed of going anywhere with him. She could hardly talk, and her hands shook.

“How do you like living with Mrs. Simpson?” Calhoun asked on the way to Houston.

She smiled. “I like it very much.” Her fingers toyed with the handle of her purse. “I miss the house sometimes. It’s different, living alone.”

He glanced at her, his eyes narrow. “Yes.” He turned his eyes back to the road, frowning as he pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. He reached for the car lighter, noticing her curious stare. “I’m nervous,” he said without thinking, and then he laughed at his own confession. “That’s one for the books, isn’t it, Abby, with my reputation?”

She felt warm all over. She smiled, her eyes carefully lowered. “I’m nervous, too,” she said.

“I’m not a virgin,” he reminded her as he put the lighter against the cigarette.

“Rub it in,” she sighed miserably.

“Don’t make it sound like leprosy,” he teased as he replaced the lighter in its hole beside the ashtray in the dash. “Frankly, I’ve had my fill of experienced women telling me what to do in bed.”

She stared at him, torn between curiosity and jealousy. “Do women really do that?”

His eyebrows arched. He hadn’t realized how innocent she really was. “Don’t you go to movies?”

“I tried,” she recalled. “You never would let me in to see the really good ones.”

He whistled softly. “Well, well.” His eyes brushed her slender body, then returned to the road. “You’ll take a lot of teaching, won’t you, tidbit?” he murmured.

She shifted against the seatbelt. “Which would probably bore you to death.”

“I don’t think so,” he mused. “After all—” he lifted the cigarette to his firm lips “—I could customize you.”

She gaped at him. “Now I’ve heard everything!”

“Tell me you’d hate being my lover, Abby,” he challenged softly, glancing her way.

She couldn’t. But she couldn’t quite admit the truth, either. She averted her face, burning with subdued irritation at his soft, predatory laughter.