Calder Pride (Calder Saga 5)

Silently they touched glasses above the table’s center. For an awkward moment, no one said anything. Then the band struck up a rowdy and fun-filled Cajun song that had Cat tapping her toe to its infectious beat.

“This place is something.” She glanced up at the pressed tin ceiling where the blades of a belt-driven fan turned slowly, circulating the smoky air.

J.J. looked around. “I think the decor is what they call ‘cowboy baroque.’”

“And you know the old saying,” Kinsey said, grinning: “If it ain’t baroque, don’t fix it.”

Cat laughed. “Kinsey, that is bad.”

“That’s what I like”—Kinsey slapped the table in emphatic approval, then nodded at Cat—“a happy drunk.”

“I am not drunk,” she corrected, then added with a naughty twinkle in her eyes. “A little tipsy, maybe.”

“A little?” Kinsey hooted and nudged J.J.

J.J. spoke up, changing the subject, “Hey, did you guys notice the barstools? They’re saddles.”

“Forget the saddles. Get a load of that guy at the bar.” Kinsey pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, be still, my lascivious heart.”

“Which one?” Cat asked before turning to look.

“The tall one on the end. You can’t miss him.”

“Oh, yes!” J.J. emphatically agreed when she located him. “You know, when my granddaddy really liked someone—I mean, really liked him—he used to say, ‘He’s not only a good man, he’s a man.’ You knew it was the highest compliment he could give, but I never really understood what he meant until now. That guy is a man?”

It took Cat a second longer to spot the man at the bar. When she did, she went still, her breath catching at the sight of him. For a moment, it was like seeing a ghost. He was tall, a couple of inches over six feet, trimly muscled with wide shoulders and slim hips. The hair showing below the dark brim of his cowboy hat was a deep blue-black.

“He looks like…Repp.” Cat stared at his face, strong and lean like the rest of him.

“If he does, honey, then your pictures of Repp didn’t do him justice,” Kinsey murmured dryly.

On a closer look, Cat was forced to agree with Kinsey’s assessment. The only things this man had in common with Repp were his height and build, the jet darkness of his hair and the impression of strength in his features. But the physical resemblance was enough to quicken her heartbeat and awaken all the old longings.

“It doesn’t look like he’s with anyone,” J.J. observed. “And he isn’t married, either.”

“How do you know?” Kinsey challenged her.

“He isn’t wearing a ring.”

“There’s proof for you,” Kinsey scoffed.

“He’s looking this way, Kinsey. He’s looking this way.” J.J. pounded on Kinsey’s arm, almost squealing the words.

Cat had the distinct feeling he was looking directly at her. For a moment it was as though there was nothing and no one else in the crowded bar except the two of them.

“I think we’ll need to draw straws for this one,” Kinsey began.

“I’ll check him out.” A surge of irrational jealousy pushed Cat to her feet. However briefly, the stranger had reminded her of Repp. For that reason alone, she couldn’t bear the thought of either Kinsey or J.J. flirting with him.

Never breaking eye contact with the stranger, Cat cut across the dance floor, ignoring the couples who circled it. As she drew closer, she saw that the man looked nothing at all like Repp. His eyes were a smoky gray color with incredibly dark centers that seemed able to bore deep inside and unlock all her secrets. There was a saturnine quality to his face, a leanness accented by high, prominent cheekbones, features that were chiseled in hardness and bronzed by the sun. His mouth was the only soft thing about him. Cat found herself focusing on it as she walked up to him.

Only at the last did she lift her gaze to again meet his. She recognized at once that telltale gleam of a man’s interest in a woman.

Men had looked at her that way before. But this was the first time she had ever reacted to it. Cat didn’t know if she should blame this quivering excitement she felt on the tequila she had consumed or the fact that she had initially mistaken him for Repp. Whatever the case, she didn’t question it further—or the boldness with which she returned his look.

“My friends and I are on a manhunt,” she announced, conscious of her pulse tripping all over itself.

Instantly his eyes narrowed with a piercing sharpness. Cat had the sudden impression that he had gone on high alert even though his stance hadn’t changed. One booted foot was still propped on the bar’s brass foot rail, and an elbow still rested negligently atop the bar’s tall counter. Without moving his head, he shot a glance at the table where Kinsey and J.J. sat, then came back to her.