Читать книгу Rancher's Proposition - Anne Marie Winston - Страница 10

Nine weeks later…

Lyn Hamill glanced at the sturdy waterproof watch on her left wrist. It wasn’t exciting, as jewelry went, but she treasured it because Cal McCall had given it to her the second week after she’d come to work at his ranch. Almost four o’clock. Good. She used the back of her arm to wipe sweat from her forehead and grabbed the tongs, deftly plucking the canning jars from the boiling water and replacing them with another batch while the first ones cooled. She would have enough time to finish the last half-bushel of tomatoes before her employer came in for dinner.

Carrying a load of completely cooled tomato jars to the basement, she took a moment to survey her handiwork with a feeling of satisfaction. Although she had arrived at the ranch in July, too late for any planting, she had managed to get a good start on stocking up for winter. Now, onions and garlic hung from the wooden rafters in net bags and bushel baskets of potatoes stood on the bare dirt floor. She was steadily filling the wooden shelves that stood against three walls. Already they held canning jars filled with bread-and-butter pickles, green beans, peas, plum butter, buffaloberry jelly and the tomatoes she was putting up today.

Cal gave her a household allowance from which she was to buy groceries and anything else she thought they needed. She was a frugal shopper and the allowance was generous, so she’d bought vegetables to replace the things she would have planted if she’d been here in the spring. Neighbors had given her the tomatoes and a number of other things. Or more accurately, they’d given Cal gifts to welcome him back to the community and she’d been the logical recipient, since he was out on the range most of the time.

She’d helped Cal’s sister dig the potatoes, and Silver had insisted she take some home. And just yesterday she’d harvested some squash that had come up by itself and managed to survive all summer unattended. It was September now and she’d been home—here—nearly nine weeks. It’s not your home anymore, she reminded herself sternly. She was merely an employee of the owner. And as such, she’d pick apples tomorrow and make pies with the little red ones. The others would make good applesauce and apple butter.

Upstairs, a door slammed. Her hand flew to her throat and her body jolted. Her breathing stuttered, and for a moment, she could hear her heartbeat roaring in her ears. Fear froze her feet to the floor.

He’d finally found her. If she’d still been holding the tomato jars, they’d be shattered on the sod floor. Wayne. God, what was she going to do? She was trapped down here. What if he—what? What if he what? Just as she had each time she tried to recall the events of the last months, she drew a blank. Oh, if only she could remember!

“Lyn? Where’s the peroxide?”

Cal. Relief swept through her and she consciously relaxed all the muscles that had tensed in subconscious dread—of what? She took a deep, calming breath. It was only Cal.

Turning, she hurried up the steps and into the kitchen.

Her employer stood before the sink and as she reached his side, she saw blood dripping from a cut along one finger. Quickly, she got the peroxide from the cupboard where she’d organized all the first aid supplies and held it out to him, noticing as she did so that her hands were shaking visibly, a remnant of her fear. Then she realized he wouldn’t be able to unscrew the cap easily so she did it for him, moving to his side and tilting the bottle over the injured finger.

Cal hissed in a breath between his teeth as the cleanser washed away the blood and bubbled dirt to the surface of the wound. She hated hurting him but there was no help for it. Gently, she slipped her hand beneath his and angled the finger up, pouring more peroxide over the torn flesh. And as she concentrated on the small task, the stomach-knotting sense of panic inside her faded, to be replaced with another feeling.

Cal’s steely arm was pressed against her shoulder and she shivered with pleasure at their proximity. He treated her casually, in a friendly offhand manner, and there were very few times when she’d been this close to him. There were even fewer times when she’d actually touched him.

Her fingers trembled beneath his and Cal made an abrupt motion, taking the bottle from her and stepping a pace away. “Thanks,” he said. “I can do it.”

She was so disappointed by his dismissal she could have cried. Turning away, she went to the stove and checked the timer, then took the next batch of canning jars from the water.

“Tomatoes.” Cal’s voice sounded hopeful. “Maybe you could make some spaghetti sauce with a few of those this winter.”

She nodded, unable to keep her face from lighting up. Mentally, she made another note in her “Special Things To Do For Cal” file. Forgetting anything that might make Cal McCall’s life more comfortable or enjoyable was unacceptable to her. He’d given her back so much that she could never repay him. This was her small way of letting him know she appreciated it.

