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“Papas rellenas,” Cody said, as he glanced back at the woman again, seemingly unable to stop himself. “Means stuffed potatoes.”
“Yeah, well, they’re stuffed with good stuff,” Lucas said with a grin. Then, seeing where Cody was looking, he added, “She looks really nice tonight, huh?”
That was enough to pull his gaze away from the vision in blue. Odd. Lucas had said that as if he knew the woman.
“Too bad you hate her,” the boy added.
He blinked. “I what?”
“Hate her,” the boy repeated patiently. Then he looked at his now-empty napkin. “But I love these. I think I’ll go get some more.”
Cody kept his gaze on the boy who was going to legally be his nephew as soon as the formalities were done. He kept it on Lucas because if he didn’t, he was going to look at that woman again.
Lucas was wrong. He had to be wrong. There was no way in hell he’d been staring at, admiring, practically lusting after the only woman in the world he hated.
There was no way in hell that vision in blue, with the gorgeous legs and the more gorgeous backside was…Britt Roth.
But he had to know. He wasn’t even sure why, just that he did. His pulse had kicked up, and he was certain it was because he’d had a narrow escape, because given another moment he probably would have walked over there and said something…stupid. To her back.
He tried to imagine how he’d have felt if he’d done that, she turned around, and it really was her.
He couldn’t.
He gave Lucas a silent thank you and started to move. Not toward the pool table but toward the bar, where he’d just spotted Luke, who shyly smiled at him. He’d been much more approachable since he and Sean had built that computer for him. No one would be surprised to see them talking.
And it was just a side benefit that when he got there, he’d be able to take a sideways glance at the woman at the pool table and see her face.
“How’s the machine running, Luke One?”
They’d made up the teasingly affectionate nickname for him after Lucas had come along. It was part of the Rafferty number thing, he’d told the young man. Which had come down from Dad, accounting for everything from Mom’s horse Seven and her dog Quinta, to the descendant of Dad’s prized stallion they called Two, to his own horse Trey. And the numbered stalls that accounted for the rest of the convoluted system.
And when he’d explained Lucas was just Lucas because it already had two syllables, it had made perfect sense to Luke. And he’d decided he liked it, and liked being Luke One, like it was some honored title.
“Computer’s great,” Luke said.
They talked a little longer, Luke excitedly relating his progress on a new game he’d tackled, before he dutifully excused himself saying it was exactly time to make another round for used glasses. Only then did Cody risk taking that look, half hoping she’d be gone, that vision in blue.
She wasn’t.
She was standing there, laughing as the two players put their best braggadocio on display. In fact, egging them on. They, on the other hand, were not too subtly admiring the cleavage shown by that damn dress. Soft, luscious curves that would make any man breathing stop that breathing for a moment.
And he could see her face now. She looked different, more dramatic, more striking, but there was no denying who she was.
Britt Roth, wowgirl.
He’d never denied she was pretty enough, and he’d heard enough from friends to know other guys—guys who hadn’t grown up with the pest next door—found her attractive. Very attractive.
But he’d never, ever, been attracted to her himself. Not like that.
Determined not to even glance that way again, he headed for the food table. Although he suddenly seemed to have lost his appetite.
Chapter Nine
“We need a framed copy of that for the history wall,” Joey Highwater was saying to Maggie as Britt approached. They both looked and smiled at her, so she decided she wasn’t an unwelcome interruption.
“I love your history wall,” she said, thinking of the section of the library where Slater’s wife had begun putting various objects directly connected to Last Stand’s fabled history, to go along with the various books and documents she’d already collected there. Then Britt asked, “Copy of what?”
“The letter, from the Rafferty at the last stand.”
