That Touch of Pink Read Free Page A

playing with her dolls and wasn’t watching her mother’s display of temper.
    â€œSuing the whole town is a little extreme, don’t you think?” Jamie Gibson asked.
    Abby had called Jamie right after leaving Dixon Security and they’d met here at the house. She was the attorney who’d handled Abby’s divorce two years ago. They’d become friends in spite of the fact that Abby envied her brunette curls, which were the polar opposite of her own stick-straight brown hair. And Jamie was beautiful, a fact the attorney didn’t seem to care about. She poured her energy into building a legal career based on integrity, intelligence, and unflagging client support. But Abby felt there was some serious flagging in her attorney’s support on the Riley Dixon issue. And how the heck could Jamie sit so calmly on that overstuffed pink floral sofa when there was some heavy-duty suing to be done?
    â€œThe man is a welsher,” Abby cried, hands on hips as she stared at the bemused, indulgent expression on her friend’s face.
    â€œWe haven’t established all the facts yet. The way I understand it, he escorted you out of his office after he said no. If he is, in fact a welsher, at least he’s a gentleman welsher.”
    â€œI paid for the weekend he donated to the auction. The check cleared already. And he’s refusing to make good on the deal. Maybe you’d prefer Indian giver?”
    â€œNative American would be a little more politically correct,” Jamie pointed out.
    â€œPolitically correct would be for him to give me what I paid for—a weekend campout so Kimmie can earn her nature badges. I should have seen this coming. After all, he’s a man. By definition, that makes him a slacker.”
    â€œAre we talking about Riley Dixon or your ex-husband?”
    â€œThey’re interchangeable,” Abby said.
    â€œIs he as hot as I’ve heard?”
    â€œWho? Fred?”
    â€œI’ve seen Fred,” Jamie pointed out. “I meant Dixon.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t have to wear a bag over his head in public,” she grudgingly admitted.
    An image of the man’s dark hair, blue eyes and flawless physique flashed through her mind and Abby braced herself as her stomach lurched from the same elevator sensation she’d experienced just a short while ago. But, he was a reminder about judging a book by its cover—a hunk with the face of a hero and the heart of a welsher.
    â€œSo he’s really good-looking?” Jamie pushed, obviously wanting details.
    â€œHe’s weathered,” she said carefully. “A little bent and battered, but buff in all the right places.”
    â€œSo you like him,” Jamie declared in a grating I-knew-it tone.
    â€œI don’t like him. But I’m not blind and I don’t tell lies in spite of the fact I don’t like him. Here’s the thing. When he told me he wouldn’t take us on the campout, I got that Fred-feeling in my gut.”
    â€œYou’re telling me Dixon is a shallow jerk who’d leave you in the lurch to try out for a TV reality show?”
    â€œIt’s not the trying-out part. It’s the finding-Ms. Fear-Factor -who-jumped-on-his-bandwagon-and-his-bones-after-which-he-never-came-back part,” Abby said, remembering that particular brand of devastation. “And I don’t know if Dixon would do that. I never intend to find out. Because in my book, breaking one’s word on first acquaintance is a giant red flag.”
    â€œFrom what I’ve heard, Riley Dixon is a hard worker. A former Army Ranger who’s built a profitable security business in under five years. Soldiers don’t get to be Rangers by slacking off.”
    â€œThen we’re back to welsher.” She met her friend’s gaze and sighed. “Okay. I’ll admit to some lingering hostility toward the man who shirked most of his responsibilities—the most