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and let it go at that?” he grumbled when she’d explained the formal arrangement of knife, forks and spoons.
    â€œBecause it’s etiquette,” she told him. “Besides, you can’t very well eat soup without a soup spoon, or sweeten tea without a teaspoon, or…”
    â€œI get the idea,” he sighed. “I suppose you’d never forgive me for eating peas on my knife.’
    She laughed softly. “I think you might make a record book or two for managing that.”
    â€œIt’s easy,” he returned. “All you have to do is get mashed potatoes on the knife and dip it in the peas.”
    She burst out laughing at the mischief in his eyes. “I give up.”
    â€œNot yet, you don’t. Eat your crepes. You could use a few extra pounds. You’re too thin.”
    Her eyebrows arched. “I never would have expected you to notice something like that.”
    He didn’t smile. “I notice a hell of a lot about you, Mandelyn.”
    Once again, the way he said her name made her head swim, and she actually blushed. Her gaze fell back to her plate while Carson slowly cut his crepes.
    Minutes later, after a companionable silence and a second cup of coffee, they sampled the restaurant’s strawberry crepes.
    Mandelyn licked whipped cream from her upper lip and Carson watched the action with an expression she didn’t understand. She lifted her eyes to his and felt tremors along her spine.
    â€œIt’s sexy, don’t you know?” he said under his breath as he read the question in her eyes.
    â€œEating whipped cream?” she laughed nervously, deliberately misunderstanding him.
    â€œDon’t play dumb. You know exactly what I mean.”
    She ignored him and her quickened heartbeat, and finished her crepe.
    â€œHow about a movie before we go back to Sweetwater?” he asked.
    â€œSorry,” she laughed. “I have some paperwork to do before I go to bed.”
    He didn’t like that. His eyes glittered across the table at her. “Do you work all the time?”
    â€œDon’t you?” she returned. “I can’t remember a time in the past few years when you actually took a vacation.”
    â€œVacations are for rich men,” he said, dropping his eyes to his coffee cup. He toyed with it idly. “Maybe everyone’s right. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a rancher.”
    â€œWhat else could you be?” she teased.
    â€œWhat do you mean, that I’m too crude and stupid to be anything but a cattleman?” he asked coldly. His voice carried so that people at the other tables immediately looked to see if he fit his own description of himself.
    â€œThat’s not what I meant at all, and will you please lower your voice?” she asked in a squeaky tone.
    â€œWhy should I?” he asked curtly. He threw his napkin down on the table and stood up, glaring around him. “And what are you people staring at?” he asked haughtily. “Who wrote the rules and said that you have to keep your eyes down and speak in whispers and never do anything out of the ordinary in a snobby restaurant? Do you think the waiters here drive Lincolns—is that why you’re so afraid of them? Do you think that head waiter has a villa on the Riviera and owns stock in AT&T?” He laughed coldly while Mandelyn seriously considered hiding under the tablecloth. “These people that wait on you are no better or worse than any of you, and you’re paying to be here just like I am, so why are you all letting these stuck-up dudes push you around?”
    The cattleman a few tables over who was a friend of Carson’s burst out laughing.
    â€œHell, yes, why are we?” he burst out, grinning. “You tell ‘em, Carson!”
    A lady closer to their table glared at Carson. “It’s amazing the kind of people they allow in these restaurants,” she said with hauteur.
    Carson glared back at her.