his lanky form. “You are awesome! This is going to be so much fun. I’ve wanted to see Bigfoot and Grave Digger go head-to-head for two years!”
David’s dimples flashed. “All righty then. See you tomorrow night. Six-thirtyish?”
“I’m there, buddy.” They slapped a high five and David disappeared down the corridor toward the engineering room.
“Bigfoot?” Ian spoke from behind her. “As in monster trucks?”
In her excitement, she’d practically forgotten he was there. She turned toward him, unable to wipe the silly grin from her face. A night out, watching her favorite drivers and yelling with the crowd would work wonders for her right now. She couldn’t wait to tell Carlotta that they finally had tickets.
She hitched a shoulder. “Everybody needs a hobby.”
A half smile lifted the edge of Ian’s mouth. “And yours is monster truck races?”
She slapped a hand on one hip.
“Got a problem with that, preacher man?” Goodness, that sounded flirty. She let her hand drop.
Ian laughed. The simple action did amazing things to his face. “You don’t seem the type.”
“Neither do you.”
“All men like big, noisy trucks. Even preachers.”
“I meant you don’t seem the preacher type.”
“Ah. Well. Thanks.” He looked as if the statement pleased him. “I guess we’re even then.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning stereotypes. Sometimes people judge you for not fitting the mold.”
“I guess I did that to you, didn’t I?”
“So, do we have a deal? You spend some time at the mission. Give us a chance to prove ourselves?” He flashed another of those killer grins. “Except for Friday night, of course. Can’t let you miss Bigfoot.”
Okay, so he was charming. And good-looking. Big deal. She was not about to get distracted by a gentle voice and a pair of gorgeous blue eyes. Not when they might hide a wicked heart.
As he motored down St. Charles Avenue, Ian dialed the Baton Rouge number on his cell phone and waited for the snick of connection. He’d been so busy he hadn’t called Mom, something he tried to do every day. Since his father’s death two years ago, he worried about her. At seventy-one, she was older than most of his friends’ parents but refused to admit that age was in any way affecting her. She still gardened and ran the women’s auxiliary at church, collected donations for the mission and swam daily at the health club.
A breathless voice answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Mom?”
“Hi, baby. How’s my boy?”
Ian slowed to a stop, grinning at the traffic light above him. Even if he was approaching six feet tall and pushing thirty, he would always be Mom’s “baby.” An only child, she’d told him over and over how special he was because he’d come along after she and Dad had given up on ever having kids. His buddies had forever teased him about being a mama’s boy. But he didn’t care. He knew there was a difference between being a wimpy mama’s boy and a man who respected and loved the woman who’d not only given him life, but a wonderful upbringing, as well.
Besides, the guys had all been crazy about her, too, and called her “Mama Margot.”
“You sound out of breath. Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course I am.” He could practically see her hand flapping away the suggestion of illness. “I was in the garage and I like to broke my neck getting to the phone. That silly dog is always underfoot.”
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