Charleston with a Clever Cougar: A Dance with Danger Mystery #6 by Sara M. Barton Page B

chair as I
scrambled to silence the speaker phone function, but I wasn’t in
time. “You should make a play for him. He’s pretty hot.”
    “On that note,” I groaned, rolling my eyes,
“I’ll say good night. Call me if you need me.”
    “Oh, I get it,” laughed Carole, “he’s there
with you now, isn’t he? Daisy said he followed you home. Well,
well, well!”
    “Good night, Carole.”
    “Good night, Cady. Don’t do anything I
wouldn’t do.”
    “Oh, lordy!”
     

Chapter Eleven --
     
    Doc’s arms were crossed as he sat there,
observing my discomfort. Discombobulated by his attention, I rose
and got busy collecting the remains of our dinner. He didn’t say
anything as I started to clear the table -- he just kept on
watching my every move. I was surprised he didn’t get up to help
me, but then I realized I was doing just fine on my own. I loaded
the dishes into the sink to scrape the food down the disposal and
rinse them before putting them into the five-year-old,
less-than-efficient dishwasher. Finally, he made his move and his
point.
    “Why is the idea of dating me such a
repellent idea?” he growled from across the room.
    “I’m sorry?” I looked up at him from the
kitchen sink. He got up out of his chair and took a seat at the
counter opposite where I stood. Arms crossed defiantly, determined
to have it out with me, he started pushing all my buttons, trying
to locate one that would yield to him.
    “You were pretty quick to shoot down the idea
of us dating. Why? Am I too hideous for you?” That gnome face was
set into a grim scowl.
    “When did I shoot the idea down?” I asked.
“And I’ll point out that you weren’t the one making the comment
that we should date, Carole was.”
    “So, if I asked you out, you would go?” Why
did I feel like a zookeeper who was about to get thrown in with the
wild cats? Hungry wild cats. Ravenous, in fact. Wild cats in a
cage, ready to tear me to pieces. I had to tread carefully.
    “Are you asking me out?”
    “Should I?” There was that snarl again.
    “We don’t know each other very well,” I
countered, trying to figure out how to tame the beast that roared.
Doc looked at me like I was the doe in his sights and he was
getting ready to spring for the kill.
    “Is that a yes or a no?” Doc was angry. There
was no escaping that reality. The longer he sat, the more steam
seemed to build up in that pressure cooker mind of his.
    “You’re asking me to make a decision?” I
finished loading the plates in and started on the glasses, dragging
my feet as I tried to analyze the situation.
    “Which is it?” There was something in his
tone that really disturbed me. I thought I heard an ultimatum. And
the second I looked up at him, I recognized it in his eyes. There
was no turning back.
    “Right this minute?” I turned off the
faucet.
    “Yes. And stop stalling. Make a decision or
I’ll make it for you.” For one millisecond, I hesitated. I tried to
wrap my brain around the idea of Doc as a lover, not just a friend.
Dare I risk it? What if it didn’t work out? There was definitely
something about him that I found appealing. He made me feel safe
when he was around, like we’d work out any problem that popped up
in our way. I was getting used to having him in my life and I liked
it. He challenged me in ways no one had before. I felt like I could
be myself, warts and all. But at the same time, he was a difficult
man. He did not suffer fools easily. He was pricklier than a
porcupine. He was argumentative, even cantankerous. But in his own
way, Doc was a healer; he wasn’t afraid to cauterize a wound,
especially an infected one. In the short time I had been spent with
him, I had confronted a very difficult past with new eyes, new
insight.
    “Time’s up,” he announced, shoving his
counter stool back quickly as he stood. “It’s been great knowing
you, Cady. Have a nice life.” In six strides he was at the hall
closet by the front door.
    “Doc,