Rio by Georgina Gentry Page A

dove-gray, severe dress, and gray braids piled across her head.
    “Who are the others?” Turquoise tried to sound offhanded.
    “Hmm.” Trace shrugged. “I believe that’s banker Turner’s wife and his daughter. Now, what about drinks before dinner?” Trace returned to his menu.
    “I—I’ll have some sherry and chicken Kiev,” Turquoise said. She wasn’t a bit hungry and kept stealing looks at Edwin. She wasn’t sure if he had noticed her or not.
    Rio seemed to be struggling with the menu as the waiter came to their table.
    “
Mezcal
or
cerveza?
” Trace asked and the other man nodded.
    Mezcal.
That was a drink for the lowest class of Mexicans. Turquoise pretended not to hear, but her face burned with humiliation.
    Rio looked at the fancy menu, then at Trace and shrugged, evidently bewildered.
    “Never mind, senor.” Trace grinned. “What about a big steak and some potatoes and hot rolls?”
    “That sounds
muy bueno,
” the other man said and handed his menu to the waiter, evidently relieved.
    “How do you like your steak, Rio?” Trace asked.
    “Rare.”
    “I’ll have mine well done, and the lady will have chicken Kiev, whatever the hell that is,” Trace grumbled.
    “Very well, sir.” The waiter took the menus and left.
    “Uncle Trace, don’t be so unsophisticated,” Turquoise scolded.
    “I’m just a Texas cattleman,” Trace said, “and I like my food plain and hot.”
    At Edwin’s table, she could hear him ordering from the wine list in French while the waiter scribbled on his pad and said, “Yes, monsieur. Yes, we have some rare wines in our cellars. I’ll send our wine steward over to you.”
    In the meantime, the
mezcal
and the sherry were delivered to the Durango table.
    “You’re quiet as a tree stump tonight, Turquoise,” Trace complained. “Usually, you’re as talky as a magpie.”
    She sipped her sherry, miserable to be there. “I just don’t have much to say.” She looked down at her plate.
    Rio fiddled with his napkin. “I’m afraid the young lady finds the company dull.”
    Trace frowned at her. “I’m sure that’s not it.” He nudged her hard under the table.
    “Hmm? Oh, no.” She wasn’t even sure what was being discussed.
    “She’s usually bright and entertainin’,” Trace said and he looked annoyed. Then he began a discussion about hay and whether Rio thought alfalfa was better for horses than prairie hay.
    At Edwin’s table, they were discussing Carolyn Turner’s grand tour of Europe and what she thought of the art galleries of Italy with Edwin telling witty tales of his year at Oxford.
    Turquoise ducked her head and looked at her plate, listening to the laughter at the other table. Next to Miss Turner, she felt stupid and homely; a country bumpkin who had never been out of Texas. Of course, if she could wed into the Forester family, she would have the chance to travel and learn sophistication.
    Their food came and it was hot and delicious. Miserable at watching Edwin dining with the beautiful Carolyn, Turquoise ordered another sherry.
    Trace frowned at her. “This isn’t like you, and you’ve hardly eaten a thing.”
    “I’m fine,” she snapped and sipped her drink, barely touching her chicken while Trace and Rio made short work of the steak and potatoes.
    The waiter returned to the table. “Dessert, senor?”
    Trace nodded and wiped his mouth. “I’ll have apple pie with vanilla ice cream if you’ve got it. What about you, Rio? Turquoise?”
    She shook her head and sipped her sherry. “Nothing more for me, thanks.”
    “Rio?”
    “Do you suppose they have flan?” Rio asked.
    Turquoise frowned. “This is a fancy place. I doubt they serve Mexican stuff.”
    Trace glared at her. “I’ll ask. If not, what do you want?”
    “Chocolate cake and coffee.”
    Trace grinned. “Sounds good. You have flan?” he asked the waiter.
    The waiter’s lip curled ever so slightly. “No, sir, but we do have the cake.”
    “Good, and coffee.”