She looked back to where the dog sat, patiently waiting. “Pillow.”
“What?”
“I was speaking to my dog. Otherwise, he’d … object when you draw your weapon.”
“Wouldn’t want that.” Brooks passed Abigail the wine, put on the glasses and the ear protectors.
“You use a Glock 22,” she noted. “It’s a good weapon.”
“Gets the job done.” Now he took his stance, loosened his shoulders, fired six rounds.
He glanced back at the dog as he holstered the weapon. Bert hadn’t moved.
Abigail drew in the target, stood a moment, studying the grouping that was a near twin of hers.
“You’re also an excellent shot.”
“I always figure if you carry, you’d better hit what you aim at. I got a good hand with a long gun. My mother’s got a flower child’s objection to guns, could be why I honed a skill with them. Standard rebellion, I suppose.”
“Yes.” She looked up at him. “Have you shot anyone?”
“Not so far. I’d like to go on saying that. I had to draw my weapon a few times, but it never came to firing it.”
“Could you?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know if you never have?”
“Protect and serve.” He looked at her, those changeable eyes sober now. “Protect comes first. I’ve got no business having a badge if I can’t protect. But I’d be happy if it never came to putting a bullet into anyone.” He, too, picked up his brass. “Have you?”
“Shot anyone? No. But then, I’d say that even if I had, to say I had would only lead to more questions.”
“You’re not wrong. Could you?”
“Yes. I could.” She waited a moment. “You don’t ask how I know.”
“I don’t have to. Have you got any of that pie left? And before you ask why, I’ll tell you. Now that we’ve shown each other what good shots we are, I thought we could crack that bottle open, have a glass of wine and a piece of pie.”
“The wine was a ploy.”
“In part, but it’s still a pretty good wine.”
He had his mother’s charm, she decided, and very likely the same skill in getting his way. There was no point denying she found him physically attractive. Her hormonal reaction to his looks, his build, his demeanor, even his voice? Completely natural.
“I can’t eat all the pie. It’s too much for one person.”
“Shame to waste it, too.”
She stowed the protective gear in the seat of the bench. “All right. You can have the pie and the wine. But I won’t have sex with you.”
“Now you hurt my feelings.”
“No, I haven’t.” Deciding to make her position clear, she started for the house. “I like sex.”
“See there, we just keep finding common ground. If this keeps up, we’ll be best friends inside a week.”
“If I wanted friends, I’d join a book club.”
Loosening up, he thought, delighted with the sarcasm. “I like to read, which is another check mark on common ground. But we were talking about sex.”
“The act of sex is a normal physical function, and a pleasant experience.”
“So far, we’re on the same page.”
She took out her keys, unlocked the door. Once inside, she reset the alarm. “It may be you find me physically attractive on some level.”
“All of them, actually.”
“And that may be the reason you came here, with wine. I’ll have a glass of wine with you, but I won’t have sex with you.”
“Okay.” Absolutely delighted with her, he followed her to the kitchen. “Any particular reason why not, other than the fact we haven’t even shared huckleberry pie yet?”
“You ask too many questions. Answering them is annoying and tiresome.”
“Damn that curiosity. Jesus, Abigail, did you smile?”
“It was probably a grimace.”
“Now you made a joke. Any minute you’re going to put on a party hat and dance on the table.”
“You’re funny. I’m not, so I can appreciate someone with natural humor.” She took off the jacket, opened a door to what he assumed was a small utility room and hung it on a peg. “And you’re physically attractive and fit. I prefer having sex with someone who keeps physically fit.”
She got out a corkscrew, and though he would have taken it, opened the wine for her, she set about doing so briskly and efficiently.
What the hell, he thought, and sat. “So far the only strike against me is curiosity?”
“There are others. Proximity, for one, which would make it awkward and problematic when I no longer want to have sex with you.”
“What makes you think you’re going to want to stop having sex with me?”
She got out two glasses, two small plates, two forks. “The law of averages.”
“Oh, that. I defy the law of averages.”
“A lot of people believe they do. They don’t.” She poured the wine, studying him as she offered a glass. “I like your nose.”
“Abigail, you fucking fascinate me. Why do you like my nose?”
“It’s been broken at some point. The lack of symmetry adds character and interest to your face. I like character.”
“And still, no sex for me.”
She smiled again, fully this time. “I’m sure you have other options.”
“That’s true. I make them take numbers, like at a deli.” He waited until she got out the pie, uncovered it. “Do you want to know why I’m not going to have sex with you?”
He’d surprised her, he noted. Stirred her curiosity. “Yes, I would.”
“You’re attractive, and you look pretty … physically fit to me. You’ve got a way of looking at me that feels like you’re looking right through to the back of my brain. I don’t know why that’s sexy, but it is. You need help.”
“I don’t want any help.”
“I didn’t say anything about want. You need help, and I’ve got a weakness for people who need help. I like your dog even though I figure he’s as dangerous, or damn near, as that Glock on your hip. I like the way you talk, like you’re just a little rusty at it. I’d like to feel the shape of your mouth under mine. I’d like that more than I’d considered. But.”
On an exaggerated sigh, he lifted his hands, let them fall. “I’m always going to have questions. So that’s a problem. And while I’m a man, so I’m fairly up for sex if a woman sneezes in my direction, I generally like to get to know her first. Dinner, conversation, that sort of thing.”
“A date. I don’t go on dates.”
“You know, hearing you say that doesn’t surprise me. Now, we’ve shared an activity, shooting at targets. We’ve shared conversations and viewpoints. Now we’re sharing wine and pie. If I stretch that, I could ease it over the line into a date.”
The look she gave him was the definition of flustered. “It’s not a date.”
“By your gauge.” He gestured at her with a forkful of huckleberry pie. “I’ve got my own. That means the only thing stopping me from having sex with you is my naturally curious nature. I can work around that. I can decide it’s not a problem for me; then the only thing stopping me from having sex with you is you being willing.”
“I’m not, so if we’re going to talk, it should be about something else. That wasn’t a challenge,” she added, when it occurred to her. “I didn’t mean to pose a sexual challenge.”
“No, I got you didn’t mean to, but it sure has that flavor. And it’s tasty. Like the pie.”
He scooped up a bite. “Did you design the security system here?”
She looked wary again. “Yes.”
“Cameras, too?”
“Yes. Obviously, I don’t actually manufacture the hardware.”
“Obviously.” He angled to study her computer station. “It’s quite a setup.”
“It’s my work.”
“I’m okay on a computer. I can get done what I need to get done, usually find what I need to find. My father, now, he’s amazing. I get a glitch, he’s my man. It must be the math nerd in him. Were you a math nerd?”
At one time, she remembered, she was an everything nerd. Perhaps she still was. “I enjoy math. Its logic.”
“I coulda figured.” He angled back to her, drank some wine. “I like your place. My mother wants your kitchen.”