She extended the same appreciation to Cal’s sister, Silver, and her husband, Deck. They’d helped her when she didn’t know anyone in the world could help her, and her small gifts of special foodstuffs, recipes and handmade clothing was her way of saying thank-you.

Although it wasn’t strictly true that she felt the same way about them as she did about Cal. No, the way she felt about Cal was unique. There might be things she couldn’t remember, would never remember, but she knew she’d never felt before the way she felt about the man who owned the ranch where she’d lived once. Certainly she’d never felt about her ex-husband as she did about Cal.

She sneaked a glance sideways at him, still standing at the sink. He hadn’t taken off his summer straw hat. He rarely did, until he was ready to take a shower in the evening after working all day, but it didn’t matter to her. His hat was such a part of him that he almost looked naked without it.

It was still terribly hot during the day, and he wore a lightweight long-sleeved shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. He’d been riding, she knew, because she could see the horse tethered just outside the yard, and a dark stain of sweat dampened the back center of the shirt from his neck down to where it vanished beneath his jeans.

His jeans. Oh, she loved the way those pants fit him. She could still remember the first time she’d noticed the way the fabric molded his tight, lean buttocks. She’d been at the ranch for three days, three days in which Cal had insisted she take her time getting to know the place and settling in. He wouldn’t even let her cook at first, until the morning of that third day when she’d gotten up earlier than he had.

She’d gone into the kitchen and made him a hearty breakfast of biscuits and gravy. She’d also made him a lunch to take along since he’d mentioned he’d be haying again all day. Cal had come into the kitchen just as she had finished, sniffing the air appreciatively.

She’d handed him a mug of coffee. He’d sampled it and said, “You’re hired!” Then he’d walked over to the door to get his boots, which she’d cleaned up the night before. As he bent, the denim pulled taut across the back of his strong thighs, drawing her eyes and drying her mouth in a manner that surprised and shocked her so much she’d turned away and shoveled his breakfast onto a plate.

She could almost giggle at the memory now.

She had to walk to the sink, where he was still standing, with a pitcher she filled from the sink, and as she did so, she took a moment to peer at the cut. It wasn’t such a bad one that it would need stitches, but a bandage and some antibiotic ointment certainly were in order. Quickly, she added the water to the pot that was boiling on the stove, filling the room with clouds of steam and the smell of hot tomato.

Then she went to the cupboard again as Cal dried the cut with a paper towel. Taking down the things she needed, she approached him, holding them out before her and looking at him in question.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I guess I’d better put something on it. The wire snapped and I ducked, but it caught me there on the way by.”

She shuddered. He’d been repairing fence and she winced at the thought of what a piece of barbed wire could do when it suddenly was severed from the tension between the posts.

She set down the box of bandages and tore one open, then added some of the antibiotic cream to the center before taking his hand in hers again. He extended the finger and she carefully positioned the gauze, wrapping it securely with tape and neatly trimming the ends. Her hands were trembling at the feel of his hard, callused flesh against hers. At night, her dreams were filled with those hands and the magic she imagined they could work on her body.

But those were only dreams. Standing here, holding his hand in the kitchen, was real and being close to him was sweet torture. His broad chest loomed before her, making her feel small and feminine, though she’d never been short in her entire life. Beanpole, the boys at school had called her.

She looked at him and smiled. “There,” she said. “I think you’ll live.”

Cal gazed down at her from his superior height, warmth in his gray eyes. “That’s the first joke I’ve ever heard you make,” he said. This close, she could see the black rim around the irises, the tiny flecks of black that fractured the silver throughout, the dark fringe of his lashes and the strong slash of his black brows that nearly met in the center. He smiled, holding her gaze with his. “You’ve come a long way since the day I brought you here,” he said.

She cleared her throat, embarrassed by the praise implied in the comment. “I’m starting to feel…useful again.”

He nodded, and she knew he understood what she hadn’t expressed very well. “Oh, you’re definitely useful,” he said in a teasing tone. “I don’t know how this place got by until you came along.” Before she knew it, his hands slid firmly around her shoulders and he pulled her into a close embrace.

She knew an instant of blind, black fear that threatened to engulf her, but as quickly as it enveloped her it vanished. These were Cal’s arms and this was Cal’s body, and nothing could make her fear him. As the hard length of his big frame registered, she closed her eyes and inhaled his scent—not difficult since her nose was buried in his chest. He smelled of saddle leather and horse, of hay and healthy man sweat and some other, less definable scent that was uniquely his own.

