The Best Blind Date In Texas

He paused, and she wondered if he would answer. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked, but he was so easy to talk to.

“That I’d never put myself out there as someone looking for a date,” he finally said. “This all started when I needed to attend a function in San Antonio and made an innocent comment about being too busy with my business to ask anyone. Before I knew it, my social calendar was posted on the courthouse wall.”

Amy laughed at his exaggeration. “We don’t have a courthouse.”

“Then they probably had it printed as an insert to the menu at the Four Square Café. That seems to be where they do most of their plotting.”

Amy silently agreed. The local café had been a meeting place for two generations. “You make them sound diabolical.”

Gray shook his head. “No, really, they’re sweet, wonderful ladies. They’ve just taken me on as their favorite cause.”

“Well, now that I’m back in town, perhaps they’ll ease up on you. My father will no doubt be looking all over the place for someone to marry his little girl. I’m sure he’ll get Thelma and Joyce to help him.”

Amy didn’t mention that they’d probably already discussed her and Gray in the context of happily-ever-after. Gray apparently hadn’t taken their one date to that next, albeit huge, step. She wasn’t about to bring up that subject! Perhaps in this one case, ignorance of the degree of matchmaking was bliss.

Gray assumed a serious expression and brought her hand to his lips. “My sympathies,” he said, perfectly deadpan.

Amy laughed until tears came to her eyes. “Oh, Gray, you really are the perfect blind date. No wonder those ladies are so good at fixing you up.”

“I’m going to have to do something soon, because after tonight, no other date will measure up.”

Amy broke eye contact, embarrassed at his praise, even if he did tend to exaggerate. “Thank you. The feeling is mutual.”

Out on the road, a noisy truck rolled past. Amy glanced over her shoulder, then groaned as the vehicle slowed to a stop. Joyce’s nephew, Lester Boggs, peered through the rosy dawn at Gray’s Lexus. Even from a distance of several dozen yards, she imagined she could see his pig eyes squinting to see inside the car.

“We’ve been caught,” she whispered, turning back to Gray as the old pickup slowly rumbled past. Lester worked at the feed store. By lunchtime, everyone would know Gray was parked in her driveway at dawn.

Gray watched the truck drive away, his expression thoughtful. Pensive. She wondered what he might be thinking. Did he resent being “caught” in her driveway? Was he worried about his own reputation?

“Want to really give them something to talk about?” he finally asked.

“No!” Besides, Lester was already gone.

“You’re right. Kissing you would be a bad idea.”

Her eyes widened, her heart thumped in her chest, as he leaned closer. “A terrible idea.”

“One of the worst ones I’ve had in the past twelve hours or so.”

“You’re so right,” she barely managed to whisper before his lips covered hers.

She’d been kissed before. Dozens of times. Perhaps never under just these circumstances, though. That might account for the way her heart was racing, the way her mind spun out of control as his lips sealed over hers and his tongue swirled with wicked, dark promises. Or maybe she was just exhausted. That might account for how she felt dizzy and short of breath. But all she knew for sure was that kissing Grayson Phillips was the most exciting, the most risky, event in her recent history. She responded with pent-up desire and unknown longing, until they were both breathing fast and shallow when the kiss ended.

She sighed as he pulled away, then slowly opened her lids. Pale light made his silvery eyes even more luminous. The early hour gave new meaning to “five o’clock shadow” on his lean cheeks and sculpted chin. She wanted to run her fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, and pull his deliciously talented mouth back to hers.

“We won’t go out again,” he said softly, with just a tinge of regret, as his gaze caressed her face.

“I know. You were clear.”

“It’s the only way. Neither one of us wants the kind of relationship this town would expect from two upstanding citizens.”

“You’re right.” Her voice sounded a bit thin, as though she didn’t quite believe her own words. But Gray was correct; there was no future for them. At least, not now. Maybe later, after they were more established…If they didn’t find someone else in the meantime.

No, that was ridiculous. She wasn’t looking for anyone. Not now, when she’d already discovered the one man who took her breath away. How could another man compare to Gray? And what about his romantic future? Gray would have to make his own decisions.

“I’d better go in,” she said as he gazed at her in silence.

