He swallowed hard. “This and that.” It wasn’t as if he could tell her about the sniper shot to the middle of the forehead he’d given the man who’d abducted a congressman’s daughter. Neither the abduction nor the rescue would ever make the news or be tied to his name, and that was how it needed to remain.
“What do you do?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
She paused and looked up at him. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Do you like it, though? Whatever it is that you do?”
A man could get lost in eyes like hers—so open, so trusting. “I find parts of it fulfilling.”
She nodded then started walking again. “I get that. I went through a lot of jobs before I found one I could say truly fit me. I never imagined myself as an author of children’s books, but it has been a game changer for me. I finally have the cash flow to do the things I used to think only other people could do.”
He needed to know. “Such as?”
“Ever since I rescued Betty, I’ve always wanted to help more miniature horses, but finding them the perfect home is difficult. However, since my books have done so well I’ve been able to afford to bring in incredible trainers. I’m excited to be able to say that we are now an official pre-training facility for service and seeing-eye horses.”
Was that even a thing? “Sounds—interesting.”
“Try fascinating, rewarding, life-changing good. Imagine seeing a throw-away miniature horse at an auction or in a kill pen. Society has decided it has little to no value. But that’s far from the truth. They have so much to give. With the right training, that little horse can open a blind child’s life. It can be a support animal for people of all ages. It’s the kind of work that makes every day a good one. I still pinch myself; now and then when I start to wonder if this is really my life.”
She was too happy, and it made him angry although he couldn’t pinpoint why. “When you buy anything from a kill pen you’re supporting the kill lot business.”
Her lips pursed. “I’ve heard that argument, but you know who doesn’t care about that? The minis I rescue. No matter what you do in life, someone will say it’s wrong. All I can do is follow my heart and have faith that I’m saving the ones that are meant to be saved.”
“Faith,” he snorted. “The perfect sand to bury your head in.”
She turned toward him again. “You don’t have to believe in what I do, but do you believe in something?”
He could have lied, but as he looked down into her eyes he didn’t want to. “I believe we only get one ride, so we’d better make it count for something.”
She touched his arm. “That’s beautiful.”
He jerked away, breaking the connection almost immediately. He was torn between warning her to never touch him again or hauling her up over his shoulder and carrying her off to somewhere she could touch him as much as she liked.
“This dress is being difficult. I’m more the T-shirt and jeans kind of girl.” She wiggled and adjusted the top of her dress. Then as if she hadn’t just pushed her breasts upward and given him a perfect view of a brain-scrambling amount of cleavage, she asked, “How about I buy the first drink?”
“It’s an open bar.” He refused to think about how much he’d like to help her out of that dress, refused to let his thoughts wander to where drinking together might lead them.
“Of course it is. I should know that.” She blushed. “I suppose I’ll have to learn things like that if I intend to marry into the family, right?”
She’d said it as if she were joking, but it didn’t ring funny to Bradford. “What do you want to drink?” Even though people were arriving and there were others at the bar, the bartender nodded at Bradford immediately. Bradford lowered his head so he could hear Joanna’s response.
“I should say wine,” she said tentatively.
“You should say what you want.”
“I may look calm on the outside, but on the inside I’m a bundle of nerves. Let’s get something stronger.”
“A shot of tequila it is.” He expected her to refuse, but she nodded almost as if in relief. No one he’d spoken to about her had mentioned that she was a drinker. “On one condition.”
“And that is?”
“We do it right.”
“Salt on the hand? Lime at the end?”
“There’s a better way.”
“I’m game to learn.” Her lips curled in a sweet smile that was so tempting he almost kissed her. He straightened and ordered the tequila extra añejo with salted lime wedges. The bartender held up a bottle of a top-label brand. Bradford nodded once in acceptance.
He handed her a glass and a slice of lime then accepted his from the bartender.
He held his shot up. She mirrored his stance. “What’s the first thing you notice?” he asked.
She studied her drink. “It’s golden rather than clear.”
“Exactly. The clear tequila, blanco, is essentially straight out of the vat, which is why it’s harsh on the throat. This one has spent a decade or more in red wine barrels before being finished in American oak barrels. It’s sweet with just enough spice to keep it interesting.” A lot like the woman smiling up at him. “For that reason, it should be sipped, not gulped.”
“So, we’re not just tossing this back then biting into the lime. Got it.” She sniffed the liquor. “I’m trusting you, Bradford. Don’t do me wrong.”
He considered telling her she shouldn’t trust him—no one should. He’d lost whatever was good in him a long time ago. Instead he raised his glass higher. “Just a sip.”
She hesitated. “Do I bite into the lime before? After?”
“Neither. Not the first time.”
Joanna made a face in anticipation of not liking it, but she closed her eyes and did as he’d suggested. Her eyes flew open. “Oh, that’s not bad. You’re right, it’s smooth.”
“All the pleasure without the pain. Isn’t everything better that way?” He hadn’t intended to go there, but she was messing with his ability to think straight.
She searched his face. “Yes.” Her voice was husky and intoxicating. He was a man who was always hyper-aware of his surroundings. In his line of work people didn’t last long if they lowered their guard.
He could normally list not only all the people present and their location in the room, but also what they were wearing and if they had anything in their hands. There could have been a man swinging a machete beside Bradford in that moment and he wouldn’t have noticed.
Cheeks flushed, she looked away. “So what do we do with the lime?”
He knew he was entering dangerous waters. Desire didn’t necessitate action. He wasn’t an adolescent learning to control himself. Joanna was a nice woman who may or may not realize she was turning him on. Either way it would be a mistake to get involved with her. She was too innocent. Too trusting. The corner of his mouth twisted wryly as he imagined how fast she’d run from him if she knew even a sliver of what he’d done.
Still, he raised his lime wedge. “This time squeeze a little of your salted lime into your mouth then take a sip.”