“And he will,” I say, ignoring the thrill that runs through me when I hear Shannon refer to my house as ‘home’. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow, I promise.”

“Okay,” she gives in, slowly nodding. “Where do you want to go?”

“Let’s just go to Saddles,” I suggest. Shit. Why did she just go so pale?

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she counters, shaking her head vehemently. “Not when you’re still getting over your . . . problem.”

I hate to admit it, but she’s right. And right now, that problem is fucking with my head more than I’d care to admit. What I wouldn’t give for just one. . .

“Okay,” I relent. “Where do you want to go?”

Shannon smiles at me and all of a sudden, everything is right with the world. “I know just the place.”

I’m so proud of Stone I could cry.

True to his word, he’s brought me to the one place I wanted to go—the restaurant where Daddy proposed to Momma. It’s small and intimate, with tealight candles providing a romantic ambience at each table.

I pretend to study the menu, but I already know what I want to order. The chicken parmigiana and fries had always been Momma’s favorite meal, along with a white wine.

Wine is out of the question tonight, though. Out of respect for Stone, I’m sticking with a glass of lemon, lime, and bitters with lots of ice. I’m not sure what to say to him. Is this a date? He said he wanted to take me out to dinner, but he never explained what that dinner was. I tug on the edge of my short red dress beneath the table and glance across at Stone. He’s looking incredibly handsome in a black woolen suit. Who knew the man could clean up so nicely?

He senses me watching and smiles, putting down his menu. “Have you decided what you want?” he asks, signaling the waiter when I nod.

After we place our orders, we sit in awkward silence. I can’t help but wonder if he wants a beer, as he’s gazing past me toward the bar. “Are you all right?” I ask softly, touching his hand.

He jumps a little and looks at me apologetically. “I’m fine,” he answers, removing his hand and sitting back in his chair. “I guess I’m just a little distracted.”

“It’s okay to want a beer,” I say. “You’ve depended on it for so long that it’s only natural.”

He nods. “I do want a beer,” he admits with a rueful smile. “More than you know. But,” he continues, taking my hand once more, “I want to see this through more than anything.”

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Great,” I say, swallowing a mouthful of my drink. “So, Stone, tell me all about you.”

He laughs. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” I grin. “I want to know all there is about Staff Sergeant Ethan Stone. Tell me about your time in the war.”

I regret my words almost immediately as a dark shadow crosses his features and the smile drops from his face. He shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Come on,” I cajole. “Sometimes, it’s good to let it out. I know how long you’ve held onto it, and I’ve witnessed your nightmares first-hand. Why, I’ll bet that—”

“That’s enough,” he says loudly, slamming his fist down on the table, making me jump. Several customers nearby look at us a little curiously.

“Stone,” I say in a low voice. “Was that really necessary?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. Look, can we just forget about it and have a nice dinner?”

“Fine,” I snap, looking away as I pick up my glass.

“Fine,” he repeats quietly, pouring another glass of water for himself.

The waiter brings us our meals and we eat in uncomfortable silence. I glance up at him more than once, and his face is carefully stoic.

After dinner, I order two large mugs of coffee and slices of rich chocolate cake. Stone politely declines his cake and I shrug, digging into his share as well as my own. I’m just swallowing the last mouthful when I hear a voice behind me.

“Shannon?” a woman calls.

I close my eyes and groan, the chocolate cake suddenly feeling very dry in my mouth. “Hi, Effie,” I say as politely as I can when she stops next to our table.

“Miss Harper,” Harold Kensington says. “A pleasure, as always. You disappeared so quickly tonight that I’m afraid we weren’t able to continue our little discussion about Saddles.”

I cast a glance over at Stone, who’s staring at me curiously. What’s going through his mind right now? I clear my throat and dab the crumbs away from my mouth with a white napkin. “Yes.” I smile up at Kensington. “I apologize for that, but I wasn’t feeling very well.”

“I trust you’re feeling better,” Harold says magnanimously, indicating the crutches propped against the wall beside us.

“Yes,” I confirm, nodding. “The bandage will come off in just a couple of weeks.”

“Wonderful,” Effie exclaims, her large smile both fake and annoying. “And Ethan,” she continues. “You look absolutely smashing in your suit. Harold, dear, doesn’t he look lovely?”

“Quite so,” Harold agrees, barely giving Stone more than a passing glance before turning his attention back to me. “I hope you’ve reconsidered my offer.”

“I’m afraid not,” I reply slowly, picking up my glass and swallowing a mouthful. “Saddles is not for sale.”

“Well then,” he says, shaking his head. “I hope you’re able to come up with the money your daddy owes me in the next two weeks.”

I gape at him, but Stone speaks before I do. “How much does her father owe you?” he asks, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Two hundred thousand dollars,” Effie says, looking at him pointedly. “Plus interest.”

“And what if she doesn’t come up with the money?” Stone asks, raising his eyebrows at me.

“Oh, let’s not talk about such things,” Harold dismisses, offering his arm to Effie who clutches it with obvious delight. “I’ll leave you two alone to your dinner.”

I slump in my chair as they walk away to their own table. How the hell am I meant to come up with two hundred thousand dollars in the next two weeks?

Stone signals the waiter, who hurries over. “Could I get a glass of white wine?” he asks. My head shoots up and I pierce him with a narrow gaze.

“I thought you agreed not to drink.”

“It’s for you,” he says gently. “You look like you could use it.”

“I . . . oh,” I stammer, feeling myself flush. I don’t really know what to say, so I sit in silence until the waiter brings my drink, which I gulp halfway down greedily.

“Better?” Stone asks quietly when I put the glass down.

I nod. “Yes, thank you.”

“Good,” he says, looking at me thoughtfully.

He stares at me for so long I start to shift uncomfortably. “What?” I finally ask.

“You wouldn’t accept the money from me, would you?” he asks. It’s a rhetorical question.

“Of course not,” I respond proudly. “I work hard for my money, as did my—”

“As did your father,” Stone cuts in, holding up his hand. “I know.”

He continues to stare at me. Finally, he nods, as though coming to some sort of a conclusion. “Then there’s only one thing left to do,” he announces.

“What’s that?” I ask, not really liking the determination I see all over his face.

Stone offers a slow, lazy smile. I don’t like it one bit. “The way I see it, if you won’t accept the money from me, then I’ll just have to make sure you get the money another way.”

“And what way is that?”

He pauses, watching me. It’s like a scene from a play where you just know a big bombshell is about to hit and no one’s life will ever be the same. I’m not disappointed. “There’s only one way you’ll accept my money, and that’s if it’s yours.”

I give a short bark of laughter. “And how do you expect it to be mine?” I ask. He’s completely lost his mind. What the hell is he talking about?