“I have. I’ve tried pretty much every restaurant in town, barring the Red Robin and Olive Gardens.”
“And?”
“Your food is good, too.” She sounded a little grudging. “You could get more creative, but I liked what I had.”
“You’re young to have your own place.”
“You’re young to have three. And be mayor.”
“I like to be in charge.”
She flashed a saucy grin. “Ditto.”
His soup arrived. The waitress couldn’t hide her curiosity. He began to wonder why Hailey still stood there.
“Care to join me?” he asked.
“Lord, no! I don’t have time. Just checking you out.”
“Why?” he asked, amused. He wasn’t getting any sexual vibe from her, and although he liked her, she didn’t do anything for him sexually, either.
“Nell McAllister is one of my best friends. We went to high school together.”
“And she’s talked about me.”
Hailey shrugged. “Sure. I’m getting to know Cait, too.”
His amusement passed. Gaze and voice both became unapproachable. He was good at that. “Cait who works for me.”
“That would be her.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, shoot. I’ve got to go back to work.” One eyebrow rose, looking natural in her quirky, not-quite-symmetrical face. “Good talking, Mayor.”
“Noah.”
She just smiled and whisked herself back to the kitchen. Intrigued, he watched her go, wondering how she stayed plump given her air of unending vitality.
Once he started eating, he had his answer. She was too good a cook. He indulged himself in plotting to lure her to Chandler’s—but this was a weeknight, and the tables in her restaurant were staying full with a cluster of people waiting to be seated. Something told him she couldn’t be lured, not by anything he had to offer, anyway.
He studied faces as he ate, his gaze pausing on men in the right age range. Who had Jerry Hegland been with the day he encountered Cait? Unlikely it had been the man who was trying to kill her. Still, Jerry must have called him or gone to see him right away and said, You’ll never believe this.
But why had he had to die?
Noah turned that over in his mind as he concluded his meal with a Kahlúa-swirl cheesecake that almost made him moan out loud.
Hell. Maybe he could hire Ms. Allen to create a few new dessert items for Chandler’s.
He walked back to the garage to reclaim his Suburban and drove home. The house had never felt emptier when he let himself in. His usual pleasure in what he’d accomplished seemed to be missing. He’d wanted Cait there tonight.
He wanted her there every night.
He’d known better than to start anything with her. This was why, damn it. He’d sworn he would never let himself feel like this.
That was almost funny. Let himself? He’d never believed he could feel like this.
Noah hadn’t moved; still stood at the foot of the stairs, paralyzed because he’d been stupid enough to fall in love for the first time in his life. What other explanation was there for this powerful need to protect her, this blinding anger at anyone who had ever hurt her or even thought about hurting her? This hunger for her body, her laugh, her take on whatever he was thinking about at any given time? What else could it be?
He wished he still had a wall to rip out. It was too late in the evening to work on his bedroom. He had to do some patching, floor, walls and ceiling, before he could start constructing new walls. He needed something mindless and more physical than that.
He could start on that front bedroom, the one Cait had called the nursery. Steam the old wallpaper off or sand the floor. Strip woodwork. His intention had been to finish the small bedrooms all the same way, maybe vary paint color. Now—goddamn it, now he kept seeing those yellow ducklings.
If he was going to turn the house over, it wouldn’t hurt to finish a couple of the bedrooms to appeal to kids.
He’d intended to stay in this house, just as he intended to stay in Angel Butte. A man who knew what he wanted, he’d dug in there. He didn’t like being confused.
He had to decide what to do about these feelings.
Walking away? Not an option given the danger that stalked Cait.