The Family Gathering (Sullivan's Crossing #3)(8)

He looked at Sid. She was in her thirties, he guessed. Her long hair was blond. Or reddish blond. She had that freckly pale skin of an Irish lass. She was quick, physically and verbally. And she didn’t flirt, but she was friendly. Or maybe neighborly was a better word. She treated him like she treated everyone else in the bar.

He was almost finished with his burger by the time Sid placed the salad in front of the woman at the bar. She shook out her napkin, placed it on her lap and picked up her fork. Then she looked at him and smiled. “Hi,” she said. “I’m sorry, I should have been more polite and said hello when I first sat down.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said, picking up a couple of fries. “You were busy. Texting, I assume. Our world’s great new communication tool.”

She laughed lightly. “Actually, checking social media. It’s a convenient way to stay up-to-date on friends and events, et cetera.”

He just nodded and chewed. He’d been able to avoid indulging in the big social media machine. He was guilty of communicating by texts and emails, however.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before,” she said. “I’m Neely.”

“Dakota,” he said, giving her a smile.

“Passing through?” she asked.

He tilted his head and gave that now-automatic shrug. “Visiting,” he said. “I have a brother not far from here. You?”

“Me? I’m a new resident. I have a couple of business interests in town but I actually live in Aurora, not too far from here.”

“Is Aurora a nice place to live?” he asked, shifting the discussion from him.

“It is,” she said, dabbing her lips with her napkin, leaving red lipstick stains on the white cloth. He glanced at Sid and caught her again, watching. “I couldn’t find anything around here I liked but there’s more to choose from in Aurora. And there’s more to do, more restaurants, more shopping, a little more culturally upmarket, more of everything. But then, Timberlake is more of a sportsmen and ranchers and tourists kind of place. Of course, the population is much larger in Aurora. So,” she said, spearing some salad. “Married?”

He chuckled. That was direct. “No,” he said. And he didn’t volley the question back to her.

“And how do you make a living, Mr....?”

“Dakota is fine. I’m just out of the Army. I have an interview with the county. I’m thinking of maybe picking up trash. I hear the benefits are excellent.”

There was a sound from down the bar but Neely didn’t appear to have heard it. Dakota knew where that had come from. Sid was amused. He was sure she’d snickered.

“Sounds like dirty work,” Neely said.

“I hear they give you gloves,” he said. Then he asked himself why he was doing this. She was bold. Bolder even than Alyssa. He must be giving off some kind of scent—available man who is in dire need. “The pay is good,” he added. “And that’s why we have showers.”

“And I’m sure it’s temporary,” she said.

“And how do you make a living?” he asked, and immediately regretted it.

“I’m into a lot of different things. I’ve been lucky. I’m invested in a few businesses and properties. And that, my friend, turns out to be a full-time job.”

“I’m sure,” he said.

“Isn’t this the best little bar?” she asked, to which he agreed. And she commented on this being the best time of year. She asked him if he liked to hunt or fish and he said he hoped to do some of that. She told him, between bites of her salad, that she was reading the most wonderful book about fly-fishing in Montana and she couldn’t believe how much it made her want to try it. He answered her superficial questions without giving away too much personal information. He did not offer to teach her fly-fishing. He didn’t elaborate on his connections here. Until he knew what was going on all around him, he didn’t throw out information.

But he noticed things. She wore very nice clothes—knee-high boots and a brushed-leather skirt. A red sweater that showed off a nice figure. A shawl rather than a jacket. Her watch was expensive looking but he was no expert on women’s jewelry. She had model-quality makeup. And the nails...

If this woman had walked into the officer’s club, he’d have beat everyone to the front of the line to buy her a drink. But here, he just didn’t.

They had a pleasant, meaningless conversation. Sid took his plate, refilled his Coke and put his bill on the bar. Neely took a few more bites of salad and then blotted her lips, looked at her watch and said, “Well, I’m off. Late again.” She fixed her black wrap around her shoulders and stood. “Hey, I have an idea. I have a reservation for one for dinner tonight. A very interesting and cozy little restaurant in Aurora—Henry’s. I’d be pleased to make it for two. Let me take you to dinner as a welcome-to-Colorado gesture. And maybe we’ll get to know each other better.”

“That’s very nice of you,” he said, not standing. “I’m afraid I have plans tonight. But thank you.”

She very confidently turned over the receipt for her lunch, popped out a pen and scribbled on the back. The name of the restaurant and her phone number. Also, 7:00 p.m. “Sometimes plans change,” she said, and then she winked at him.