Breeding Ground by Sally Wright Page B

through.”
    â€œHas he talked about himself much?”
    â€œNo. Actually. Now that you mention it, he’s talked more about the people he met.”
    â€œThat’s what I would’ve thought.
    â€œSo what did you do?”
    â€œIn the war?”
    â€œYes.”
    Alan didn’t answer. He took a first bite of leg of lamb, and another sip of wine. He gazed at his plate, at the table, at the wine, swirling it slowly in his glass, without once looking at Jo. “I’m not allowed to talk about it.”
    â€œOkay. Then how do you know about French wines?”
    â€œMy mother’s French, and I’ve spent time there. She teaches French in a high school in Schenectady, New York. My dad works for G.E. as an aeronautical engineer. I have three sisters. Two older. One younger.”
    â€œWere you in France during the war?”
    Alan paused for a second, before he said, “Yes.”
    â€œThat must’ve been scary.”
    â€œEspecially for someone as mild-mannered as I?” Alan’s eyes smiled even if his mouth didn’t, as he poured her more wine. “You do what you have to do, Jo. We were everyday guys. From every possible niche in society. From every part of the country.”
    â€œSo what can you tell me about what you did?”
    â€œAll I think I can say is that when the U.S. Army was moving into an area, I’d help them establish local civil governments. There were a lot of political factions inside France, in and out of the Resistance, and I tried to help sort things out.”
    â€œThat couldn’t have been easy. Trying to figure out what was going on, and who was telling you the truth, and not trample on French toes.”
    â€œ
That
would be an understatement!” Alan laughed and shook his head, before he cut a forkful of lamb. “Bob Harrison seems to like you.”
    â€œAre you trying to change the subject?”
    â€œNo, but—”
    â€œHe and my dad were really good friends. How do you like working in a family business?”
    â€œI like it so far. Though it’s too early to tell long term. The family part is interesting.”
    â€œYeah, I’ll bet it is.”
    â€œDo you know anything about the son?”
    Jo looked left and right, as though she was afraid of eavesdroppers, before she said, “I’m not allowed to talk about it.”
    â€œVery amusing.”
    â€œSorry. I couldn’t resist. Anyway, I don’t know Brad well, but it’s always seemed to me he wasn’t really interested in the business. I know he was kind of coddled as a kid. He had some sort of health problems. Nothing serious I don’t think, but he didn’t do any sports, and he didn’t work too hard at anything he tried.”
    â€œThanks. That actually helps.”
    â€œMiss Grant?” A short, plump, middle-aged waiter was walking up to the booth carrying a plug-in phone. “A gentleman wishes to speak with you.”
    It was Buddy Jones calling to tell Jo her Uncle Toss had been kicked by Tuffian, and he’d taken Toss to the hospital and was calling from there.
    â€œToss’s one leg is broke in a couple places, and the other leg’s hurt some too from a real nasty double-barrel kick. A truck backfired, or a gun got shot or somethin’, over toward the road, and Tuffian, he twirled around and kicked out. Mr. Toss had just got his lead rope on him, and was fixin’ to lead him to the gate. They’re operating on Mr. Toss now, and they say it’ll take a good long while.”
    Alan watched Jo pace the corridor, high heels clicking on the vinyl tile, as she waited for the surgeon to tell her about Toss.
    She flopped down eventually in the plastic chair next to Alan, and crossed one good-looking leg over another, swinging it fast while she shifted in her seat. “You see what this means, don’t you?”
    â€œTo Toss, or you?” Alan smiled when he said it.
    But Jo