Maverick Vs. Maverick. Shirley JumpЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Now, I know a few beers won’t change much, and I don’t expect it to. I just want to say thank you. And if any of you have any questions, come on up to the bar. I’d sure like to meet the residents of Rust Creek Falls.”
Just as he knew it would, the icy wall between himself and the other patrons began to thaw. A few stepped right up to the bar, giving him a thank-you as they placed their orders.
“I figure it’s always a good idea to make friends with the guy buying the beer,” said a barrel-chested man with a thick beard and a red flannel shirt. “Elvin Houseman.”
“Walker Jones.” They shook hands. “Pleased to meet you.”
Elvin leaned in close to Walker’s ear. “Folks round here are gonna have a hard time trusting you. When those kids got sick over at the day care, it scared a lot of people.”
“I’m doing my best to rectify that, Mr. Houseman.”
The other man waved that off. “Nobody calls me Mr. Houseman. I’m just Elvin.”
“Elvin, then.”
Lani slid a beer across to Elvin. He raised it toward her, then toward Walker. “Thank you kindly. And best of luck to you with the town.” He gave Walker a little nod, then walked away.
Walker glanced at Lindsay. She’d either ignored or hadn’t noticed the whole exchange. She also hadn’t ordered a fresh drink, not that he expected her to take advantage of the round on his tab, but clearly, she wasn’t won over like the other folks in the bar, nor did she seem to be intimidated by him. But there was a hint of surprise in her face. She clearly hadn’t expected him to outflank her by going straight to the town. Walker headed back to his table.
Before he reached his seat, one of the giggling blondes who had come in earlier stood in front of him, her hips swaying to the music. She put her hands out. “Hey, would you like to dance? Come on, we need a man.”
The blonde was pretty, probably no older than twenty-three or twenty-four. On any other day, she’d be the kind of diversion Walker would go for—no real commitment, nothing expected after the evening was over. He’d dated enough of that type of woman to know how it would go—a few drinks, a few laughs, a good time in bed and then back to real life.
He wanted to say no, to tell her he had enough on his mind already, but then he reconsidered. Dancing with the local girl fed into his plan of ingratiating himself with the town, and would also show Lindsay Dalton an unexpected side of him. He wanted to keep the other lawyer as off balance as he could. If she didn’t know what to expect from him, the advantage would go to Walker.
So he shrugged off his suit jacket, undid his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt, then rolled up his shirt sleeves. “Sure.”
The blonde giggled again, then grabbed his hand. “It’s line dancing. Do you know how to do that?”
“Follow your hips?”
That made her laugh again. “Exactly.”
The blonde and her trio of friends surrounded him, and the five of them moved from one side of the dance floor to the other, doing something the girls called a grapevine that they’d learned from that Billy Ray Cyrus video “Achy Breaky Heart.” Though he’d never danced like this before, it was fairly simple, and by the time the first verse was finished, Walker had most of the steps memorized.
He had, however, all but forgotten the blonde. His gaze kept straying across the room to Lindsay Dalton, still sitting on the bar stool and chatting with her sister. He watched Lindsay, just to see if his plan was working, he told himself.
He’d done a little research on his opponent in the hours after court. Lindsay Dalton, the youngest of six children, fresh from taking the bar exam and now working for her father’s firm. She had been successful with some very small cases she’d argued—a boundary line, something about a dog dispute, those kinds of things. Nothing as big as a lawsuit against a major national corporation, albeit one division of the Jones empire. Yet she hadn’t seemed too daunted in the courtroom. If anything, she’d impressed him with her attitude—like a kitten standing up to a tiger.
Though the kitten wouldn’t even get to unsheathe its claws at the tiger, her attempt made him respect her. And made him wonder about her.
Across the bar, Lindsay was laughing at something the bartender had said. He liked the sound of her laugh, light and lyrical, and the way it lit her face, put a little dash of a tease into her eyes. He knew he shouldn’t—she was the enemy, after all—but he really wanted to get to know her better.
It was research, that was all. Figuring out what made the other side tick so he’d have a better chance in court.
The blonde and her friends circled to the left at the same time that Lindsay started to cross the room. Walker stepped to the right and captured Lindsay’s hand. “Dance with me.”
Her eyes widened. “Dance...with you?”
“Come on.” He swayed his hips and swung their arms. She stayed stiff, reluctant. He could hardly blame her. After all, just a few hours ago, they’d been facing off in court. “It’s the weekend. Let’s forget about court cases and arguments and just...”
“Have fun?” She arched a brow.
He shot her a grin. “I hear they do that, even in towns as small as Rust Creek Falls.”
That made her laugh. Her hips were swaying along with his, though she didn’t seem to be aware she was moving to the beat. “Are you saying my town is boring?”
Boring? She had no idea. But he wouldn’t tell her that. Instead he gave her his patented killer smile. “I’m saying it’s a small town. With some great music on the juke and a dance floor just waiting for you.” He lifted her hand and spun her to the right, then back out again to the left. “Come on, Ms. Dalton, dance with me. Me, the man, not me, the corporation you’re suing.”
“I shouldn’t...” She started to slide her hand out of his.
He stepped closer to her. “Shouldn’t have fun? Shouldn’t dance with the enemy?”
“I shouldn’t do anything with the enemy.”
He grinned, to show her he wasn’t all bad. Keep her on her toes, keep her from predicting him, and keep the advantage on his side. “I’m not asking for anything. Just a dance.”
Another song came on the juke, and the blonde and her friends started up again, moving from one side of the dance floor to the other. Their movements swept Walker and Lindsay into the middle of the dance floor, leaving her with two choices—dance with him or wade through the other women to escape.
For a second, he thought he’d won and she was going to dance with him. Then the smile on her face died, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones, but I don’t dance with people who don’t take responsibility for their mistakes.”
Then she turned on her heel and left the dance floor and a moment later, the bar.
Walker tried to muster up some enthusiasm to dance with the other women—any man in his right mind would have taken that opportunity—but he couldn’t. He excused himself, paid his tab then left the bar. The victories he’d had today in court and later in the bar rang hollow in the cool night air.
* * *
Lindsay headed home, her stomach still in knots. She rolled down the driver side window of her sedan, letting in the fresh, crisp October Montana air, and tried to appreciate the clear, blank landscape ahead of her and the bright stars in the sky. But her mind kept going back to Walker Jones, to that moment in the bar.
Had she almost danced with him?
What was she thinking? He was the enemy, the one responsible for little baby Georgina’s illness and scary hospital stay. Maybe not him personally, but his company, and the lack of standards at his day care centers, was indeed responsible. Not to mention how many of her letters and phone