Page 3 of Samson

“Yeah.”

She stood. “How do you take it?”

“With a drop of milk.”

“Just a drop?”

“Almost black but not quite.”

“Got it.”

As soon as she was out of the room, he hurried behind her desk, rifling through the trays of papers. It wasn’t necessary. He had the information he needed to do his job, but he never missed an opportunity when one presented itself.

He came up empty-handed, and with a password lock on the computer and not enough time to crack it, he returned to the prickly chair before Paula came back with a black and white spotted mug.

“Is that supposed to be a cow?” he said when he took the cup. It was either a bad joke or in poor taste seeing as cows were being butchered in the other room.

“It’s all we have, sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” He took a small sip, then added, “You’re right. It is terrible.”

“I warned you.”

He was surprised by the saucy look she gave him as she walked back to the desk. She’d warmed up to him faster than he’d expected.

“I don’t mind,” he said after taking another sip. “A hot drink on a miserable day is nice any way you look at it.”

“Tell me about it. I can’t wait to see the sun again. It’s been ages.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, and he watched her, waiting for her to say what he knew she was debating in her head. It was better to get it over and done with.

“So,” she finally spoke, “after your tour, if you need to get the taste out of your mouth—the coffee, I mean. If you need to get the taste of the coffee out of your mouth—there’s a cafe about a mile and half down the road, just outside of town. They make a good cup, and their carrot cake is to die for. If my shift didn’t end in four hours, I could show you. Unless you don’t mind waiting or coming back.”

It wasn’t the most subtle way to fish for a date, but he was used to women being forward with him. It was a useful tool when necessary, but he’d gotten what he needed from Paula.

“Thanks. Good to know.” He didn’t need to say more. After he was through here, she’d be too distracted by the mess he was about to make to worry about him any more until she went home and told herself that the handsome vigilante had been interested in her. She could blame their circumstances for keeping them apart. It was the kind of fantasy that made books bestsellers.

“You said you’re here until—” She tried to draw him back into the conversation, but a lanky man came through the door, cutting her off. He wore a long white coat and a hard hat with tuffs of red hair poking from the sides.

“You must be Samson.”

Samson stood, grateful he wouldn’t need to put Paula off any longer. “I am. You’re Andy?”

“Paula tells me you own a line of specialty stores?”

“I do. Yes. We import a lot of our products from overseas—Spain, Italy, Greece—but we’re expanding, and we want to take advantage of what we can source locally. Our growing customer base is very interested in supporting local businesses.”

“Wonderful.”

“I appreciate you agreeing to the tour today. I am very particular about who I do business with. I want to make sure all of your procedures are acceptable to my standards.”

“I can’t blame you for that. And I’m confident they will be. We pride ourselves on our sustainable procedures and our care for the animals beyond simply the minimum that is required by regulations. We like to give them the respect and kindness they deserve.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“If you’ll come with me, I’ll let you see for yourself. I can take you through from start to finish, although there are a couple of areas where we ask you to keep all recording devices tucked securely away, as the process is not suitable for the general public. It can be quite distressing watching the animals being put down. If you don’t think you have the stomach for it, let me know. There’s no shame in it.” He chuckled. “I’ve seen some big men go down. White as a sheet.”

“I’ll bet you have. But you don’t have to worry about me. I grew up on a farm where we had to dispatch animals from time to time. I can handle it.”

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