Chapter Seven
He brought his oversized pickup truck to a stop in front of the big, century old farmhouse where Sophie was staying, the home of Bobby Joe McIntyre and his bride, Vidalia Brand. Bobby Joe was Jason, Rob and Joey McIntyre’s old man, and Vidalia was his second wife. There was a story there, but he hadn’t heard it yet. Still, the way people caught their breath or touched a hand to their heart whenever their names came up suggested it must be a doozy.
Then he got out and went to the door. He’d picked himself up a dark brown suit with a bolo tie, and he’d polished up his best boots. He had a small box in his hand, and he felt a little bit like a high school kid on prom night.
And then she opened the front door, and he felt it even more.
Her dress was red, and hugged her figure. A plunging neckline held his eyes hostage, because cleavage. And when he forced himself to look elsewhere he wound up with his gaze glued to the slit that ran up one side of the gown exposing her leg to about mid-thigh. She wore a little short silver jacket with it. What did they call that, a shrug?
She said, “Nice suit.”
“Uh-huh.” He swallowed hard, almost choked, realized words were required here. “I mean, thanks.”
She hooked a finger under his chin and lifted his head until he looked her in the eye. He broke free of the spell the sexy dress had cast on him. “Sorry. You look…so good I temporarily lost the power of speech.”
She laughed softly. “What’s that you have there?”
He realized he was still holding the box. “Oh, right. Um, here.” He handed it to her. “In lieu of a corsage.”
“You didn’t have to…” She opened the box eagerly, though, and then looked inside.
He’d seen it in the window at the little jewelry store in town. A silver chain with a Santa Claus pendant. His red suit was made of garnets, its white trim, quartz crystal. She smiled as if it was rubies and diamonds instead. “This is perfect! I would have bought this myself if I’d seen it.” She removed it from the box and handed it to him, then turned around and held up her hair.
He put the chain around her neck from behind, fastened the clasp. She turned again, fingering the pendant. “Thank you, Darryl. That was so thoughtful.”
“I knew you had a thing for the guy, so….” Then he nodded toward the truck. “If you’re ready, your carriage awaits.”
She walked beside him to the pickup and he opened the passenger door for her. “I might need a leg up,” she said, “in these shoes.”
He looked down again. Big mistake. The shoes were silver like the jacket-wrap-shrug thingie, open toed despite the cold, and had heels so high they made a man want to climb them.
“Darryl?”
“I’m here. Just…calculating how best to…negotiate the truck in those shoes.” He was still looking at them, and then tracing the slit up her leg to her thigh. Then he gave himself a shake. “I think I might have made a mistake tonight, Sophie.” He met her eyes again. “You are pretty clearly out of my league.”
She lowered her head, blushing pinker. “Stop it.”
“No, I’m not kidding. You’re…never mind. I’ll shut up before I talk you out of it.” Then he moved behind her, and put his hands on her waist. “Go ahead, hop up. I’ll help.”
She did, and he boosted her a little until she was settling into the seat. He told himself he should’ve rented a car.