A Weaver Christmas Gift. Allison Leigh

He’d located Bax, the missing asset in Nepal. He and the emir’s niece were no worse for wear, and though Bax hadn’t yet gotten her returned to her London apartment, at least they knew she hadn’t been abducted by her father’s terroristic cousin. For now, things were back on track.

      At least in that world.

      Casey involuntarily looked over to the bar where Jane was busy pouring out drinks. Her long hair was pulled back in a thick ponytail that swayed every time she turned to grab a glass off the shelves behind her. She was in her usual working garb of black T-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, but the fact that she wore them transformed the ordinary into something extraordinary.

      She was a smart cookie. Never missed a thing. So he knew she was well aware of his presence. She just hadn’t bothered to give him so much as a glance.

      He, on the other hand, couldn’t stop looking toward her.

      He took his shot and sent the balls rolling.

      None landed where he’d intended.

      “Not just her usual free meal,” Erik was saying. He set the fishbowl on the rail near Casey before leaning over the table with his cue. “Looks to me like she’s shaking up the status quo between you two.”

      Erik was the only one who knew of Casey’s involvement with the woman.

      Past involvement, he reminded himself, since she’d pretty much kicked him to the curb the evening before.

      He dragged his attention away from the smooth curves of Jane’s lightly tanned arms. “She’s over twenty-one,” he said casually. “Free to do whatever she wants.”

      “That why your game seems shot to hell all of a sudden?”

      He ignored Erik and glanced at the fishbowl.

      When the words on the side of it penetrated, he very nearly tore the white index card free of the tape holding it in place.

      She certainly wasn’t wasting any time with her husband hunt.

      He held up the glass bowl, studying the contents. The damned thing was more than half full. Evidently, adding herself to the free-meal menu had spurred a whole new interest in her drawing.

      “She’s out of her tree,” he muttered. Glancing around the bar, he spotted Keith Lambert, who was one of the game designers on the legitimate side of Cee-Vid, whom his uncle had recently hired straight out of school. The young guy, his usual plaid bow tie in place, was sitting in a corner booth with a couple other Cee-Viders. All three of them had their noses stuck in their cell phones as if they didn’t know how to communicate face-to-face.

      Casey moved over to their table and plunked the fishbowl in the center of it, startling the young men. He knew plenty of designers who didn’t look as if they needed a good dose of sunshine, but these guys sure did. Collectively, they were pretty much the embodiment of every clichéd computer-geek joke. “Step right up, guys.” He tapped the bowl with Jane’s hand-printed invitation stuck to the side.

      Keith squinted through his horn-rimmed glasses as he read the card. Then he craned his neck to look at Jane behind the bar across the room. “Sweet. I hear older women are hotter in the sack.”

      Casey’s fingers curled. He’d bet his favorite shirt that Keith had never even kissed a girl, hot or otherwise. The same went for his pallid companions. Jane would make mincemeat of all of them before they ever got to dessert, much less anything after that. “So I’ve heard,” he said blandly. “Might consider stuffing the ballot box to up the odds in your favor.”

      Keith’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Cheat?”

      “She doesn’t specify one entry,” Casey reasoned. “The only restriction is you have to be single.” He plucked the pen from Keith’s ink-stained shirt pocket and tossed it on the table in front of him. “Go for it, man.”

      Keith’s buddies were grinning and nearly bouncing in their booth.

      Before he either rolled his eyes or knocked their heads together, Casey returned to his pool game.

      But the game was already done. Erik had already cleared the felt. “You owe me twenty,” his cousin said, looking as if he wanted to laugh.

      Casey pulled out his wallet and slapped down the money. “Why aren’t you home in the loving arms of your wife, anyway? Wedded bliss already wearing off?” His cousin and Isabella had gotten married the previous year and Casey knew good and well that they were besotted with each other.

      “Izzy’s in Cheyenne with Lucy for a few days. They’ve taken some of their students for a dance workshop down there before school starts up next week for the fall.”

      Lucy was another of their cousins, and she ran the only dance school in Weaver. Isabella taught a few classes there. “Little girls in tap shoes or big girls in belly-dancing costumes?” He felt his gaze straying back toward the bar but mastered the impulse and picked up his beer mug instead. “Your wife teaches both.”

      Erik grinned wryly. “Don’t forget the pole-dancing-for-fitness classes.” He rubbed his jaw. “She actually had me try it, you know.”

      Casey nearly dropped his beer. Despite being Tristan Clay’s son, Erik had gone into the ranching side of the Clay dynasty. But even in that, he had to go his own way, choosing to maintain his own brand rather than use the Double-C brand started by their grandfather, Squire, that was already one of the most well-known in the state. His cousin was salt-of-the-earth steady and more than a little old-fashioned, so the image that sprang to mind was one for the record books. “Swinging around on a pole?”

      His cousin looked chagrinned. “It’s harder than you think. I fell on my ass. Izzy’s never gonna let me live it down.”

      For the first time since Jane’s wanna-baby bombshell, Casey actually laughed. “She’s not the only one. I just don’t want to picture it in my mind. Afraid it’ll do permanent brain damage. What about Murph?”

      Murphy had been Isabella’s teenage ward when she’d first come to Weaver. Now she was legally his mother and soon Erik would legally be his father. And Casey could rib the other man—who was his best friend as much as his cousin—about anything under the sun, including his new family, but he knew Erik had never been happier.

      Erik grinned. “He was no more successful at it than I was, but you didn’t hear that from me. So what’s Jane really up to?”

      Casey hid his frown in his beer and shrugged. He hadn’t shared Jane’s sudden life goal with Erik, mostly because it might lead to discussions he didn’t want to have. “Don’t ask me.”

      Erik gave him a disbelieving look, but thankfully let the matter drop. Instead, he waved at the pool table. “Double or nothing?”

      “Rack ’em up.” Casey’s gaze started to slide to the bar but he physically turned his back so he was looking toward the front door instead.

      He took one last glance toward Keith. He and his buddies were busily stuffing business cards into the fishbowl.

      God help them all.

       Chapter Three

      Jane managed a tight smile before shutting her front door in Prospect Number Three’s face.

      The past three weeks—especially the past three Thursday-night dates with Number Three and his predecessors, One and Two—had been abysmal.

      Number One, a real estate agent from nearby Braden, hadn’t understood the difference between Thursday and Friday and, after standing her up at the restaurant where she’d arranged to meet him, had instead accused her of standing him up when he’d expected her there the following night. She hoped he handled his real estate transactions with more accuracy.

      Number Two was a veterinary technician from right here in