Page 11 of 5 Golden Flings

“Meaning I don’t meet your expectations?”

“We just met,” she reminded him. “I don’t know anything about you other than you like salt and you have a protective streak.”

“I have some plumbing skills.”

She just bet he did. “That’s always a plus.”

“Electrical, too. I’m good with a drill.”

Not going there, she thought wryly. “I’m sure when you decide to settle down, you’ll be very handy around the house. But I’m not looking for a man to marry. I’m picky enough, and old-fashioned enough, that I want him — this metaphorical man — to be looking forme. I want that couple-hood you see in people who’ve been together for fifty, sixty years and have a football team of great-grandchildren. What about you? Considering your lifestyle and job, what wouldyouchange?”

He took a bite of burger before answering, giving himself time to think. “My life now is close to being the direct opposite of yours, but at the core of it I don’t want to forever spend so much time away from home. A wife, kids — God, you’re thinking great-grandchildren and I can barely get my head around the possibility of grandkids. But . . . home. The traditional home. That’s what I had growing up, and what I want as an adult.” He shrugged. “Turns out the things I’m good at aren’t conducive to traditional home life.”

Whatever he did, she had no doubt he was very good at it. His intelligence shown through every sentence, every thought, while his physical condition was proof of how hard he worked to be able to perform the tasks he was given. She’d felt the calluses on his hand, she saw a fairly new scar on his forearm. He put himself on the line, physically and mentally.

“Sometimes life just happens and you meet that special person while you’re doing ordinary things,” she said slowly.

“Like stopping for gas.”

“I didn’t say that.” She frowned at him. “You’re rushing your fences.”

“God, now you’re adding horse metaphors to the football one. I know you don’t have a football team of great-grandchildren. Do you own a horse?”

“Not yet, but I won’t say I’llneverown a horse, because those children might want to ride, and you know how grannies are. Do you ride?” She was absurdly interested, because she realized she’d never asked that question before.

“Some.”

“Did you learn when you were a kid?”

“Yeah, on my grandparents’ farm. I’m not what you’d call a horse person, though. I’ve been on motorcycles, too, but I’m not a bike fanatic.”

“Whatareyou fanatic about? Sports, chess, water polo?”

“Water polo?”

She shrugged. “Someone has to be, or it wouldn’t exist.”

He blew out a breath. “Not water polo. I like sports, target shooting, martial arts —”

“So do I!” she enthusiastically interrupted. “I just got my brown belt. Don’t tell me what you have, it’ll just make me jealous.”

“A brown belt, huh? Congratulations. You probably wouldn’t need any help fending off those four jackasses, if they’d caused any trouble.” His expression was suddenly closed down but she let it pass.

“I wouldn’t want to go four against one. They’re bigger than I am, and I’m not superhuman.”

She kept the conversation moving, dragging snippets of information from him. This situation certainly hadn’t been in her plans but she liked it, and the more she talked with him the more she wanted to be kissed stupid. The attraction she felt was difficult to quantify or analyze, a strong physical pullmixed with a genuine appreciation for who he was. She even liked when he disagreed with her, because he didn’t get angry, he simply explained his opposing opinion and that was that. She could change her opinion or continue to disagree, the choice was hers. He was so self-confident he didn’t feel the need to argue or convince, and on the flip side was willing to change his mind if given a good reason.

Wow. He was something. Her whole body was energized by his physical presence, her mind by his personality and quick thinking. She wanted to call his mother and say, “Good job!”

The four rowdies finished their beer and burgers, leaving a forest of dead soldiers on the table top as they left, mostly staggering out the door. As soon as the door closed behind them, Lonnie picked up the phone and called the Nevada State Police, leaning over the bar to see in what direction the drunks were going. There were no cabs to call, no way to hold them for the hours it would take them to sober up; the NSP was the best choice.

The departure of the four was a signal, not just to her but also to the men who had come in with Hatch. They began pushing back chairs, stretching, talking to Lonnie.

Nova reached for her coat. “Thank you for the rescue, and for the food. I have to leave now. Please let me pay for my meal.”

The look Hatch gave her said that was a no go. Before he could say anything one of his friends came up and tapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll ride back with Samson.”

“Thanks, man.”

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