Of all the things she’d expected him to do, this wasn’t at the top of the list…she didn’t really care as long as he held her like this.

But as fast as the moment had begun, it ended. Releasing her, Cal stepped back. “Sorry if I scared you,” he said. “I appreciate the help.”

She ducked her head and nodded without looking at him, embarrassed again. Had he sensed how badly she longed for him? She would be utterly humiliated if he ever found out how she felt. To cover her awkwardness, she rushed into speech. “You didn’t scare me. You caught me by surprise for a moment, that’s all.”

Cal’s eyebrows rose. He grinned then, and her heart skipped a beat at the devilish gleam in his dark gray eyes. “I was beginning to wonder if you spoke more than one sentence at a time.”

“I can talk,” she said defensively. “I just haven’t had much to say.” Her voice sounded loud to her own ears, and huskier than she remembered. The doctor had said there might be permanent damage to her vocal cords from the attempt to strangle her. She didn’t guess it mattered—she’d never been much of a singer and as long as she could communicate, it didn’t really matter how she sounded.

Cal stood perfectly still, staring at her with a strange expression on his face. When the silence stretched on, she finally said, “What?”

He shrugged and smiled at her, breaking the odd tension of the moment. “Your voice is really husky. Has it always been like that?”

“It’s different,” she said. “I don’t sound like me anymore.”

He nodded. “Give it a few more months. It hasn’t been used in a while. Maybe you just need to get used to talking on a regular basis again.”

She nodded.

Silence.

“Well, I’ve got to get back out there and finish that fence,” he said. “Wilson’s new bull’s been in the pasture over by the dam three times this week. If he tears the fence down again, I swear I’m going to butcher him and deliver the meat to Wilson.”

She smiled as he headed out the door. Containing your cattle and keeping your neighbor’s out was an unending chore on a ranch, and for all his fierce talk she had learned that Cal was a good neighbor.

He mounted Tor, his big bay gelding, and she watched from the window as he and the horse disappeared over the ridge that led to the dam pasture. When the top of his hat had completely vanished behind the ridge, she turned back to her tomatoes. Yes, she’d have to make a couple big batches of spaghetti sauce this winter. She knew Silver had recipes for things like lasagna and stuffed shells. Maybe she’d share them.

Lyn always was conscious of the fact that Cal was a cosmopolitan man. He’d eaten fancy foods in New York that she’d never even heard of and though he praised her cooking and told her he’d missed ranch life and plain, hearty ranch fare, she worried that she wouldn’t do a good job for him.

Man, did he ever hate haying.

Cal itched all over. The seeds from the alfalfa had gotten into every crevice, every orifice, every pore. For the last two hours of the day, he fantasized about jumping in the stock pond, imagining the cool water sluicing over him, cleansing his skin of the prickly, dry hay.

The thought reminded him of a time in New York when he’d still been pretending he enjoyed wearing a suit and tie, a time he’d taken his girl of the moment out to a deserted reservoir and the two of them had gone skinny-dipping. And that thought brought to mind another, entirely inappropriate fantasy, one too close to home.

In his daydreaming, Lyn was riding with him. When they reached the stock pond, they dismounted and disrobed. He watched, pulse pounding and body stirring, as she pulled off her boots and stepped out of her jeans, then slowly, teasingly, unbuttoned her shirt one button at a time until the garment hung loosely around her, an open strip down the center showing him that beneath the practical work clothes she’d worn no undergarments of any kind.

He walked toward her and pushed the shirt off her shoulders, then turned her toward the pond, and together they took the few steps to the edge of the cool water. They waded in and as the water reached his waist, then his chest, he drew her into his arms, feeling her slippery curves against him….

He groaned as he dismounted and put away the horse. He must be nuts, torturing himself like this. Lyn was his employee. In no way had she given him any reason to believe she’d welcome a bout of wild sex, in or out of the stock pond. She was a woman who’d been physically abused by someone, probably her ex-husband if the hospital records of her previous injuries were any guide. He’d bet she’d run screaming if she knew of the thoughts slipping into his head with increasing regularity. Hell, she’d gone stiff as a board when he’d given in to that stupid impulse in the kitchen yesterday and grabbed her. His only excuse was that she made him forget good sense when she was around. He snorted. Some excuse. He’d even noticed her hands shaking with fear when she’d been close to his side doctoring his cut and still he’d hugged her to him without a thought as to how it might affect her.

