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Then he caught her looking, and she froze.
Face flushed, she stared into her glass, stabbing the lime with her straw. A silence hung between them, tense and expectant. She should say something, she knew… she just couldn’t think what.
Hank stood up and passed behind her, heading for home, she thought, until a big hand clasped her shoulder. He leaned close, all muscle and bulk, golden forearms marred with new scratches. Eyes heavy-lidded, he asked,“How ‘bout some pool, Daize?”
The huskiness of his voice thrummed right to her middle, but Daisy caught herself. Buying time, she sucked the last bit of margarita. She swung around, and his eyes followed the neckline of her snug, scoop-necked t-shirt; she didn’t feel so bad about Janie’s pretty dress.
“I don’t know about pool, Hank,” she drawled, slipping her hair from it’s ponytail. As she finger-combed it loose over her shoulders, Hank’s gaze slid down, admiring the golden sheaves. “How can I possibly give you the hurtin’ you deserve after that crazy big tip you left me? I’ve already gotten enough coin out of you tonight, don’t you think?”
Silver-blue eyes brightening, Hank’s face eased into a smile. “Heck, I saw all those bawling kids when we came in. You deserve a boost for your effort, Daisy Mae. But I’ll win some of it back. No girl has ever bested me at pool.”
“Hah. Live and learn, Hank Gallagher,” she said, moving towards the pool table. She’d gotten a little sun, so her thighs were tan and sleek, and she felt Hank’s eyes on her butt, snug in Daphne’s little black cutoffs. He brought her a fresh margarita, slipping it into her hand as she chose a cue.
Sucking the straw, she watched as he slipped coins in the slot and racked up. His shoulders and chest moved over the table, broader and more muscular than T.J.’s. For a split-second, she wondered how he would look over her, bare-chested, all tanned and sweaty. Cripes, not with Hank Gallagher. What the hell’s wrong with me?
Her last dose of T.J. had been almost a year ago. It had been a hard, lonely winter, and she was hungry for the good stuff. No, make that, she was starved for the good stuff. But getting it on with Hank would be completely nuts!
Daisy won ten bucks the first game, but she sucked her drink too fast, took a sloppy shot and scratched, blowing the next game. Hank grinned as he buried his last ball in the side pocket, and she waved his ten with a flirty smile. Stepping close, he took the bill from her fingers and slid it into his back pocket, raising an eyebrow. “Winner buys next round.”
Rattled by what was happening between them, Daisy scooped up her empty glass and his empty bottle. “That’s okay. Three’s my limit. If I’d have stopped sooner, I wouldn’t have made that sloppy shot. I’ll get you next time.”
Smiling, Hank picked up her cue and set it on the rack next to his.“Sure, next time, Daize. Band’s playin’ some dance tunes. You wanna head upstairs?”
“Can’t, tonight. I’ve got work in the morning. Ty’s branding his new calves.”
“Is he?” Hank’s eyebrows shot up. Moving close to her again, all heat and muscle, he said, real low, “Half my guys are still upstairs. I gotta go round them up.”
Janie Dupree’s up there, too. Better get moving, Hank. . . Why did it matter? Slipping away, Daisy set her glass on the bar and went around to toss his bottle in the trash can and pick up her purse and sweater.
He was still there when she came back, hands in the front pockets of his jeans. Eyes at half-mast, he gave her that slow, easy grin. “C’mon, Daize, I’ll walk you out.”
*****
The screen door slammed behind them. Bass thunks and twangy fiddle music filtered down as cool night air tickled Daisy’s arms. “I’m parked around back,” she said, studying the shadows they made walking side by side.
“No rodeo this weekend,” Hank answered, moving across the crowded parking lot leisurely, walking so close she wondered if he’d take her hand.
“Next week’s soon enough. I don’t mind the break.” Back behind the kitchen, her father’s old, dented blue Chevy was bathed in a glow from the dim pole light. Hank cleared his throat. “You want to come over Saturday afternoon and work Gypsy in our big corral to keep in practice? I’ll set up barrels and time you.”
She laughed; it was the kind of thing they’d done as kids for fun, shouting instructions and crowing at each other’s mistakes. Then she remembered Buck, drinking his misery away and took a quick breath. “Thanks, but I just wouldn’t feel right about that, Hank.”
“Aw, shoot, Daisy. My daddy’s gonna be in the hospital again. Momma’s with him ‘til Saturday night if she doesn’t stay. She’d like knowin’ you stopped by.”
“Would she?”
“Sure. She always liked you—you know that. Why don’t I pick you up Saturday and take you to dinner and then we’ll come by to hear Big Horn Swing? If we play some pool, you might get lucky and win your ten bucks back.”
They were next to the Chevy now. She unlocked it, clicking up the handle so the old door squeaked open. Tossing her purse on the seat, she looked at Hank, who’d stayed really close. Most of his face was in shadow, but the light caught his blue eyes. They glowed, all admiring and hopeful, and she tensed. It was hard to say no.
“We’re up in Hillsboro next weekend, Hank. How ‘bout I kick your ass there, Saturday night? Vern’s has pool tables.”
She read the flicker of disappointment in his eyes and felt guilty.
“Sure,” he smiled, hand on her door.
Taking a quick breath, she said, “You and Cuervo just about saved our season, you know that, Hank? You probably did.”
It was the first time she’d mentioned it, and she gave him a real smile, not the watch-me-take-this-shot teasing one to see just how easy it was to catch his attention. Which was easy.
