What the Heart Wants (What the Heart Wants, #1)(81)

Passing under an archway of intertwined cattle horns, he entered the restaurant and looked around. Overdone to the hilt—huge reproductions of 1800s wanted posters on the walls intermingled with leather chaps, ten-gallon hats, canteens, spurs, holsters, collections of old guns, and even a couple of bullwhips.

He stepped up to the high desk, presided over by a pretty girl in a dance hall costume. A row of well-worn saddles hung over the half wall behind her.

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. Craig Freiberg.”

Miss Kitty scanned her list. “Oh yes, Mr. Freiberg is already here. He’s at the Wild Bill Hickok table. It’s a booth at the back.”

Jase made his way through the crowded tables, dodging servers and busboys who looked like extras for True Grit.

Craig stood up to greet him. “We can be more private here, and it’s not quite as noisy. The Navajos give us a little sound baffling.” He nodded toward the Indian-style blankets on the wall behind him.

Jase sat down. “The Wild Bill Hickok table, huh?” He glanced at the portrait above the table. “Guess that’s why we have our backs to something solid.”

Craig looked at him blankly.

“Sorry. I read about it in one of Paula Marks’s Western history books. Hickok was shot in the back from behind while he was sitting at an open table away from the wall.”

Craig nodded and grinned. “I’ll remember that.” His eyes scanned the room. “No firearms allowed in the restaurant, but there are plenty of guys in here who are just as deadly.”

A buxom girl with a sheriff’s badge pinned to her vest introduced herself incongruously as Belle Starr, outlaw queen, and asked if they were ready to order.

Jase glanced at the menu in front of him. “It will be a few minutes. We’re waiting for someone.”

Belle twirled her Roy Rogers special, blew an imaginary puff of smoke off the barrel, and reholstered it. “Just fine, podnuh. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Jase looked at Craig across the table. “I don’t think I can take much more of this.”

“I’ll admit it’s a bit over the top, but the food is good and—” His eyes lit up and he started to stand. “Hey, there’s Rick!”

Simcek fit right into the setting. In fact, he looked like the Hollywood stereotype of an Old West gambler, with his three-piece suit and black boots. Jase knew vests were coming back into style, but in high summer? The guy must have ice water coursing through his veins.

He cut through a band of waitpersons gathering around a big table in the middle of the room, where a boisterous group of men wearing pastel-colored cardboard cowboy hats were launching into “Happy Birthday.” Jase stood up for the ritual handshake, remembering that the psychologist had told him it originated as a means of proving to a stranger that one was unarmed.

“Redlander. Good to see you again.”

Simcek may not have anything in his hand, but his teeth gleamed like daggers. His jacket parted as he sat down, revealing a belt chased in silver. Jase was surprised that a Colt .45 wasn’t hanging from it.

Belle Starr reappeared to take their drink orders. Craig went for Bud Light, Jase asked for Shiner, and Simcek inquired about wine.

He would.

Leaning back against the booth partition, Simcek favored Jase with a smile. “Craig tells me you’re interested in local real estate.”

“It’s my business.” Jase handed him one of his cards, as if ol’ Rick hadn’t already looked him up on the Internet and checked him out with everyone he knew.

An apprentice cowgirl, Annie Oakley, delivered the drinks. Simcek took a quick swig of red wine and continued his spiel. “I’ve done a fair share of real estate investment myself.”

Jase knew that was supposed to elicit an inquiry from him, but he wasn’t biting. Not yet. He took a long, slow swallow of beer. Let Simcek sweat a little. He’d checked Rick out too, and knew his financial affairs were even more precarious than Craig had indicated.

“Yeah. Seems that lots of people are buying land. Guess it’s a national pastime.” He opened his menu. “Hey, this T-bone looks great!”

Simcek took the hint and picked up his own menu.

Jase kept the conversation light, contributing an anecdote about going hunting with his best friend, making sure to casually let it drop that Doug was a state senator. It was a funny story, mostly true, and Jase would have sworn Simcek was drooling.

This fish was hooking himself.

At last the meal was finished, and Annie Oakley had hauled away the dishes. Jase looked at his watch, making sure Rick could see it was a Rolex.

“Hey, didn’t realize it was so late.” He moved as if to stand up. That should set Rick off.

It did. In fact, Jase had the impression the man would have leapt across the table to keep him there. “Before you go, Redlander, I’ve got a piece of property you might want to consider. I’ll give you a real good price on it.”

There it was, out in the open. Jase relaxed back into his chair. “I don’t know. I’ve already bought the Anderson tract.”

“This is even bigger. Lots of potential.”

“Where?” As if he didn’t know.

“West of town. It’s an up-and-coming area.”

Yeah, it was, but Simcek didn’t know quite how up-and-coming.