Page 9 of Silver-Tongued Devil

“Yeah.”

“Good or bad?” she asked cautiously.

“Hard to say. I haven’t really thought about it.”

That was a soliloquy for Evan. He hadn’t said as much as that when April had taken off four months ago, practically on their way home from the hospital. He’d just moved the crib into his bedroom and gotten on with it by himself. With his mom’s help, but they’d always been going to need that. April hadn’t exactly been mother material. “Fragile” was one word. “Needy” was another.

“You know,” Dakota said, “I keep thinking I can’t find a good guy. But there you are right next to me, and about the best guy I know. So why aren’t we having wild monkey sex?”

He glanced at her, and she didn’t need to be a psychologist to read the alarm in his eyes. “Uh…”

She sighed. “Never mind. Slow the heart rate down. I know—we don’t love each other that way. But how come?”

“Because you were Riley’s sister.Littlesister.”

“Riley’s been gone eight years.” Even now, it hurt to say it. “But we were both involved with other people. At least at times.”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m not your type,” she finished for him, since he’d never say it.

She was right. He just looked at her and shrugged.

“Huh,” she said. “I should probably feel all defeated, but I don’t. If I examine my feelings, I’m sort of relieved. I don’t need to wonder if there’ll be any weird awkwardness. I know we can stay comfortable.”

“Maybe that’s why,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re always examining your feelings.”

“Evan. That’s women. We do that.”

“Kind of pointless. There they are anyway. Why look at them that hard? Just makes you feel worse if they’re bad. And if they’re good, you already know it, because you feel good.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Well, that’s true. And yet I persist in being female. So you know what? Since I know you won’t do it on your own—let’s go out. I’ll buy you a beer at Heart of the Lake. We could check it out.” The new wine bar-slash-restaurant was the hot ticket in town, opened in anticipation of the resort’s higher-end customer base. “They’re bound to have craft beer, since I know you won’t drink wine. Or hey, you know what—we’ve both been strapped down so tight, and we’re sending in that final bill next week. I’ll buy you dinner. Call it Dad’s First Night Out.”

He glanced at her sidelong, then returned to hammering tops onto paint buckets. “I heard their food’s weird.”

“Kale pizza,” she agreed. “I looked. Quinoa. Huckleberry sauce on the venison.”

“See, that’s just wrong. Fruit and meat don’t go together.”

“If I get you plain cheese pizza, instructing them to leave off the kale and the strange mushrooms and any other suspect ingredients, will you come? Have a heart. I’m trying not to be pathetic and broadcast that I don’t have a date for the weekend, and haven’t had one for quite some time.”

“You aren’t going to get one if you’re out with another guy.”

“Maybe I’ll find the competitive type, looking to take me away from another man. Alpha dog. Master of all he surveys. Gets all the hot women.”

He shot another look at her, and she sighed and said, “Yes. My goggles are on my forehead, my respirator’s around my neck, my glasses are on my sweaty face, and I’m wearing overalls. Leave me my illusions. Dress up and go out with me. We can at least look.”

Dakota’s night out didn’t start exactly perfectly.

When she came out of the bedroom at six-forty-five, practically midnight dining by Wild Horse standards, Russell looked her over from his spot in his easy chair and said, “Maybe you want to wear some pants that aren’t ripped.”

“They’re supposed to be that way. They’re distressed.”

“Huh. See, now, I’d say they’re ripped, but could be I’m not up on fashion. It probably doesn’t matter anyway, since it’s Evan. I guess you’re not looking for attention.”