Calder Promise (Calder Saga 8)

“But you are different. You are silk, not denim.” As expected, his remark drew the fullness of her attention.

Laura was quick to recognize the veiled attempt to persuade her that she didn’t belong with the likes of Boone Rutledge. But what Sebastian didn’t realize was that a daring woman would have no qualms at all about pairing silk with denim.

Tara joined them, preventing any further opportunity for private conversation. Within minutes the butler informed Sebastian that dinner was ready.

“That was a damned fine meal, Dunshill,” Max declared as they all took their coffee in the manor’s sitting room. “A helluva lot better than most of the tasteless food I’ve had since we’ve been here.”

“I’m pleased you enjoyed it,” Sebastian replied with a host’s easy pride.

Coffee cup in hand, Boone wandered over to the room’s elaborate marble fireplace. Laura covertly kept an eye on him, noting the air of restlessness about him and recalling how quiet he had been during dinner.

“No offense to tonight’s meal,” Max began in preface, “but if you want to taste some really good cooking, you’ll have to come to Texas.”

Boone spoke up, “Don’t mind my father. A week away from home is about all he can handle before his mouth gets to watering for some of that down-home Texas food.” His gaze fastened on Laura with riveting intensity, making it almost impossible to look away even if that had been her wish. “Ever had cabrito, Laura?”

“No. But I’ve heard it’s good.”

Max snorted at that. “Good! It’s a helluva lot better than good. Cabrito is the best-tasting food you’ll ever have.”

“Cabrito is a specialty of the Slash R,” Boone stated, referring to the Rutledge home ranch. “You’ll have to come to the ranch sometime and we’ll fix it for you.” There was an invitation in his dark eyes that went beyond his words.

“Are you extending a formal invitation for me to come?” With lips in a playful curve, Laura cocked her head at him, her own dark eyes alight to the look in his.

“I am,” Boone confirmed, smiling back.

“In that case”—rising, Laura took her cup and made a leisurely stroll to his side—“I just might take you up on it.”

“Please excuse my ignorance,” Helen inserted, “but I have never heard of cabrito. What is it?”

“You may not want to know,” Tara warned.

But Max didn’t give her a chance to retract her question. “It’s a kid. After you’ve dressed it out, you bury it in a pit full of embers and roast it slow all night.”

“A kid,” Helen repeated with a slightly horrified expression.

“A young goat,” Tara was quick to explain.

“Oh,” Helen said. “For a moment I thought—never mind what I thought,” she added with a self-conscious laugh.

But it was obvious to everyone what she had thought, which gave them all a good chuckle—and led to a discussion of more exotic fare that could be found on foreign menus.

Food wasn’t a topic that particularly interested Laura. She let her attention wander to the ornate design of the marble fireplace.

“It’s beautifu

l, isn’t it?” she remarked idly, touching the smooth, cool stone.

Boone made a disinterested sound of agreement. “An old house like this, I’ll bet it’s cold and drafty in here come wintertime.”

Laura sensed at once that his remark was more than idle observation. “Why would you think about that?” she asked in light challenge.

His expression was serious, with just a touch of irritation and uncertainty flickering in the depths of his eyes. “You wouldn’t be the first woman who could get caught up in the idea of marrying into the titled nobility.” He injected a trace of sarcasm in the latter phrase. “The reality usually turns out to be a lot less appealing.”

He almost sounded jealous, but Laura suspected that Boone was the kind of man who hated losing above all else—even if he didn’t particularly want the prize. His highly competitive nature was one of the things that attracted her to him.

“You surprise me, Boone. Brotherly sounding advice isn’t something I expected to hear from you,” Laura replied, her smile lightly mocking him. “But I wouldn’t worry if I were you. As you can see, both my feet are planted firmly on the floor. No one has swept me off them. At least not yet,” she teased.

“Dammit, I’m serious,” His low-voiced retort rumbled with impatience.