“Refreshing.” She’d had little enough honesty these past few months. Tipping back her beer, she considered. Could she have a short, no-strings attached affair? She didn’t know. She’d never done it before. “I need to think about it.”
“Think away. I’m not going anywhere. Meanwhile, I figure we can get started on the whole getting to know each other better in a non-Biblical sense over dinner. You did promise to feed me.”
How did he do that? Say just the right thing to put her back on even keel? Feeling more at ease, she set the beer aside. “So I did. How do you feel about ultimate nachos?”
“I have no idea what your idea of ultimate nachos entails, but I am amenable to nachos of every conceivable type.”
“Good.” Tugging open the fridge again, she began pulling out ingredients. “There’s just one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
Rowan waited ’til those deep brown eyes met hers. “I’m going to want you to touch me again.”
The instant flare of heat in his eyes was gratifying. “I can definitely handle that.”
She was counting on it.
Nash lifted a loaded chip, breaking the string of gooey cheese and wrapping it around the rest of the mountain of toppings. Rowan Beale absolutely had the market cornered on killer nachos. “Now explain to me exactly how you and Robert are related.”
“Great niece. My grandfather—mom’s dad—is his elder brother. Robert was the oops baby of their generation. Granddad was sixteen when he was born.”
“So he was sort of a big brother uncle to your mom?”
“Exactly. I love my grandfather, but it was always Robert I was closest to. We are, as they say, cut from the same cloth.”
“Down to the same profession.” Nash tried to picture her in uniform, with her hair all bound up and a tough-girl stare. He liked this relaxed version of her better, barefoot in jeans, with her hair still a little mussed from his hands.
“I used to do ride-alongs with him when I came to visit in the summers. He taught me to shoot, how to do takedowns when I was thirteen and getting harassed in school. He’s the reason I became a cop.”
“Me, too. Part-time anyway.”
“Yeah, how exactly does a pilot end up being a reserve officer?” She shoved a chip in her mouth, then licked the guacamole off her fingers. He couldn’t seem to pull his gaze away from the dart of her tongue.
What were they talking about again? Oh, right.
“I was at loose ends when I got out of the Navy. I managed to scrape together enough money to buy Diana, but it takes some time to build up business as a private pilot. Especially since I had no interest in living somewhere big like Atlanta. With my military training, Robert thought law enforcement would be a natural fit, and he convinced me to get the training as a reserve officer to see if I liked it. And I did. But not enough to give up flying. It worked out that I started getting some business as a pilot about the time I finished training, and between the two, I make a comfortable enough living and get to keep doing what I love.”
“There’s something to be said for carving out your own niche. Will you stick with it, now that Robert’s not Chief of Police anymore?”
“Yeah. I’ve been working more regularly with Wishful PD since his first heart attack because they moved Judd Hamilton up as interim Chief. Now that he’s stepped down and moved over to the Sheriff’s Department as an investigator, everybody’s trying to get a feel for the new guy, Ethan Greer. He’s only been here a few weeks, but he seems like a solid cop. Came from the Marshal Service, out of their Dallas office.”
“I can’t imagine how hard that’s been for Robert. I mean, I know he’d been making noises about retirement, but he wanted to do it on his own terms, you know?”
“He likes Ethan, so that helps.” Nash pointed at the last chip between them.
Rowan waved at it and sank back in her chair. “Go right ahead. I think I just ate enough for a week.”
Nash popped it into his mouth and washed it down with the last of his beer. “You know, there’s still a full-time position vacant in the Wishful PD since Judd left.” At her raised brows, he shrugged. “I’m just sayin’. You decide you’re sick of big city policing and all those crowds, there’s an option. You’d be close to Robert, get some more of that peace and quiet you’ve been enjoying the last few days. Plus, there’s the bonus of my pretty face.”
Instead of responding to his flirtatious grin as he’d expected, her blue eyes shuttered and she tipped back her beer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Too much, too fast, he decided. He’d pushed Rowan far enough tonight. “Well, you said the old man is coming home tomorrow. I should probably get out of your hair so you can finish up whatever needs finishing.”
“I’ll get the last of those clothes put away, then we’re ready to go.”
They both rose, working in tandem to clear away the dishes and clean up the mess. Then Rowan walked him to the door.
He paused in the entryway. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Thanks for help with The Chair.”
“Oh, I think you’ve already more than thanked me for that.”
She huffed a laugh. “Were you always this much of an incorrigible flirt?”
“No. As a teenager I was afraid of girls. As an adult, I find it separates out the women who can take a joke. If they’re offended by that kind of behavior, we don’t stand a chance, and it’s not worth wasting my time. If they’ve got a sense of humor, then there’s something worth exploring.”
“Then I guess I have a sense of humor.”
He chucked her under the chin. “See? I knew you were a smart woman.” Because he knew she expected a toe-curling goodnight kiss, and because he figured he’d pressed his luck enough tonight, Nash brushed a soft kiss to her brow and stepped back.
Rowan narrowed her eyes slightly. “You’re just full of surprises.”
“Life’s more interesting that way. See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. If you’re not busy, you want to ride to Lawley with me to get him?”
“Love to. Night, Rowan.”
She stood in the open doorway, watching him as he trotted down the steps and past Robert’s truck. Feeling buzzed on more than the single beer and wanting a last look at her, Nash turned back. But the flirty comment died on his lips as he caught sight of something along the side of the truck.
“What the hell?”
On the porch, Rowan straightened. “What is it?”
Nash pulled the phone from his pocket and swiped on the flashlight. Bright red paint stood in garish relief against the white of the pickup. “Somebody’s sprayed graffiti on Robert’s truck.”
“What?” Rowan flew off the porch, crossing the grass in her bare feet until she stood beside him. Then she swore, long and low, her hands curling to fists.
Nash reached out a finger and tested the paint. “Still tacky. Somebody did this while we were inside having dinner.”
She spun in a circle, scanning the surrounding woods.
“Whoever did it is probably long gone.”
“I didn’t hear an engine. I didn’t hear anything.” She cursed again and turned back to the truck.