She grinned as she considered the man across the table from her. With his looks, he could have given Cole Younger a run for his money with the ladies. She wasn’t certain about his personality. He remained reserved, almost indifferent as if he had herded his emotions off into a safe room, away from the threat she posed. She wondered if Cole Younger’s charm was buried beneath Aaron’s guarded façade?
“I wrote a song about Cole.” She held Aaron’s gaze. “The Outlaw in My Arms.”
He gave his head a shake. “There’s something wrong with you.”
“No, there isn’t.” She fondled her locket. “I wrote it for a western movie. An indie film about Cole and Belle. I’ve written a lot of songs with western themes,” she said. “I love the history and majesty of the Old West.”
“Have you ever seen Lonesome Dove?”
“Like a dozen times!” She tried to contain her enthusiasm. “It is so epic, and I love the music. It literally breaks my heart when I hear it.” She let out a deep sigh. “Plus there’s Woodrow Call. Tommy Lee Jones did such a great job. Woodrow Call is right up there with Cole Younger in that I’d run away with either one of them tomorrow.”
“Well,” Aaron sliced his steak with a brisk stroke of his knife. “I can see why you and Dallas Peyton are a couple.”
For the first time, her smile was artificial. “Yeah,” she answered quietly. It would appear to Aaron that Dallas, who had grown up on a ranch in
Colorado and had the West in his blood, would be the perfect match for a girl like her. At one time, she had thought so, too.
After she had taken a sip of her wine, she shifted the conversation away from her relationship with
Dallas. She found herself wondering what kind of woman intrigued the doctor. “Who fascinates you?”
He glanced up from his plate, looking at her as if she’d just spoken in ancient Aramaic. “Nobody,” he retorted, and he turned his attention back to his food. He didn’t say anything else as he rushed to finish his meal. It was a wonder he didn’t choke.
She took a couple more bites of the chicken and pushed up her half-finished plate.
He noticed. “You’re done?”
“I’m a picky eater.” She settled back in the chair and emptied her wineglass. “Aaron, are you always so dark and serious?”
He tossed his napkin over his plate. “Would it help if I wore a gun belt and robbed banks?”
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