Free Seasons Under Heaven by Beverly LaHaye, Terri Blackstock Page B

gave her an apologetic glance. “Hey, you can’t blame a guy for tryin’. So where do you want to eat?”
    She found that she wasn’t hungry anymore. “I don’t care, John. Frankly, I’d rather just go home.”
    “But that’s scandalous,” he said. “I can’t take a gal home after less than an hour!”
    “Scandalous?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Come on, John, you’re not going to get what you came for, so just take me on home. Consider it a dating nightmare.”
    “Mine or yours?”
    “Mine,” she shot back. “Only it’s usually my nightmare for my daughter. I never dreamed I’d be the one to be attacked. I thought the hormones kind of leveled off when you reached middle age.”
    He was more offended by her assessment of his age than his behavior. “Come on, I’m not that old!”
    “Just take me home.”
    “Man, you can hold a grudge!” he bit out. “I said I was sorry, for Pete’s sake! My worst crime was bein’ attracted to a good-lookin’ woman. Sue me.”
    When he missed the turn that would have taken them to her house, she shot him a look. “Where are we going?”
    “To a restaurant,” he said.
    “I told you to take me home.”
    “Well, I’m not gonna do it.” His tone was softer, more conciliatory. “We’re goin’ to a restaurant, we’re gonna eat, we’re gonna enjoy each other’s company—and you’ll forgive me. I messed up, okay? I shouldn’t have got so friendly so soon. It’s just that you’re such a knockout. I couldn’t help it.”
    She wondered if that was meant to flatter her. “I don’t want to have dinner with you, John.”
    He pulled into the restaurant parking lot and let the car idle. “Relax. It’s just dinner. I can’t do anything to you in front of all these people.”
    She couldn’t believe all the arrangements she’d made, the stupid dress, the makeup. She felt like such a fool. Now she felt like some three-year-old, holding her breath until she got her way, refusing to budge—and it was John who’d put her in this awkward position. She remembered why she hated men.
    “Guess I don’t blame you for bein’ mad,” he said in a softer voice. “I really don’t behave this way with every woman I go out with. In fact, I don’t even date all mat much. I’m a real homebody. I was just a little nervous before I picked you up, so I had a glass of wine. It must have just loosened me up a little too much.”
    She tried to appear disinterested, but finally she sneaked a peak at him. “You were nervous about taking me out?”
    “Of course I was. You’re a beautiful, classy blonde who has everything goin’ for her. I figure you’re the town catch. What would you possibly see in a good ole boy like me?”
    Something about the vulnerability in his confession softened her attitude toward him. She sat quietly for a moment. He let the quiet pass between them. Finally, she glanced toward the restaurant. It was Alexander’s, and she’d been wanting to go there. What harm could it do to let him buy her a steak?
    “All right,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s go.”
    “Really?” he asked.
    “Yes,” she said. “But please don’t drink anymore. It doesn’t become you.”
    He nodded and they went in, and she tried to forget the first part of the date as the second rolled by.
    It wasn’t that John was a poor conversationalist; it was just that his choice of topics was limited. After the first half hour of talking about himself, she’d wished they could move on to another topic. But he hadn’t exhausted all the possibilities yet. He had just exhausted her.
    She had a headache by the time the meal was over. Though he’d had no more to drink, and she hoped the food had dulled his appetite, she found him getting familiar again as they drove home.
    “Sure you don’t want to go back up to the Point?”
    “Positive. Take me home, John. I need to get there before my daughter does.”
    “How old is she, anyway?”
    “Fifteen.”
    “She