“I know.” He ran his hand along her hair, brushing her cheek and lightly tracing the shell of her ear. “I had a wonderful time tonight, Dr. Amy Wheatley.”

“And I’m very glad you were my blind date,” she whispered, the ache in her chest intensifying. Before she did or said something extremely stupid, she pulled her coat tight around her, grabbed her purse, and ran for the safety of her tiny house.

SHRUGGING OUT OF HIS tux jacket, Gray focused his attention on the sky stretching one hundred eighty degrees before him.

The dawn sky was still shaded in pinks and corals. A beautiful morning, but he felt as isolated and alone as this house.

Strange. He’d never felt lonely in this house before. Before last night.

He’d built on a hill overlooking a winding valley that was bisected by a stream each spring and fall. A narrow ribbon of water remained, courtesy of last week’s rain. This past summer, when the house had been newly finished, the stream had been as dry as the rest of the Texas landscape.

Gray had designed this house, with the help of a San Antonio architect, to reflect his new life. Clean and devoid of distractions, they’d included both natural materials and technological marvels. The wood, glass and rock structure rose from the hill as though it had been here for years.

That’s the way Gray wanted to be perceived. Permanent, stable, unobtrusive. He’d wanted to blend into the community, putting down a strong foundation for years to come.

For his company, Gray reminded himself. Some men built to pass along their legacy to their child. He had no children, no wife, to inherit. Grayson Industries was as close as he might ever have to a family. His choice, at least for the time being, he acknowledged. He had nothing against family…children in concept. But he didn’t want a wife. He didn’t want someone to dangle the promise of happily-ever-after in front of him, then jerk it away just when he’d begun to believe.

Gray jammed his hands into his trouser pockets as a headache threatened. Why had Connie’s betrayal hurt so much? Why was it still coloring his perception of his future? He wasn’t sure; he wasn’t a psychologist or psychiatrist, nor did he intend to visit one. Hell, he wasn’t even sure his attitude was a problem.

His desire for Dr. Amy Wheatley…now that was a problem.

With a sigh, he headed upstairs for his bedroom. He’d been up for twenty-four hours. With a little luck and a couple of aspirin, he’d be able to sleep a few hours before going back to the office. He just hoped he didn’t dream of a certain brunette with intelligent blue eyes, soft smiles and even softer lips. He’d had his time with Amy Wheatley. Now he had to face his days without her, because she definitely believed in happily ever after.

“THE BEST DEFENSE IS A good offense,” Amy told herself as she pulled her car to a stop in front of Joyce’s beauty shop later that morning. Instead of falling into bed and sleeping her Saturday away, she’d called as soon as the shop opened and made an appointment. She wasn’t in dire need of a trim, but she desperately needed to put out her own version of last night’s events so rumors didn’t get totally out of hand.

Lester Boggs had been a braggart in high school; Amy had no reason to think he’d reformed in the eleven years she’d been away from town. He’d waste no time passing along the news that she’d come in at dawn with Grayson Phillips.

Sleepy and anxious, she took a lesson from Gray and pasted a convincing smile on her face as she pushed open the wood door with a single diamond glass pane and walked inside. The smell of perming solution hit her so hard she blinked tears from her eyes. The salon she’d used in Fort Worth had better ventilation, but certainly not as reliable a system of gossip.

“Good morning, ladies,” she said cheerfully as she peeled off her jacket and threw it over one of the aqua-and-chrome chairs.

“Well, good morning,” Joyce said, looking up from her appointment, an older lady Amy didn’t recognize. “I’ll be finished in just a moment.”

Amy waved her hand. “No problem. I have all day.” She looked around the beauty shop, which in no way could be called a styling salon. Joyce hadn’t updated her furnishings or her hair color in a quarter century, not that anyone in town was complaining. Everyone liked the beautician just the way she was—meddling and all.

Olive, who tended bar nights at Schultze’s Road-house, looked up from her magazine, two-dozen pink perming rods bobbing with the movement. “Even after that late night?” she asked with a touch of humor in her husky voice.

“We did have a wonderful time at the fundraiser,” Amy said cheerfully. “It’s always nice to support a good cause.”

“Or spend time with a good-looking man,” Olive added.