He stomped to the house, thoroughly annoyed with himself. Why in hell couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

It must be the proximity thing, he decided. She’d been living in his home for over two months now, sleeping in a bedroom just steps away, making his meals, washing his clothes, helping with anything he asked. She never complained, no matter what he asked of her.

Of course, until yesterday she hadn’t spoken to him except for the barest, briefest possible responses, so he didn’t really know for sure that she wasn’t the whiny type.

But deep inside, he did know.

According to his sister’s husband, who had lived here in Jackson County all his life, Lyn was raised around Belvidere, the next little town to the east. Cal had spent his childhood in the county, but he didn’t recall ever knowing who she was. Of course, she’d have been five or six years younger than he was, anyway. Her mother had died when she was small and her daddy had never married again. Lyn was a quiet little thing who had worked with her father and took care of his house. People remembered she was a good cook, something he’d already learned.

But other than that, nobody remembered much. Her daddy had leased ranch land from the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, and after Cal’s father had died the same year that Cal had started college back East, apparently Hamill had bought his property. Lyn would have been a young teenager, he figured, if her daddy had bought it then.

He should remember her, but he didn’t. Cal honestly couldn’t remember much about that time. After an accident at the end of his senior year of high school in which his friend Genie had died, he hadn’t been able to get out of town fast enough. And he’d been gone less than six months when his father had suffered a fatal heart attack and died and the ranch had been sold to Lyn’s father.

With an effort, he shook off the past. Though he’d always regret those lost last months with his father, he’d come to terms with Genie’s death, as had her family. Her brother Deck and he had repaired the hard feelings between them. He was home again, in more ways than one.

But his home needed work. A lot of work. Hamill hadn’t been much of a rancher, according to Deck. He’d only worked the outfit for three years before he died and the ranch was bought by a guy from up near Philip who hadn’t done much with it, either. He’d had it until he retired and moved up to Sturgis.

And that’s when Cal had bought the land that had once been his father’s. When he’d heard the asking price, he’d been shocked. When had dusty-dry sod in the Badlands gotten so expensive? He’d decided it was a good thing he’d worked on the New York Stock Exchange and made a small killing in the process. He’d need it to start up a ranch from scratch.

His thoughts circled back to Lyn…nobody remembered anything much after her daddy passed away and the ranch changed hands. They thought she’d married. The couple had drifted over to Rapid, someone thought. But nobody had seen her in a while, which was unusual enough in western South Dakota to raise eyebrows. Wonder where that Hamill girl went off to? The area was so sparsely populated that the locals joked that they knew everyone in the whole damned state.

He stopped in the mudroom that he’d added on recently and peeled off his boots. He carried both his shirt and his undershirt in his hand; he’d taken them off outside the door, shaken them out and used them to dust himself down. Tossing them into the washing machine, he moved into the adjacent bathroom to shower off the rest of the day’s grime. When he was finished, he grabbed one of the big bath sheets his sister Silver had bought when she redecorated his home, wrapping it around his waist. He’d seen Lyn outside firing up the barbecue grill when he’d come in, so he strode through the house in nothing but his towel. God, it felt good to get that scratchy seed off him.

Padding up the stairs, he walked down the hall to his bedroom. Every time he walked through the house, he felt more and more satisfied at the changes that had been made. And still were being made. He’d hired carpenters to repair some of the woodwork and sagging doors right after he’d bought the place. Then Silver had hired painters and wallpaperers and she’d gone through and spruced the place up with her own little touches, adding stenciling, rugs and window treatments. He’d been called out of town while she was still working on it and when he’d gotten home, she’d practically finished redecorating. Good thing, too, since she’d decided to marry Deck only weeks later. Now she was busy designing their own home while she got ready for the baby that would arrive near Valentine’s Day.

His bedroom door was ajar and he pushed it wide as he walked into the room.

Lyn whirled at his entrance, one hand going to her throat where she stood in front of his dresser putting away stacks of clothing. She didn’t make a sound, but her face went so completely white she scared him.

“Whoa, sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you were outside.”

“I— I wasn’t.”

