Devil in Texass(63)

names on her reservation list. Tonight, she wore a black apron over her plain clothes that read, “Kiss me, I’m Italian.”

Liza laughed.

Ruby scowled at her.

Liza stifled her amusement.

“Reservation says seven o’clock,” she informed them. “It’s seven-fifteen.”

“What can I say,” Jack said, holding up a hand in surrender. The other was on the

small of Liza’s back. “She distracts me and makes me lose all track of time.”

“Traitor!” Liza said as she playfully elbowed him in the ribs. They’d been delayed

by fifteen minutes of sucking face at her front door.

He winced. “Careful, darlin’. I had my own workout last night.”

“You are just too wicked for words,” she shot back.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ruby said. “Are ya eatin’ or are ya flirtin’?”

“Not allowed to do both?” Jack mused as he eased Liza forward with a gentle push.

She followed Ruby to Jack’s special booth in the back.

Along the way, Ruby said, “Not on my time, Romeo.” Then she added, in a much

lower tone, “Though you could sure teach the stiffs in this town a thing or two about lightening up and enjoying life.”

Liza didn’t have to wonder to which “stiffs” she referred. Seconds later, they passed the Bains at a table and then neared the Grants—Emelda and her husband, the mayor.

“Well,” the Queen Bee said as they approached. Emelda wore an insanely large

black hat that needed a spot of its own at the table. Or possibly its own ZIP code. How 158

Devil in Texas

Ruby was going to get by in the narrow aisle without knocking the hat off the mayor’s wife was a magic trick Liza looked forward to witnessing.

Jack surprised her by stopping to speak to the Grants. “Good evening, Emelda.” He

flashed the dimple-grin and Liza could swear the Queen Bee all but melted like the

Wicked Witch of the West, leaving behind nothing but the hat. Her squat body seemed

to compress into the chair as she reached for her paper napkin and fanned herself.

“Jack,” she said in a throaty voice.

Liza bit back a gasp. Queenie was smitten by her sexy cowboy!

Well, I just!

Sean’s imitation of Emelda echoed in her head and Liza had to cover her mouth and

feign a cough to keep from laughing.

“Mayor,” Jack said to the portly man sitting next to the withering pool of mush that

was once Emelda Grant. His tone was stronger, more formal as he addressed the mayor

of Wilder.

“Jack, nice to see you. And your lovely…date.”

Clearly not a term associated with Jack Wade. The uniqueness of her situation with

him made Liza’s toes curl in her black leather, thigh-high boots.

Tonight she wore a short, black skirt with a silver satin button-down blouse tucked

into it. She was wearing all the clothes she’d bought on a whim in New York over the

years, but had never been able to wear because Peter and her mother found them too

sexy or too contemporary-midtown. Not conservative and high-society enough for their

taste.

They weren’t the only ones who had qualms over how she dressed. Mayor Grant

took her in with a somewhat disapproving look. But when Jack had arrived at her

cottage, he’d nearly called off dinner and dragged her inside to fuck her. So she really didn’t care what anyone else thought.

Surprisingly, when the mayor’s gaze met hers, he smiled. “You’re just as pretty as

Emelda claimed.”

“Oh, Bob,” Queenie bristled, looking embarrassed and miffed that he’d betrayed

her confidence—and shared that tidbit with Liza.

She smiled at both Grants. “What a lovely compliment. Thank you so much.” She

reached a hand out to the mayor in a formal fashion. He stood and took her offering.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Liza liked him instantly, despite his hesitation over her ensemble. He had warm

brown eyes surrounded by lots of wrinkles. His smile was genuine and his handshake

was just right—not too strong as to overpower her, silently putting her in her “little misses” place. Yet not the least bit limp. Although it was a confident gesture, it was also a friendly one. Not at all the politician handshake Liza was accustomed to or expected given his wife’s earlier pretention. Perhaps that had been for Lydia’s sake, to remind the 159

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reverend’s wife that being the mayor’s wife trumped her. Liza decided she liked Emelda as much as she liked her husband.

“Would you care to join us for coffee?” he asked as he released Liza’s hand and

returned to his seat.

“Glass of wine would be better,” Jack said.

“Couldn’t agree with you more, son,” the mayor mumbled.

Jack continued on, keeping his tone level. “Perhaps on a night when it’s not

outlawed. As it is, Jess and George are waiting for us.”

The devil on Liza’s shoulder taunted her to look behind them to see if the Bains had

overheard their exchange with the mayor and his wife, particularly that last part. The angel on the other shoulder helped her to resist the urge, difficult though it was.

Her mother may be the most frigid woman on the planet next to Lydia Bain, but she

had taught Liza good manners.

“Well, then,” the mayor said. “Another time. Enjoy your dinner.”

“You too,” Jack said.

They pressed on, just barely skirting the wide brim of Emelda’s hat. Ruby had taken

an alternate route when she’d abandoned them. Not as if they didn’t know where they

were headed.

Jess and George were already sharing one side of the corner booth when Liza and

Jack finally arrived.

“Sorry we’re late,” Liza said as she scooted into the same seat she’d occupied

yesterday.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jess said with her usual smile. “George had a glass of

Scotch at home before we came, so he’s in a good mood.”

“Don’t let the reverend hear you say that,” Jack grumbled.

“Even the mayor seemed nonplussed,” Liza commented. “So how’d this whole ‘no

booze on the Holy Day’ law get passed, anyway?”

Jack crooked a brow. “These are God-fearing Christians, darlin’. Who’s gonna

publicly choose booze over Christ?”

“Good point,” she said. “Still…seems a bit tyrannical, don’t you think? Whatever

happened to good old fashioned democracy? A ballot with an anonymous vote?”

“Something we’d like to see,” George admitted. “But Reverend Bain uses the