Rafe gave Moira Farrar a wave as she drove out onto the street, but she didn’t respond. Probably didn’t see him—or didn’t want to.
What was going on with the woman? He’d felt an immediate connection with her in the museum and followed up in kind, but she’d gone cold on him. Maybe he shouldn’t have made a move on her right off the bat, but she was such a cute little thing. The sitcom camera had never caught those high cheekbones and exotic eyes, the eyebrows that looked like they’d been painted on with a feather, the fanlike lashes, the sweetness of her smile. And that rasping voice, which had been used for comic effect in The Clancy Family, had sent shivers down him to right there where it mattered.
He watched her car turn the corner at the end of the block. Colin Sanger had died two years ago—dived into a half-empty swimming pool was the story. Did Moira Farrar have a current boyfriend? Boyfriend—a stupid term for an adult male. Say it out, Rafe—does she have a lover?
A red Mustang pulled over to the curb, and Rafe’s brother lowered the passenger window. “Hey, Mao. You gonna stand there all day holdin’ down the sidewalk?”
Rafe bent to rest his arms on the rolled-down window ledge. “Trying to think what else I can do to fix that damn photocopier.”
Although actually the machine worked like a charm. The real reason he’d run late was that Delilah had pitched a fit when he’d tried to drop her off at Sissy’s. Only the promise that he would invite “the pretty lady” out to the ranch over the weekend had reconciled her to stay with Baby Zoey, but he wasn’t about to announce that devil’s bargain.
Travis laughed. “Guy, give up and buy a new copier. You got the money—if you haven’t driven yourself into bankruptcy paying for that cutie-pie little director to come to town.”
“You noticed?”
“I’m married, not blind.”
“Speakin’ of being married,” Rafe smiled, “I hear tell Rocky’s not happy about the amount of time you’ve been spendin’ with Micaela Atherton lately.”
Travis snorted. “Rocky’s on my back if I so much as hold the door open for a little old lady.”
“Rocky’s your wife, Trav, and Micaela’s not a little old lady. Half the town saw you cuddlin’ up to her at Good Times last weekend.”
“Lay off, Rafe. Micaela and I were singing a love song and had to make it look good. For God’s sake, we had a spotlight on us and everyone in the damn honky-tonk was singing along.”
“Just be careful.”
Travis grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “You don’t know how it is. Rocky’s after me again to hang up the band. Hell, all I need is a decent break and I could hit the big time, maybe make the Grand Ole Opry.” His face lit up. “Hey, how about you corralling Ms. Farrar and bringing her out to Good Times tonight so she can hear me? That woman has showbiz connections up the wazoo, and I want to be in her address book.”
“Don’t think she likes me, Trav.”
“Rafe, every woman on the face of the earth likes you. It’s those eyes of yours. You hypnotize them.” He glanced around as the light turned and the traffic started moving behind him. “Gotta go before I get myself rammed.”
Rafe stepped back from the curb. “Later, guy.”
Good Times. It just might work, for him as well as Travis. He’d tell Moira he needed to discuss her ideas for Gift of the Magi, and maybe he could warm up the ice princess after all.