He nearly smiled but she still looked too rattled. “I can see that.” He waited, but she didn’t move a muscle. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Um, how about you finding some other chore to do while I get dressed?”

“Oh!” The color flooded back into her cheeks and she flushed a deep scarlet in keeping with her vibrant hair. “I’m sorry. I’ll just— I’ll just get out now.” She scurried past him, head down, edging sideways so as not to touch him, and vanished down the hallway before he could say another word.

Cal shook his head ruefully as he closed the bedroom door. Dropping the towel, he stood naked, hands on his hips while the cool air circulated by the ceiling fan he’d had installed washed over him. Poor thing. He’d seen some of the evidence of what had been done to her, and he’d heard more. Her ex-husband must have been a pathetic excuse for a man. No real man would hit a female much less beat her the way Lyn had been beaten. He felt a flicker of bone-deep rage at the thought of the bruises that she’d still borne when he’d first brought her to the ranch. That beautiful skin should never have known a bruise.

Her skin was so fair and milky-white that it was practically translucent, and he’d found himself fascinated by the parade of tiny freckles that marched across her nose. Every time he was near her, he had to hold in check the urge to reach out and trace them with a fingertip. She had a light scattering of freckles over her arms, as well, and he wondered if there were any other parts of her that were freckled.

Then he grimly shook his head, looking down the length of his body, which had responded instantly to thoughts of Lyn. He was a first-class jerk, lusting after a skinny little female who’d been manhandled like she had been. This was getting ridiculous. He needed a woman. He’d been too busy in New York those last few months to bother dating much, and he’d been celibate since he’d moved home. No wonder he was fantasizing about his housekeeper.

Maybe it was time to start thinking about looking for a wife. Even before the last couple hectic months, when he’d been busy transferring all his hard-won clients to other brokers he trusted and hammering out the buying arrangements for the ranch, he hadn’t minded his single state. Most of the time he’d been too tired by the end of a wild day on Wall Street and when he had wanted feminine companionship, he’d availed himself of the multitudes of liberated single career women who didn’t want attachments any more than he had. But now…now things were different. Now he could devote time to a family if he started one. As he dressed and started down the stairs, the word stuck in his head, replaying over and over. Family…family…family… He was determined to have a family of his own some day, a real family, with both parents in the household and a bunch of kids running around—nothing like the rather lonely existence he’d known growing up. Though his father had loved him, he’d keenly felt the difference between what he’d always thought of as “real” families and his own.

His annual summer visits with his mother in Virginia only reinforced the loneliness. He was the outsider. His mother, her second husband and Silver, his half sister, were a happy, tight-knit trio. He’d always wondered if his own life would have been like that if his mother hadn’t abandoned his father and him.

Lyn had supper ready when he walked into the kitchen, and he sniffed the air with interest. “What do I smell?”

She turned from the stove, where she was transferring a pot of steaming broccoli to a serving dish. “Marinated pork chops. It’s not fancy.” Was it his imagination or did she sound faintly defensive?

“I don’t care how un-fancy it is,” he assured her. “It smells fantastic.”

And it was, as were the homemade muffins, the stewed apples and the devils’ food cake she set before him when the table had been cleared. It was just the two of them, since the men who worked for him had families of their own and went home at the end of the day. He’d gotten into the habit early on of telling her all about his day, mostly as a way of filling the silence at the table. Tonight was no different except that she asked questions a few times instead of nodding and raising an eyebrow to get him to continue.

She grimaced when he told her about the young rabbit that had gotten caught in the sickle. “I know it’s impossible to miss them, but it always made me cry,” she said.

Cal nodded. “Well, I did manage to avoid hitting a fawn today. You should have seen him run.”

Her eyes glowed, a striking emerald in the evening light coming through the big window by the nook where the kitchen table was set, and he was reminded of cats’ eyes in the dark. “They’re so sweet when they’re little,” she said. Then she chuckled. “Of course, I even think calves are sweet, so I guess my judgment is suspect.”

Cal smiled at that. “God, I missed this life. I didn’t even realize how much until I got back again. I can’t wait for calving season.”

Her eyebrows rose in that silent way of hers. “You have to get through winter first,” she reminded him.

“Don’t I know it,” he grumbled. “It’s going to be a long one.” He rose from the table then, picking up his plate to take it to the dishwasher.

“Oh, don’t. I’ll do that.” Lyn rushed over and whisked the plate from his hand, along with the water glass and fork he’d lifted.

