The Texan's Business Proposition

Though he could tell she didn’t buy his story, thankfully she didn’t question him further and began to chop again.

“I thought we’d eat on the patio,” she said. “It’s nice out.”

He glanced at the wall of doors that opened to the patio and saw that she’d already set the table outside. A candle flickered in a lantern on its center. Although he preferred to eat his meals in front of the television, he decided it best to be agreeable—for the time being, anyway. “Whatever.”

“What do you want to drink?”

“Beer,” he said, and headed for the refrigerator to get it himself.

She put out a hand to stop him. “No alcoholic beverages.”

“Why not?”

She tapped a finger against her head. “Concussion, remember? No alcohol for at least forty-eight hours.”

He hitched his hands on his hips. “Says who?”

She pointed at a sheaf of papers lying on the corner of the island. “Doctor’s orders.”

He opened his mouth to tell her what she could do with his doctor’s orders, then clamped it shut.

“Doctor’s orders, my ass,” he muttered under his breath, as he headed outside. Okay, so he’d play their little game for a while, but then he was done. First thing Monday morning it was business as usual for Vince Donnelly.

“Here you go,” Sally said and slid a plate in front of him.

He looked down at the mountain of greens, then up at her. “What’s this?”

She sat opposite him and draped her napkin over her lap. “Baby spinach, broccoli florets, julienne red peppers with some grilled salmon tossed in. The dressing is my own concoction. Balsamic vinegar, virgin olive oil and a few spices.”

He shoved the plate away. “I hate salad.”

With a shrug, she popped a forkful of greens into her mouth. “That’s too bad, because that’s all there is to eat.”

Setting his jaw, he scraped back his chair and headed for the kitchen. He opened the pantry, the refrigerator, the freezer then stomped back to the door. “What the hell happened to all my food?”

She dabbed her mouth. “I threw it away.”

“You what?”

“My instructions included seeing that you ate nutritional meals.” She smiled and lifted her fork. “You really should try this. It’s pretty darn tasty, even if I do say so myself.”

Vince dropped his head back, in a silent plea for mercy. A weekend, he reminded himself. Less, since technically the weekend was half-over. His stomach chose that moment to growl, reminding him how long it had been since he’d eaten.

Scowling, he stomped back to the table and snatched his plate in front of him again. With his nose curled in disgust, he stabbed a spinach leaf and poked it into his mouth, chewed. His taste buds exploded, registering the tart, smoky flavor of the balsamic vinegar and the unfamiliar spices in the dressing. He forced himself to swallow, then waited, half expecting the food to come right back up. When it didn’t, he scooped up another bite, shoveled it into his mouth.

“Listen to that.”

He glanced up to find Sally staring off into the distance, her lips curved in a soft smile. He looked around. “What? I don’t hear anything.”

She patted the air to silence him. “Just listen.”

He scooped up more salad and listened while he chewed. “I still don’t hear anything.”

“Probably because you’re accustomed to hearing it. Water tumbling over stone, the rustle of wind through the trees. Nature’s own symphony.”

He cocked his head and listened a moment, then resumed eating. “If you say so.”

“Some people find the sounds of nature relaxing. In fact, there’s an entire section dedicated to it in music stores.”

He glanced up to see if she was pulling his leg. “Seriously?”

Hiding a smile, she sipped her water. “Obviously you’ve never had a massage.”

“What does a massage have to do with anything?”

“Sounds from nature are a staple at spas. Masseuses play them in the background when giving massages.”

With a shrug he attacked his salad again. “Learn something new every day.”

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

He considered a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Don’t you ever turn the radio on in your car?”

“Yeah, to the stock report.”

“You really should try tuning to a music station.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing it’s soothing.”

He snorted a laugh. “You must like that longhair stuff.”

“Sometimes. Depends on my mood or the situation. I prefer rock when I’m cleaning house. Keeps me moving.”

“I’ll suggest that to my housekeeper.”

“How’s your head?”

He reached for the bottle of water she’d set by his plate. “Fine.”

“No headache?”

“Nope.”

“How’s your vision?”

“Twenty-twenty.”

She rolled her eyes. “I meant, is it blurry?”

He blinked hard and opened his eyes wide, as if to test them. “Nope,” he reported. “Clear as a bell.”

“Would you like some more salad?”

He looked down and was surprised to see that he’d eaten every bite. He handed her his plate. “Why not?”

She set aside her napkin and rose.

“And put some more of that salmon on it,” he called after her. “That stuff’s not half-bad.”

When she returned, she set the plate in front of him, then opened her hand. Vince eyed the pill nesting on her palm. “What’s that?”

She took his hand and dumped the tablet on his palm. “Beats me. All I know is you’re to take one every night. Doctor’s orders.”

“You know, I’m a little sick of hearing that phrase.”

She shrugged and sat opposite him again. “You’re probably going to be sicker of hearing it by the end of the week.”

Scowling, he popped the pill in his mouth, chased it down with water. He shuddered at the bitter aftertaste it left in his mouth. “Satisfied?”

She smiled. “For now.”

By the time Vince finished his second helping of salad, his eyelids were heavy, his movements sluggish. Sally truly didn’t know what was in the pill she’d given him, but whatever it was, it obviously had the same sedative effect as the shots his doctor had given him at the hospital.

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