Free Open Season by Linda Howard

language.
    “Your browser,” she repeated. “How old is your system?”
    He shrugged. “Two or three years.”
    “Have you upgraded at all since you bought it?” She knew the answer even before she asked the question. She would love to leave him to figure it out on his own, but good manners and a lifetime of being helpful prodded her conscience. She was a librarian; it was her duty to help him with the virtual library. “Do you have a laptop or a desktop?” She bet on the laptop. He was the impatient sort who would want to move his computer around to where it was most convenient for him.
    “Laptop.”
    She awarded herself two points. “If you’ll bring it by, I’ll show you how to upgrade. If you have enough memory, of course.” Let him decide if she was talking about his brain or his computer.
    From the way his eyes narrowed, he must have suspected the former, but he let it pass. “It’s in the car.” He strode back to the city-owned Crown Victoria and got the laptop out of the front passenger seat, carrying it easily in one hand.
    She unlocked the employees’ entrance and turned to take the laptop. “You can pick it up at lunch,” she said.
    He retained possession of the machine. “Can’t you do it now?”
    “I intend to, but it’ll take a few minutes.”
    “How many is a few?”
    Her heart sinking, she realized he intended to wait. “Don’t you have to go to work?”
    He indicated the pager on his belt. “I’m always at work. How many is a few?” he repeated.
    Damn modern electronics, she thought resentfully. The last thing she wanted was to have him
hovering.
“It depends.” She tried to think how long might be too long. “Forty-five minutes or an hour.”
    “I’ll wait.”
    Double damn. Her only consolation was that updating the browser wouldn’t take nearly that long; then he’d be on his way.
    “Fine. Meet me at the front door.” She stepped inside and almost hit him in the nose with the door as he stepped forward. He slapped his free hand up just in time to stop it.
    “I’ll come in this way,” he said, glaring at her.
    Daisy squared her shoulders. “You can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    She thought that should have been obvious. She pointed to the sign on the door, just inches from his nose. “This is the employees’ entrance. You aren’t an employee.”
    “I’m a city employee.”
    “You aren’t a library employee, and that’s what counts.”
    “Hell, lady, what’s it going to hurt?” he asked impatiently.
    More points on the bad side. His demerits were rivaling the score of an NBA game. “No. Go to the front door.”
    Her stubborn expression must have finally registered. He eyed her, as if considering simply bullying his way past her, but with a muttered curse he turned on his heel and stormed around to the front of the building.
    She was left standing there with her eyes as big as saucers. He’d said the F word. She was fairly certain that was what she’d heard. She’d heard it before, of course; one couldn’t watch many movies these days without hearing it. She’d also gone to college, where young people tried to impress each other with how cool and sophisticated they were by using all the foul words they knew; she’d even said it herself. But Hillsboro was a small southern town, and it was still considered ill-mannered for men to use such language in front of women. Women who wouldn’t turn a hair at hearing anything from their husbands or boyfriends in private would poker up like Queen Victoria if it were said in public. And to say such a thing to a woman you didn’t know well was a total no-no, indicative of a total lack of manners and respect—
    A thunderous banging on the front door interrupted her indignant reverie; the beast was already at the door. Muttering to herself, she hurried through the darkened library to unlock the front door.
    “What took you so long?” he snapped as he stepped inside.
    “I was frozen in shock by your language,” she