“I don’t mind. You work hard enough during the day,” he said.

“But I mind,” she said. “You work hard, too, and this is what you’re paying me for.” She crossed to the dishwasher and rinsed the plate before setting it in the rack.

“I haven’t told you how much I appreciate you giving me this chance,” she said slowly.

“You don’t have to. I promised Silver I’d hire you but I also told her I couldn’t keep you on if you didn’t work out. I need someone I can depend on to be in charge of the house.” He gazed across the kitchen at her. “I can depend on you. The job is yours as long as you want it.”

She stared at him, and to his dismay her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He shrugged, uncomfortable with her gratitude. “No big deal.” And before she could really get the waterworks flowing, he beat a hasty retreat to the living room to catch the evening news. But as he sat, trying to focus on what was happening in the rest of the world, he was far too conscious of the woman moving around in the kitchen. When she finally turned out the kitchen light, his body relaxed in relief as she started for the stairs.

“Good night,” she said.

“Good night.” Now he wished he could get her to sit down and talk some more. He was fascinated by her husky, musical voice. That voice smacked of long afternoons making love in dim bedrooms and every time she spoke, his body reacted to the promise in those sexy tones. Just yesterday, when she’d been helping him bandage his finger, that voice had distracted him into an erotic dream. Then her whole face had lit up when he’d told her she seemed like she was getting better, and he hadn’t been able to resist hugging her. The feel of her warm, firm frame against his—

And this was ridiculous! Here he was again, in a hot sweat having totally inappropriate dreams about his housekeeper. He practically leaped out of the chair and grabbed the phone off the kitchen wall, rapidly punching the buttons.

Deck answered on the third ring. “What?” The single word was a snarl.

“Well, that’s a heck of a way to greet your brother-in-law.”

“You’re interrupting us. What do you want?” Deck sounded distinctly disgruntled and Cal realized exactly what he’d interrupted. He grimaced. Was everybody in the world getting next to a warm body except for him?

“A woman.”

“Then go find one.” The receiver clicked off decisively on the other end.

Cal sighed. Lifting the phone again, he punched in Deck’s brother Marty’s telephone number. He hit the speakerphone as he ambled across the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door, surveying its contents. As his best buddy’s voice came on the other end of the line, he selected a soda.

“Lucky Stryke.”

“Hey, neighbor. Is your kid in bed?”

“Yeah. Thank God.” Marty’s answer sounded heartfelt and Cal grinned. He’d been around Marty’s daughter, Cheyenne, a number of times since his move back out here, and she was…unforgettable. A stunning little beauty who looked like her dead mother and acted—unfortunately—a lot like her deceased aunt Genie, who’d been a hell-raiser from the day she was born until the day she died young in the accident that was reason he’d left South Dakota all those years ago.

“What are you up to?” Marty’s voice called him back from the past.

He popped the top on his soda and leaned against the counter. “Where the heck do you go when you want to meet women out here?”

A low rumble of laughter vibrated through the connection. “A bar.”

“That’s not the kind of woman I want to meet,” Cal said.

“Oh, hell.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re starting to sound like me. You got marriage on your mind?”

“No, I do not have marriage on my mind.” He conveniently ignored the fact that he’d been thinking that very thing only hours ago. “I just need to get laid. And I’d prefer to do it with somebody I like and enjoy spending time with.”

Something moving in the corner of his vision made him whip his head around. Though he saw nothing, he’d have sworn he saw a shadow in the kitchen doorway just for an instant. He moved toward the door, but realized he couldn’t leave the room without picking up the handset of the phone. Shrugging, he turned his attention to what Marty was saying.

“…know what you mean. I’m meeting a girl at the city bar tomorrow night. She, uh, answered my ad.”

Cal laughed aloud. He’d heard about Marty’s other disastrous encounters that were a result of advertising in the personals for a wife. To his way of thinking, the guy was insane. “I might have to check this out. What time?”

“Eight. I figure if she’s willing to meet me in a bar, she can’t be a teetotaler who thinks I’ll go to hell if I drink a beer.”

“That’s logical. Eight, huh? You might see me.”

“Sounds good. You can rescue me if this date turns out to be a bust.” His oldest friend’s voice sounded hopeful.

Cal stifled a comment about the odds of that being pretty good. “It’s a deal.”