Page 47 of Texas Made
He came out of one of the stalls. “Jaclyn? I thought you were going to be later.” He walked forward to meet her.
“It is later.”
Marshall reached her and pulled her into his arms for a kiss hello. Which, since they hadn’t seen each other in weeks, lasted longer than normal.
“I’m really glad you came,” he said. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“Are you hungry or did you eat on the way down?”
“I stopped and got a sandwich.”
“Ruthie made lemon meringue pie.”
“Oh, that’s one of my favorites.”
“I know,” he said with a grin. “Let me take a shower and we’ll dig in.”
“Sounds like a plan. Where is everyone?” she asked as they walked to the house. “I rang the doorbell but no one answered.”
“Damaris went out and Ruthie’s probably in her room with the TV so loud she can’t hear anything else.”
She waited in Marshall’s room for him to shower. His bed was made but it looked so inviting she decided to lie down and close her eyes for a moment. The next thing she knew Marshall was sitting beside her on the bed kissing her awake.
“Huh? What?”
He laughed. “I asked if you wanted to sleep more or eat pie. You must be really tired. You were conked out.”
“Sorry. I’m awake now.” He had on his jeans now but his shirt hung open. She put a hand on his chest and said, “You have such a nice chest. Such pretty muscles.”
He put his hand over hers to stop her stroking. “I thought you wanted pie. If you do you’re going to have to stop that.”
“Hmm. I see something else that looks tasty.” She leaned forward and kissed his chest, laid a trail of kisses down to his jeans. Raised her gaze to meet his and smiled. “How about it, cowboy? Pie or…something else?”
“No contest.” He stood beside the bed, flung aside his shirt, got rid of his jeans, climbed in bed and took her in his arms. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
“Why don’t you help me out of them?”
“Why don’t I?” he asked and proceeded to do it.
Chapter Nineteen
Saturday night Marshalltook her to Baron’s, one of the nicest restaurants in Whiskey River and the only true steakhouse. Baron’s, like many of the older establishments, sat facing the square. The hostess led them to a smaller, more intimate room and seated them at a corner table. Paintings of horses, cowboys, cattle drives, and stampedes were scattered over the wood-paneled walls. The decor was rustic, though more elegant than Booze’s.
The tables were covered with white tablecloths. Vases of flowers and candles sat in the center. Marshall ordered her favorite wine and told her a bit of the history of Baron’s. Baron Kelly had started it, he said. Baron had extended the family fortune by raising cattle—lots of them. Hence the nickname. So when he opened a steakhouse the townspeople automatically called it Baron’s after him. Baron had named it something else but no one remembered what. The restaurant had changed hands several times over the years but the name always remained the same. And the food was always excellent. It was known, not surprisingly, for its steaks.
“This is really nice, Marshall,” she said, touched that he’d arranged such a nice dinner.
“I hope you like it. Until Blue arrived it was about the only nice restaurant in town. So when you said you’d never been here I thought we could eat here for your birthday.” He smiled and added, “According to Gabe, this is the most romantic table in the place.”
“He’s right. It is romantic.” She drank her wine. “How did you get away?”
“Damaris offered to check on Cappuchino. He’s been doing better, anyway.”
“I’m glad. I know you’ve been worried about him.”
“Yeah, but it’s going to be months before he’s back to normal.”
