to scroll across his hard face, leaving scars that were visible for a few seconds.
“You need to go to one of those exotic restaurants and have something to cheer you up,” she pointed out.
He stared at her for a moment and then chuckled. “How about going with me?” he teased.
She shook her head. “Sorry. I’ve been warned about you.”
“How so?” he asked, and seemed really interested in her answer.
She grinned. “I’m not in your league, Mr. Rourke,” she said. “Small-town girl, never been anywhere, never dated much...” He looked puzzled. She gave him her best starstruck expression. “I want to get married and have lots of kids,” she said enthusiastically. “In fact, I’m free today after five...!”
He glowered at her. “Damn! And I’ve got a meeting at five.” He snapped his fingers. “What a shame!”
“Just my luck. There, there, I’m sure you’ll find someone else who can’t wait to marry you,” she added.
“No plans to marry, I’m afraid,” he replied. Then he seemed to get it, all at once. His eyebrows arched. “Are you having me on?”
She blinked. “Am I having you on what?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I can’t marry you,” he said. “It’s against my religion.”
“Which religion would that be?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I’ll have to find one that prohibits marriage...” He burst out laughing.
She grinned.
“I get it. I’m a bit slow today. Must stem from missing breakfast.” He shook his head. “Damned weird food you Yanks serve for breakfast, let me tell you. Grits? What the hell is a grit?”
“If you have to ask, you shouldn’t eat one,” she returned, laughing.
“I reckon.” He smiled. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Ms. Blair.”
“Miss,” she said. “I don’t run a company and I’m not planning to start my own business.”
He blinked. “Come again?”
She frowned. “How can I come again if I haven’t left?”
He moved closer to the desk. “Confound it, woman, I need a dictionary to figure out what you’re saying.”
“You can pin a rose on that,” she agreed. “Are you from England?”
He glared at her. “I’m South African.”
“Oh! The Boer Wars. You had a very famous general named Christiaan de Wet. He was a genius at guerilla warfare and was never captured by the British, although his brother, Piet, was.”
He gaped at her.
She smiled shyly. “I collect famous generals. Sort of. I have books on famous campaigns. My favorites were American, of course, like General Francis Marion of South Carolina, the soldier they called the ‘Swamp Fox’ because he was so good at escaping from the British in the swamps during the Revolutionary War,” she laughed. “Then there was Colonel John Singleton Mosby, the Gray Ghost of the Confederacy. I also like to read about Crazy Horse,” she added shyly. “He was Oglala Lakota, one of the most able of the indigenous leaders. He fought General Crook’s troops to a standstill at the Battle of the Rosebud.”
He was still gaping.
“But my favorite is Alexander the Great. Of all the great military heroes, he was the most incredible strategist...”
“I don’t believe it.” He perched himself on the edge of her desk. “I know South Africans who couldn’t tell you who de Wet was!”
She shrugged. “I used to spend a lot of time in the library. They had these old newspapers from the turn of the twentieth century. They were full of the Boer Wars and that famous Boer General de Wet,” she laughed. “I almost missed class a couple of times because I was so entranced by the microfilm.”
He laughed. “Actually, I’m distantly related to one of the de Wets, not really sure if it was Christiaan, though. My people have been in South Africa for three generations. They were originally Dutch, or so my mother said.”
“Rourke is not really a Dutch name, is it?” she asked.
He sighed. “No. Her name was Skipper, her maiden name.”
“Was your father Irish?”
His face closed up. That one brown eye looked glittery.
“Sorry,” she said at once. “That was clumsy. I have things in my past that I don’t like to think about, either.”
He was surprised at her perception. “I don’t speak of my father,” he said gently. “Didn’t mean to unsettle you.”
“No problem,” she said, and smiled. “We’re sort of the sum total of the tragedies of our lives.”
“Well put.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I might reconsider about that marriage thing...”
“Sorry. My lunch hour’s over.”
“Damn.”
She laughed.
He studied her with real interest. “There’s this do, called a Valentine’s Day dance, I think. If you need a partner...?”
“Thanks, but I have a date,” she said.
“Just my luck, being at the end of the line, and all,” he chuckled.
“If you go, I’ll dance with you,” she promised.
“Will you, now? In that case, I’ll dust off my tux.”
“Just one dance, though,” she added. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to get you gossiped about or anything.”
“Got it.” He winked and got to his feet. “If you’ll pass that note along to the chief, I’ll be grateful. See you around, I expect.”
“I expect so,” she replied.
* * *
WHAT A VERY strange man, she thought. He was charming. But she really didn’t want to complicate her life. In his way, he seemed far more risky than even Carson, in a romantic sense.
When she got home, she mentioned his visit to her father.
“So now you know who Rourke is,” he chuckled.
“He’s very nice,” she said. “But he’s a sad sort of person.”
“Rourke?” he asked, and seemed almost shocked.
“Yes. I mean, it doesn’t
