He took a swig from his beer. “Well, sure she’d be married with children by now.”
“She’s getting a divorce.”
Devlin’s brows rose with curiosity.
“Don’t hold your breath, Romeo. She’s not the bar-hoppin’ type.”
“What type is she?” he asked, amused.
“The churchgoing, stay-at-home type.”
“Really?” He considered this as he downed his beer. “That’s not the Dora I remember. You know what they say about the quiet ones.”
“Dora, quiet?” Carson chuckled. “I think you’ve got the wrong sister. Harper over there was the quiet one.”
He looked at her askance. “You mean that she-cat over there holding court? I think you’ve got your sisters mixed up.”
Carson finished her beer and wondered how well he’d known Dora and whether there was any truth in the rumors she’d heard that Dora had broken Devlin’s heart. She raised her hand to attract the waitress and ordered another beer.
“You should’ve heard Dora at dinner,” Carson told him. “Quiet and shy are not words I would use to describe the way she took Harper down. As well as”—Carson lifted her hand and began counting off—“Northerners, New Yorkers, gays, tree huggers, and Democrats.”
Devlin laughed and took a swig of his beer. “I knew I liked her.”
“Please,” Carson said with a sorry chuckle. She could feel the liquor working its magic, loosening the tension. “Spare me. Mamaw’s not here to stop me from wiping the floor with you.”
“That I’d like to see.” Devlin let his arm slide around Carson’s shoulders and he leaned in close to her again. “How about we forget about your sisters and take off?”
Her brows furrowed and she turned her head. His blue eyes were staring straight into hers with a seductive glint. She wouldn’t mind going home with Devlin, she thought. It had been a while since she’d been with a man, and Lord knew she’d dreamed of being with Devlin many times back when she wasn’t legal.
“Stop sniffin’ around me, you ol’ horndog. You just told me you had the hots for my sister.”
“What is it about you Muir girls?” he said with a slow smile. “I’m just a fool for you.”
“You’re a fool, I’ll give you that,” Carson said teasingly. She drew back and stood, then felt the floor sway. She wobbled in her heels and grabbed his shoulder. “Time for me to go.”
“I’ll drive you home.”
Carson looked into his eyes and realized he was more drunk than she was. “I’m with Harper.”
“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Devlin argued, and his tone was persuasive. “I’ll get Will to take her home. He’s more than willing.”
Carson checked out the big-shouldered man in a fashionably ripped black T-shirt with a beer glaze in his eyes. Harper was dwarfed beside him as she leaned against his massive chest.
“Too willing. No, I think the little lady’s had one tequila too many. I’ll take her home.”
Devlin inched forward and let his hand slide along her thigh. “You sure?” he asked in a husky voice.
“No.” She sighed and pushed his hand away. Damn Harper, she thought to herself as she stepped closer to her sister. Weaving slightly, she called out over the noise. “Harper! We’re going.”
Harper turned her head. Her hair was mussed and she moaned against Will’s chest, “So soon?”
“Yep. Come on, sister mine.”
She took her sister’s arm and pulled her to her feet, shaking her head against the chorus of offers to take Harper home, knowing full well none of them would go directly to Mamaw’s. This fun-loving, carefree woman was not the shy, retiring little girl she remembered. Carson watched with amusement as Harper laughed out loud at something the big fellow in the black T-shirt whispered in her ear, then waved a coy good-bye. Carson kept a firm grip on Harper as she tottered across the room. Once outside, the gravel and sand proved too much for Harper’s spiky heels. She bent over to slip them off, and in the process began hurling out the evening’s tequila.
Carson held back Harper’s hair and kept a steadying hand on her shoulder until she finished. Then she settled Harper in the passenger seat and walked around the car to the driver’s seat. She was fumbling for her keys in the dark when she was startled by the sound of a man’s voice at her window.
“You sure you can drive home?”
At first she thought it was Devlin and she blinked in the restaurant’s bright lights. It was Mr. Predictable. She racked her groggy brain for his name. Blake, that was it.
“Please,” she said, trying to enunciate clearly with a thick tongue. “The day I can’t drive a straight shot down Middle Street going twenty-five miles an hour, you can take away my keys.”
“I think that day has come,” Blake said. He smiled but his gaze was firm. “How about you give me your keys and I’ll drive you home.” He opened the car door.
Carson realized he wasn’t asking permission. Beside her, Harper was already snoring softly. Carson closed her eyes for a minute and felt the world spin. She didn’t think she was drunk, but maybe she’d had more than she’d thought. She opened her eyes to see Blake was still standing in front of her in his blue jeans and T-shirt, his hand stretched out, palm up.
“How’re you going to get back to your car?” she managed to get out.
“No problem. I don’t have a car. I’ll just toss my bike in the trunk.”
“You can’t. It’s filled with junk.”
“Then I walk a few blocks.” He pushed his palm closer. “Keys.”
“Shit,” Carson murmured, defeated. She dug in her purse and found the key attached to a big silver chain. “You know, I don’t really know you,” she said warily, holding the keys back.
“Sure you do. But if you feel more comfortable, I’ll try to find one of your friends inside who’s not too drunk to drive you home. Either way, Carson, you’re not driving tonight.”
“They’re not my friends.” Carson pouted and thrust the keys into his hand, her fingers brushing his. She climbed into the backseat and crossed her arms in a show of defiance. She knew she was being pitiful, but she had to salvage some self-respect. As he slid behind the wheel she noticed the breadth of his shoulders, his strong hands on the wheel as he fired up the engine.