I'll Never Let You Go (Morgans of Nashville) by Mary Burton Read Free Book Online

constricted her lungs.
    Smiling, always smiling, she turned and faced Alex.
    A dark brow arched. “You okay?”
    “Great.”
    She moved out toward the door, threading her body around the growing crowd. He trailed close behind, and she caught several angry gazes directed at Alex and her. Outside, the snap of cold air redirected her attention from worry. “Where to?”
    “Right across the street.” He moved beside her and gently placed his hand in the small of her back, guiding her. Gently. Not all touch equaled pain. No worries.
    The restaurant specialized in barbecue and was outfitted with clean but dinged-up booths. The floor had once been a black-and-white tile, but years of wear and tear had worn away the crisp lines, leaving it a shadowy blend of dark and light. Behind the counter, a hot grill butted against the wall where a tall man wearing a white apron over a white shirt ladled barbecue sauce on dozens of sizzling chicken wings and thighs. The sweet, spicy scents were welcoming.
    They settled in a seat by the front window and she shrugged off her jacket, refusing to be nervous. This was a date. Nothing more. Dates were fun. And she wasn’t a crazy woman. She could go on a date with a guy. She could.
    Alex ordered a couple more beers and reached for the laminated menus stuck between the napkin holder and the salt-and-pepper shakers. “Place might not look like much, but the barbecue is great.” He unfolded his menu. “Vets eat meat, don’t they?”
    “I do. Love barbecue.” She wouldn’t eat much, but she could push the food around and make a show of it. Their beers arrived, and he asked if he could place their order. She agreed, but instantly second-guessed herself, wondering if giving him any kind of control was a smart thing.
    She sipped her beer and realized she hadn’t eaten much that day. She’d worked late and her appetite was off due to nerves and fatigue. When the waiter set biscuits on the table, she took one and broke off a piece.
    “Rick says you’re a popular vet with dogs.”
    “I love what I do, so it’s easy.” She took a sip of beer. “He says you’re a great agent.”
    Alex traced the label on his bottle. “He didn’t say that.”
    “Maybe not in so many words. But my receptionist got him talking the last time he was in, and she said he had nice things to say about you.”
    He studied the menu. “So you and your receptionist were talking about me?”
    Color rushed to her cheeks. “I suppose we were. We take care of several of the police canines, and we generally talk about them and their families.”
    He closed the menu and looked up. “Good to know. So you must have a dog?”
    “No. No dogs for me. I work long hours. Maybe one day.” Since Philip, she’d feared loving anything too much in case it would be taken away.
    “I picture you with a houseful of cats and dogs. The homespun type.”
    “You’re making fun of me.”
    “Not at all. Making an observation.”
    Homespun jabbed, conjuring rocking chairs, shawls, and, well, old. “You’re not the animal type.”
    “I like Tracker. But I’m not a dog or a cat guy. I’m on the go too much.”
    “Which begs the question, why did you ask me out?”
    He sat back in the booth and tugged his coat jacket in place. “You’re different. Interesting.”
    “In a homespun sort of way?”
    “In a multilayered sort of way.”
    She sensed he had lots of questions, but there would be no peeking behind the curtain where she hid her secrets. “I vaccinate dogs and cats all day. Most interesting thing I’ve done lately is joining a running group.”
    “With Deidre Jones? She told me a vet had joined the group.”
    “I didn’t realize you knew Deidre.”
    “She works with my brother at the Nashville Police Department. We cross paths occasionally. How’s the running going?”
    “I’m the slowest in the group. And that’s not false modesty. It’s the truth.”
    “Tortoise and the hare. Stick with it.”
    “Maybe.” She