her on a level he was unfamiliar with. There was an urgency in
the air when he was near her.
The sight and scent of her aroused deep, mysterious passions in him—passions he
ached to explore with the same thoroughness with which he explored his other
endeavors.
And it wasn't just the passion—though Lord knew, that was enough.
What captivated him as much as the physical pull was that he couldn't seem to
anticipate her. Zanita Masterson was a surprise in every way. He didn't
understand it, but he wasn't particularly concerned about it. He was confident
he would figure it out in time.
They sat in the sun slowly sipping their lemonades.
Zanita was careful to skirt the topic of the interview until she was ready to
pounce.
Tyber was careful to skirt the issue of his raging desire lest he pounce.
In their quest to avoid certain topics, they found to their surprise a wealth of
other subjects in which they shared similar viewpoints. They liked the same
movies. They loved trying out new restaurants. They itched to travel and
explore, knowing they had a nest at home, waiting. They were open to new ideas
and situations. They shared a love of art and antiques. And most important, they
had a similar sense of humor.
Zanita wondered how it was possible for her to have so much in common with a man
who was a genius.
Tyber calculated the odds of their being perfect together sexually as
exponentially high.
Their thoughts were interrupted by Blooey yelling at the top of his lungs. "Come
'ere, ye scalawag!"
Tyber and Zanita stared at each other silently.
A second later, the gate banged open and a streak of orange fur whizzed by, a
rack of lamb clamped firmly in its jaws.
Blooey followed hot on Hambone's tail, waving a kitchen cleaver. "He's got the
dinner, Captain!"
The cat jumped on top of the barbecue, zealously guarding his prize.
Zanita's hand covered her mouth, but it did little to hide the giggles she could
not suppress. Whoever heard of a cat making off with an entire rack of lamb?
Being chased by a little pirate sporting a cleaver? She broke into peals of
laughter.
Tyber turned to her, more than a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Never mind,
Blooey. We'll pull into Port KFC tonight. My old friend the Colonel has invited
us to dine."
Blooey beamed. "Ye think he'll be serving that fine chicken he does, sir?"
Tyber eyed the half-chewed rack of prime lamb wistfully, "There's a distinct
possibility, sailor."
The three of them piled into the front seat of Tyber's 1955 cherry-red pick-up
truck, affectionately known as "Big Red."
Zanita learned that he had restored the vehicle when he was still in high
school. First the house, now the truck. It seemed the man had a penchant for
bringing things back to life. Rather like Dr. Frankenstein, she mused.
When they stopped at a light, Tyber spoke low in her ear. "What are you laughing
at now? Don't you realize I arranged all of this just to impress you? I had to
promise Hambone a week's supply of filleted salmon. The cat's a tough
negotiator." Tyber pressed on the gas when the light changed.
"I wouldn't doubt that for a minute. Actually, the reason I was laughing was
because I was thinking that you're rather like Frankenstein."
"Frankenstein?" Tyber hit the brakes.
"Oh, don't be offended; I mean the doctor, not the monster."
He eyed her strangely. "Gee, thanks," he said drily. "For a minute there, I
thought I was being insulted. I can't tell you what a relief it is to know you
think of me as a deranged scientist with delusions of godhood instead of an
ordinary old monster."
Blooey let out a bark of laughter. "T'weren't nowhere to go but down on that
one, Captain!"
Tyber lifted one eyebrow. "Indeed."
"Have faith, Captain. Women are difficult creatures at best."
"So I've been told, Blooey." Tyber peered down at Zanita menacingly, then he
spoiled the effect by winking at her.
Zanita grinned back at him, thinking Blooey was right; he did
the air when he was near her.
The sight and scent of her aroused deep, mysterious passions in him—passions he
ached to explore with the same thoroughness with which he explored his other
endeavors.
And it wasn't just the passion—though Lord knew, that was enough.
What captivated him as much as the physical pull was that he couldn't seem to
anticipate her. Zanita Masterson was a surprise in every way. He didn't
understand it, but he wasn't particularly concerned about it. He was confident
he would figure it out in time.
They sat in the sun slowly sipping their lemonades.
Zanita was careful to skirt the topic of the interview until she was ready to
pounce.
Tyber was careful to skirt the issue of his raging desire lest he pounce.
In their quest to avoid certain topics, they found to their surprise a wealth of
other subjects in which they shared similar viewpoints. They liked the same
movies. They loved trying out new restaurants. They itched to travel and
explore, knowing they had a nest at home, waiting. They were open to new ideas
and situations. They shared a love of art and antiques. And most important, they
had a similar sense of humor.
Zanita wondered how it was possible for her to have so much in common with a man
who was a genius.
Tyber calculated the odds of their being perfect together sexually as
exponentially high.
Their thoughts were interrupted by Blooey yelling at the top of his lungs. "Come
'ere, ye scalawag!"
Tyber and Zanita stared at each other silently.
A second later, the gate banged open and a streak of orange fur whizzed by, a
rack of lamb clamped firmly in its jaws.
Blooey followed hot on Hambone's tail, waving a kitchen cleaver. "He's got the
dinner, Captain!"
The cat jumped on top of the barbecue, zealously guarding his prize.
Zanita's hand covered her mouth, but it did little to hide the giggles she could
not suppress. Whoever heard of a cat making off with an entire rack of lamb?
Being chased by a little pirate sporting a cleaver? She broke into peals of
laughter.
Tyber turned to her, more than a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Never mind,
Blooey. We'll pull into Port KFC tonight. My old friend the Colonel has invited
us to dine."
Blooey beamed. "Ye think he'll be serving that fine chicken he does, sir?"
Tyber eyed the half-chewed rack of prime lamb wistfully, "There's a distinct
possibility, sailor."
The three of them piled into the front seat of Tyber's 1955 cherry-red pick-up
truck, affectionately known as "Big Red."
Zanita learned that he had restored the vehicle when he was still in high
school. First the house, now the truck. It seemed the man had a penchant for
bringing things back to life. Rather like Dr. Frankenstein, she mused.
When they stopped at a light, Tyber spoke low in her ear. "What are you laughing
at now? Don't you realize I arranged all of this just to impress you? I had to
promise Hambone a week's supply of filleted salmon. The cat's a tough
negotiator." Tyber pressed on the gas when the light changed.
"I wouldn't doubt that for a minute. Actually, the reason I was laughing was
because I was thinking that you're rather like Frankenstein."
"Frankenstein?" Tyber hit the brakes.
"Oh, don't be offended; I mean the doctor, not the monster."
He eyed her strangely. "Gee, thanks," he said drily. "For a minute there, I
thought I was being insulted. I can't tell you what a relief it is to know you
think of me as a deranged scientist with delusions of godhood instead of an
ordinary old monster."
Blooey let out a bark of laughter. "T'weren't nowhere to go but down on that
one, Captain!"
Tyber lifted one eyebrow. "Indeed."
"Have faith, Captain. Women are difficult creatures at best."
"So I've been told, Blooey." Tyber peered down at Zanita menacingly, then he
spoiled the effect by winking at her.
Zanita grinned back at him, thinking Blooey was right; he did
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