She looked around. “Well, while it’s not crowded and I’m finishing my chores behind the bar, we’ll get to know each other. I don’t date. I especially don’t date customers.”
“We don’t have to think of it as a date—”
“I like you, Dakota, but no. The answer is no. I’m not interested in dating. Not even just a coffee date.”
“I could tell you about all the times I got in trouble in the Army. You could tell me all your babysitting stories. You could fill me in on the town and I could tell you all about their trash.”
“Seriously,” she said. “Do I have to get my big brother?”
He slammed a fist to his chest. “Oh God! Not the big brother!”
“Don’t be cute,” she said.
He chuckled. “All right,” he said. “Can I have a Juicy Lucy? With jalapeños?”
“Medium?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
“That’s better. Now, enjoy your beer and don’t give me any trouble.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. What did you do over the weekend?” he asked. “On your days off.”
She ignored him while she keyed in his order. He could tell she was deciding whether it was a good idea to talk with him about personal things. Then she was back. “I did laundry, took the boys to the store for sporting gear, went for a hike, made their favorite Saturday night dinner, watched two movies and read a book.”
“A whole book?” he asked.
She just made a face. “What did you do?”
“We had a family dinner,” he said. “I have family here, did I mention that?”
“A brother, you said.”
“A brother, a sister, a sister-in-law and her father, a potential brother-in-law, a six-month-old niece. We ate, and after Sully went home we played poker till midnight.”
Her mouth fell open. Bingo, he thought. He was going to keep his private life from the town for now, but getting this woman’s attention had been too problematic.
“You’re related to Sully?” she asked.
“You know him?”
“Everybody knows Sully.”
“Then you probably know Cal, Maggie, Sierra and Connie. My family.”
“You didn’t tell me,” she said. “I consider them all friends. Not that we socialize or anything, but we see each other here and there. I see Sierra sometimes since we both work in town. Hmm.”
He smiled. “Now can we have coffee?”
“No,” she said.
“But you like my whole extended family!”
“Right,” she said. “And you’re a perfectly nice guy but you’re looking for a woman. Not a friend.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” he tried.
“I’m sure,” she said.
“What if I gave you my word we could be friends?” he asked.
“I’m getting Rob,” she said, turning as if to leave.
“Okay, I give up,” he said. “So, where’s a good place to hike around here?”
“You didn’t get enough of that in the Army? Sully’s place is sitting in the middle of some of the best trails. When you wear out those, head up to Boulder—awesome views.”
“Your nephews hike?”
“I need handcuffs and leg irons to get them to stick to hiking. They want to run, climb, dangle from cliffs, work out. They’re athletic and at their ages the hormones are just kicking in—lots of energy there.”
“How are they doing in school? You know, academically.”
“Fine,” she said. “As long as they’re doing well, we don’t harangue them. They’re kids. They both help out here and at home. They’re very good boys.”
“So the whole family works in the bar,” he said.
“Well, the boys can’t be in the bar—they’re minors. But there’s plenty to do around here. What about your family? I know what Sierra does. And Connie. I get firefighters and cops in here all the time.”
“We all help out at Sully’s, especially in spring. He’s getting ready for summer when his campground is full all the time. And after a long winter there’s plenty to do. Cal does a little lawyering here and there and Maggie works in Denver three to four days a week. And then there’s Elizabeth, who is brilliant. They keep trying to shame me into babysitting just to watch me squirm.”
“You don’t like kids?”
“Kids are great but I don’t do diapers. If they leave me alone with her I know something like that’s going to come up.”
“You might have children of your own someday. Then what?”
“Well, I’m not counting on that, but if it does happen, the baby’s mother will have to train me. I have no experience in that.”
“So, there are three kids in your family...”
“Four actually,” he said. “Cal’s the oldest. I have an older sister and Sierra’s the baby.”
“Older sister?”
“Wait for it,” he said. “Sedona. Two years younger than Cal, two years older than me. Cal’s name is actually California Jones.”
“That’s kind of...amazing,” she said. “Was there some significance? Something special about those places?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve never been to either North or South Dakota. We did spend some time in California. My parents were... What’s a nice word? Freethinkers. Kind of hippies, for lack of a better description. It got us two states, one city and a mountain range.”
“That’s very cool,” she said.
“I spent most of my childhood on a farm in Iowa,” he said. “The kids in rural Iowa didn’t really find it cool. They found it strange.”
“They must have no imagination in Iowa,” she said. “I think it’s lovely. Interesting and lovely.”
She was such a nice person, he thought. And she was killing those jeans. He was going to have to be very patient. She had something going on in her head.
“Let me ask you something,” he said. “Why the big aversion
