Free Hungry Heart: Konigsburg, Texas, Book 8 by Meg Benjamin Page A

in Spicewood, but I do have to go back to Austin a couple of times a week.”
    He dragged a French fry through a puddle of ketchup on his plate. “So how did you end up in this line of work anyway?”
    “I did some industrial work out of grad school, mainly for engineering firms. Then I switched to environmental chemistry, worked for the EPA for a little while and then moved over to TCEQ.”
    She looked up to find him watching her carefully, eyes narrow. “You’ve got advanced degrees?”
    She nodded. “A masters. From UT.”
    He frowned. “I picked up some course work while I was in the army. Never finished my degree, though.”
    She understood what he was thinking all of a sudden. Maybe because she’d heard it often enough from Lew, back in the days when she was his wife. Only with Lew it was always angry. Hell, I’ve known people with a third-grade education with more sense than those over-educated pissants you work with. She flexed her hands to keep from gripping the fork. “I think folks should get education the way it works best for them. I’ve known a lot of people who got it all in one big dump like I did, but I knew others who kept picking up a piece here and there for the rest of their lives. I never thought one way was better than the other necessarily.”
    “Right.” He leaned back in his chair, his eyes darker in the fading evening light. “It wasn’t easy for you, though, was it—getting a degree in science? How many women were in your classes?”
    “A few. There are more women in science now than there used to be, but you’re right—there still aren’t as many as there should be.”
    “Good for you,” he said slowly. “Good for you for following through on it.”
    Amazingly, she felt her cheeks flush. “Thanks,” she muttered.
    She blew out a breath, spearing a final piece of chicken as she did. Around Chico Burnside she still had absolutely no desire to yawn.
     
     
    Chico glanced down at Andy as they walked up Novarro. She’d been the one to suggest walking instead of using his truck, which was still parked in front of her house. She had a point—it was a nice night. Now, however, he was faced with the hand-holding problem. Shortly to be followed by the far more serious kissing problem.
    At the moment, there was also the staring problem. Given that he’d hit six-five by the time he was sixteen, he’d grown used to attracting a certain amount of attention. He figured Andy Wells probably wasn’t used to having total strangers gawk at her as she walked by. Fortunately, not many people were out on the streets this evening.
    Two families had come into the Coffee Corral as they were finishing dinner, though. A little boy Chico figured for around five stopped dead in his tracks when he saw them. He stared, mouth open, until his mother grabbed his hand and pulled him to their table. Of course, his mom had also done her share of staring before she started muttering to her husband.
    Andy’s cheeks had been noticeably pink by the time they’d left.
    The top of her head came up to his shoulder. That wasn’t unusual. He’d long ago gotten used to looking down when he talked to most people. But if he wanted to hold her hand as they walked, he’d have to reach down and take it. It wasn’t like he could just casually brush against her and take her hand in his.
    Well, hell. He’d never spent so much time thinking about how to hold a woman’s hand before. He leaned down in her direction and gripped her hand lightly.
    Andy didn’t even pause. Instead she laced her fingers in his, glancing up at the moon through the pecan tree branches. “Nice night.”
    “It is that.”
    A couple walked by across the street. The woman’s head turned sharply, watching them as they turned the corner. He didn’t think Andy noticed. He hoped so, anyway.
    “Where does your family live? I mean, I guess I’m assuming they all live around the same area, which may not be true, now that I think about it…”