Page 8 of His Tenth Dance

Mission wasn’t sure he did.

Still, he said, “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”

“That’s not it at all, Mission.” She ducked her head and tucked that gloriously golden hair behind her ear. And all thistime, Mission thought he wasn’t into blondes. How wrong he’d been.

“I’d like to go to dinner with you,” she said. “I was just caught off guard is all.” She scuffed the toe of one boot against the floor. “I haven’t dated in a while.”

Mission blinked, sure he had misheard. “You…what?”

She looked up at him, but she was quite a tall woman, and he only had a few inches on her. “Do you really want to go out with Hannah?”

“No,” he said flatly.

She took a step toward him. “But you do want to go out with me.”

“I already said I did, didn’t I?”

Her smile widened. “You don’t have to sound so mad about it.”

He stood there, just looking at her, the air between them charged with possibility. Mission found himself thinking about how easy it would be to lean in and kiss her, to finally know what her lips felt like against his.

Clearing his throat and hoping his thoughts would go too, Mission realized he was still holding his phone with the phantom call from Deacon. He quickly shoved the device away. “So, uh, maybe Friday night for dinner?”

Kristie pulled her phone out. “Friday….”

Mission hated this silence, because she’d just said she hadn’t dated in a while. Did she really need to check her phone?

He tamped down his impatience, and raised his eyebrows as Kristie looked up from her device. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“You have dinner at your parents’ house.”

Kristie didn’t crack a smile. “No,” she said. “My parents don’t live in Colorado.”

Mission blinked, his curiosity about her doubling. “So…one of your cats needs a tooth pulled, and you’ve scheduled it for Friday night?”

That got her to lift the corner of her lips. “Not quite,” she said. “I do have plans with some friends, though.” She tucked her phone in her back pocket. “But I’m free on Saturday night.”

“Great,” Mission said. “I should be too.” Farms and ranches and animals needed to be cared for twenty-four-seven, but Mission had worked at the Hammond Family Farm for years, and they always had lighter schedules on the weekends.

He planned to continue that tradition, and he could make sure he got back to his cabin for a shower by five o’clock for a dinner date. “Where do you live?”

“I could just meet you somewhere,” she said.

Mission took a step toward her, then another one, his irritation lifting with every breath he took. “Like…what? We’re just friends getting together for coffee? Or a plate of spaghetti?” He shook his head as she fell back against the door of the medical barn.

He pressed in closer, something firing through him he didn’t quite understand. He reached up and tucked that loose lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m too old for meeting women places. If you don’t want to go out with me, I’d rather you just said so. If you don’t want me to come to your house to pick you up, just say so.”

Kristie pulled in a breath, her eyes locked on his. “How old are you?”

“Forty-two,” he said smoothly. “And just because I was raised by my grandparents doesn’t mean I don’t have manners.” He managed a half-smile as he dropped his hand back to his side. “I won’t ask you how old you are.”

He really wasn’t sure, but she had to be at least thirty. Women in their twenties put off a different vibe, and it wasn’t anything like what Mission had seen from Kristie.

“My birthday is comin’ up in October.”

“My birthday is in October too,” Kristie whispered, and he wondered if she just couldn’t make a noise louder than that.

He backed up a step, his own chest unnaturally tight. “If you want to go to dinner on Saturday at seven, you can text me your address when you get a minute.” He cleared his throat and reached for the doorknob at her hip. “I have to get back to my own party. Excuse me.”

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