Playing With Fire (Tangled in Texas, #2)(61)

“That’s okay,” I said, giving him a genuine smile. “To be honest, I haven’t been on many dates before so I didn’t have any pre-conceived notions.” Not about the dinner portion of our date, anyway.

Cowboy’s brows furrowed. “My original idea was to take you by horseback down to Rickety Bridge, have a picnic, and then we could have cooled off in the old watering hole, but I wasn’t sure if you would think it was lame or not.”

“Actually, it sounds wonderful, but I…well, I don’t swim.”

“That’s okay. I could teach you,” he offered, looking hopeful.

“No, that’s not exactly…um, what I mean is, I know how to swim. I just…” I peered down at our hands as he linked his fingers with mine.

“You don’t want to get into a swimsuit?” he asked. When I nodded silently, he reached over and tilted my chin up until my eyes met his gaze. “Darlin’, the only person here who is bothered by your scars is you.”

His words warmed my heart, melting the tension. The sincerity in his voice and eyes left little doubt that he was telling the God’s honest truth. He didn’t care about my scars. And the sheer notion sent endorphins rushing through my system, filling me with relief.

Until he winked and added, “Besides, who needs swimsuits?”

I sighed inwardly as Jake and Emily returned to the table with a waitress who handed us menus. She was an older woman but she chewed and smacked her gum as loudly as any teenager. She took our drink orders, shoved her notepad into her apron, and pulled out a pocket calendar of her own.

Sheesh.

Before she could even speak, I rose from my seat. “Excuse me for a moment,” I said, heading in the direction of the restrooms. I didn’t really need to go to the bathroom, but I couldn’t sit through another moment of these women stroking Cowboy’s ego. No wonder the man was insatiable. He had women coming out of the woodwork to get to him.

In the small room, I checked my makeup and hair in the mirror and then washed my hands. I waited a few more minutes, then left, working my way back to our table. But halfway there, I bumped directly into a tall, broad Native American man wearing a black western shirt with white pearl snaps who smelled eerily of mint. I started to apologize, but the moment my gaze met his, the only thing that left my throat was a strangled gasp.

Oh my God! It was him.

Last night, I hadn’t realized he was a Native American, but standing before him now, face-to-face, I had no doubt this man was the very same man I’d seen on my back porch. His long, silky black hair was braided this time, but I recognized the minty scent of the chaw of tobacco he held in his bottom lip and the golden hawk eyes sliced into my soul.

But that was a dream, wasn’t it?

The dark-skinned man blinked at me, almost as if he…recognized me, too. Then an unpleasant scowl appeared on his face. “Don’t scream,” he ordered and put his hand on his hip, which showcased a large knife in a brown leather sheath.

Jesus! It hadn’t been a dream. So I did what any intelligent woman would do in that situation. I screamed.

The sound could’ve shattered glass and basically did, since a young waitress passing by dropped the drink-filled tray she’d carried. Shards of clear glass lay on the wet tile floor at her feet as everyone in the restaurant—including Jake, Cowboy, and Emily—jumped to their feet. Cowboy came running toward us, but since the man in front of me was armed, I didn’t bother waiting for him to arrive.

I grabbed the first thing I could reach on the nearest vacant dish-covered table and pointed it at the man in front of me. The corner of his mouth lifted into a tiny smirk. To him, it may have only been a dirty butter knife. But to me, it was a deadly weapon, one I planned to gouge his eyes out with if he came any closer.

“Anna…?” Cowboy stopped beside the man and held up his two hands, as if surrendering. “Sweetheart, what are you doing?”

“Who are you?” I demanded.

“It’s me, Cowboy.”

“Not you. Him.” I nodded toward the burly Native American.

The two men exchanged casual glances, but the Indian spoke up first. “She saw me last night.”

Cowboy blinked in surprise, then shook his head. “What the f*ck do you mean she saw you? You’re a goddamn tracker, Junior. You’re supposed to be good at this shit.”

Junior? As in the owner of Junior’s Diner?

The man named Junior gave Cowboy a death stare. “She caught me standing on her back porch and fainted. I caught her before she fell and carried her back to bed. You could have warned me she doesn’t sleep.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t sleep?” Cowboy asked him. “Of course she does.”

“Not for more than two hours at a time on any given night.”

Cowboy wore a perturbed expression. “Then what the hell is she doing if she’s not—”

“Stop talking about me as if I’m not standing right here.”

Cowboy’s hard gaze landed on me, but his tone softened. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

I placed the dirty butter knife back on the nearby table. “That’s none of your business. Why are you having me followed by your…er, friend?”

“He’s not following you. He lives about a mile up the road from your house and I asked him to keep an eye on you.”