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“I am,” she said simply.
“I figured you must be, or you wouldn’t be able to make a living at it. It’s bound to be a highly competitive field. Is it something you’ve always been interested in?”
The question caught Sloan in the midst of another sip of coffee. She swallowed and nodded. “Since I was nine years old. I got a camera for my birthday, and it’s been my passion from that day on.” She sat a little sideways on the seat, a shoulder brushing the passenger window, her body angled toward him and both hands curled around the hot cup. When he turned onto another street, her attention shifted to the front. Immediately she straightened in sudden alertness. “This is the way to the art center. What are we doing here?”
“It has a great little park area overlooking the Yellowstone River. It’s an ideal place for a picnic,” Trey replied, with a sidelong watch for her reaction.
She laughed softly in surprise. “A picnic breakfast. That’s a first.” An instant later, Sloan made a quick visual search of the floorboard area by her feet and the empty section of seat between them. “Where’s the food?”
“I stowed it behind the seat.”
Head tipped to one side, she gave him a long look. “You must have been very busy after you left my room.”
Trey laughed low in his throat. “Let’s just say that if you had gotten to the lobby on time, you would have been waiting for me.”
“Next time I won’t bother to get my hair all the way dry.” She settled back in the seat, a glow of anticipation in her eyes.
No phrase had ever sounded sweeter to Trey than the one Sloan had used. It told him that she expected there to be a “next time.”
Chapter Four
Sunlight glistened on the dew-damp grass, intensifying its young green color. A few yards away, at the foot of the bluff, the Yellowstone River followed its snaking course eastward. A wide sweep of prairie flowed from the opposite bank, stretching the eye with its bigness.
A vagrant breeze flipped up a corner of the blanket that served as both a table and protection from the damp grasses underneath. Sloan sat cross-legged on it, a half-eaten flaky croissant in one hand and a plastic glass filled with a mixture of champagne and orange juice in the other.
More croissants were piled atop the paper sack that had contained them. Next to it sat a plastic box of California strawberries. Their luscious red color was a contrast to the bunch of shiny black grapes lying atop a paper napkin.
A cardboard box that had seen duty as a picnic hamper sat off to the side. Even now it held the opened champagne bottle, the orange juice carton, a thermos of coffee, a pint of milk, plus more napkins, extra glasses, and a collection of plastic flatware.
Trey sat at right angles to Sloan, propped upright by a bracing arm. He had one leg stretched out its full length while the other was bent to act as a support for the arm casually hooked over the knee. Every inch of him was male, from the rawboned strength in his features to the muscled leanness of his body. He certainly did not appear the kind to have croissants and mimosas for breakfast.
“I have to admit,” Sloan began, “when you pulled out that paper sack, I thought for sure there would be sausage-and-egg biscuits inside it. This isn’t what you usually have for breakfast, is it?” she asked in open doubt.
His lazy smile, combined with the gleam in his eyes, seemed somehow sexily reckless and challenging. “My choice tends more to the steak-and-eggs side of the menu. But I figured that a woman who starts her morning with a double latte probably favors something lighter and a little more European.”
“You certainly accomplished that,” Sloan declared. “About the only thing missing is some yogurt and granola. Don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily, holding up a cautioning finger. “As far as I’m concerned, this is more than enough.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“Wholeheartedly,” she assured him.
The steady regard of his gaze grew slightly serious. “So what happens when you finish up here? Will you be flying back to Hawaii?”
“Probably.” She took another bite of the pastry and used the little finger of
that hand to brush the flaky crumbs from her lips.
“I figured that.” He nodded. “Although there was the off chance you might be stopping off somewhere to visit family.”
Sloan shook her head and quickly finished the bite in her mouth. “I don’t have any family. Both my parents are gone, and I was the only child of parents who were only children themselves. It’s been just me for so long that I’ve gotten used to it.” She sent him a quick glance. “That probably sounds strange to you.”
“Not really. My father died when I was just a little tyke. I don’t remember him at all.”
His words touched a chord in Sloan. Since she lost her parents when she was six, her memories of them were sketchy at best.
“It couldn’t have been easy for you, growing up,” she said, thinking of her own childhood.
“I always had Gramps.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile of affection, but it was the brightening light in his eyes that spoke of his deep regard for the man. “I was named after him—the same as he was named after his grandfather. Chase Benteen Calder. Gramps is the one who started calling me Trey so there wouldn’t be the confusion of two people being called by the same name. Which is the way it should be,” he said with a shrugging lift of his head. “There’s only one Chase Calder.”
