He walked into a room full of gun-metal gray desks, on top of which were legal pads and pencils, phone books, and the old-style putty-colored hard-wired phones.
The phone had stopped ringing. No one was in the room, except, surprisingly, Rebecca, who, not surprisingly, looked lovely in a dove gray blouse and skirt. Her hair was bound up at her nape; two small diamond earrings glistened from her earlobes. She hadn’t yet noticed Matt; her brow was creased with concentration as she listened intently to someone on the phone.
Matt moved farther into the room; his movement startled her, and she jerked her head up, her wide blue eyes arresting him and unexpectedly pinning him to the wall with their brilliance. She lifted her hand, waved stiffly at him.
He nodded, thought he was intruding and should go back to the meeting, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He couldn’t break free of the mesmerizing hold her eyes had on him.
“Yes, I understand, it’s really awful,” she was saying.
Matt lifted a questioning brow, but she glanced away.
“I know, I can’t bear to think of it, either—it’s appalling. I will do whatever I can, I promise. Yes, I’ll do just that and call you first thing,” she said, and was suddenly looking around for a pencil. “I am sure Senator Masters will want to know about it.”
Matt quickly moved forward, pulling a pen from his breast pocket and holding it out to her. Rebecca glanced up with surprise, smiled as she took it. That smile trickled right down to Matt’s toes, and he realized, a little numbly, that he was standing there staring at the slender curve of her neck like an awestruck kid as she jotted down a number and a name. “Thank you for calling,” she said. “I’ll speak with you soon. Take care.” She put the phone down and stood a moment, staring morosely at the legal pad.
“Is everything all right?” Matt asked.
“Not really,” she said sadly as an elegant hand fluttered to her collarbone. “Actually, it’s horrible.”
“So what is it? Can I help?” he asked, now truly concerned.
“Oh Matt . . .” She glanced up, smiled sadly. “There’s nothing you can do. I just need to set something up with Tom as soon as possible. He’ll know what to do.”
What was that he detected—the faint smell of a big fat rat? Matt slowly folded his arms across his chest. “So who is it that Tom will be meeting with?”
“The Citizens for the Humane Dispensation of Hill Country Deer.”
Matt waited for the punch line. But Rebecca just stood there, her gorgeous eyes blinking up at him. She was not kidding. Nope, there wasn’t even the slightest hint of a joke on her pretty face. She really, truly was an alien. “The humane dispensation of deer,” he echoed aloud, just to hear that fatuous term spoken out loud.
Rebecca nodded. “They are shooting them in the hill country to reduce the population. These folks would rather see them moved somewhere and they want to talk to Tom about it.”
Matt could not believe what he was hearing. On a cold call, she had picked up a clan of bark-eaters who wanted to save a bunch of deer? He stared at her; but oblivious, Rebecca leaned over, picked up her briefcase, and slung it over her shoulder. “I guess we should join the others. Here’s your pen.” She held it out to him with a sunny smile. “Thanks so much.”
“Are you nuts?” Matt asked as he took the pen and shoved it into his breast pocket.
Rebecca’s thick lashes fluttered. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nuts. Or do you just do this sort of thing for fun?”
Dark, perfectly sculpted brows dipped crossly over blue eyes. “Do what for fun?”
“Seriously, now . . . all kidding aside. Did you just have an emotional conversation about deer, or are you jerking my chain?”
“Do you honestly have something against deer?” she asked, her voice full of a woman’s indignation.
“As a matter of fact, I do, and here’s what: They aren’t a problem for Texas. They’re a problem in a couple of counties where big houses back up to golf courses, but they are really not a problem for the state as a whole.”
“So?” she demanded, her eyes flashing.
“So, why should Tom waste one second of his valuable time on deer?”
“Because,” she said, marching around the desk, “Tom is a humanitarian. I know that’s not something maybe you aspire to be, but Tom is a nice guy, and it’s obvious there are a lot of people in Texas who think animal rights are important.”
“God no, tell me it’s not so,” Matt groaned to the ceiling. “Is this the dog thing again? Or are you seriously thinking about making a pitch to take up animal rights in this campaign?”