We sent him to a rehabilitation program, but it didn’t do much good. What is so fascinating about Bascom?”
Rucker handed her a chicken breast and took a big bite from a biscuit. He chewed heartily, his green eyes completely content to do nothing but gleam at her with unabashed admiration. Then he swallowed and said, “He and me sat at the town square a while and shot spit balls at the cars on Main Street. He tells great stories. He’s a very happy, contented man. He gets a pension from the Army and he—”
“You shot spit balls?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Do you enjoy provoking people everywhere you go?”
“Well, we didn’t hit anything but a furniture truck from Mobile,” Rucker protested. “And only because it was movin’ slow.”
Dinah shook her head in resignation. “And what sophisticated business do you have planned for the afternoon?”
“Well, I’m gonna drive down to Birmingham and play a little golf with the mayor there, then I’m comin’ back here to go dove huntin’ with Dewey tonight.” He sighed. “I have to find something to do, since you’re gonna ignore me and spend your evening at a city budget meeting.”
“The chief? You made friends with my police chief and he’s taking you dove hunting?”
“Sure. I want to ask him what it’s like to be a black chief of police in Alabama.”
“Do you even like to hunt?”
“Of course!” He looked grandly offended. “I’m a real man, right?”
“No doubt. I recognize it by the mustache.”
He smiled crookedly. “Well, okay. I’ll tell the truth. I haven’t been huntin’ since I was a kid. I’m not too good at it.” He paused. “Actually, I couldn’t even bag a bird at a restaurant.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t mention anything about my huntin’ to the possum.”
She chewed her chicken distractedly and basked in the glow of his vibrant personality and outrageous humor.“So what time do you want me to come for dinner tomorrow?” he asked abruptly.
Dinah coughed, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and eyed him askance. “You weren’t invited.”
“Never stopped me before.” He looked plaintive. “Me and the possum can’t eat a lot of restaurant food. We’re delicate.”
“Like a Mack truck is delicate.” She fumbled with her fork, absently raking it across a cup of greasy potato salad that Rucker apparently thought was wonderful. All right, calm down, she told her skipping heart. Let him come to dinner. Show him that you’re in charge of your wild fantasies and don’t intend to be bowled over by his charm. His incredible charm. “How about seven o’clock? But I can’t promise that you’ll like my cooking. I don’t cook southern.” Dinah glanced wickedly at her fellow teachers, then looked back at Rucker. “How would you like some baked oysters, or maybe some enchiladas?”
“Great,” he said enthusiastically. “I can’t wait.”
When they finished lunch he grasped her hand, squeezed it hard, winked at her, and stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he promised. “Enchiladas or oysters. Hot damn.”
Dinah stood also and squeezed his hand back. She realized with a sinking feeling that she was already anticipating their dinner together. She had to get herself under control before then.
“Be careful when you go hunting,” she told him.
He looked so happy at her concern that she squeezed his hand one more time before she let it go. Rucker said a pleasant good-bye to the rest of her group and strode out the door whistling.
Gita stared after him, sighing blissfully. “He doesn’t care if you’re a size ten and he’s willing to eat oysters and enchiladas for you. Oh, Dinah, this is so romantic.”
“I think,” Nureyev said loudly, “therefore I am!” He preened a little and chanted that bit of philosophy several more times. Finally Dinah turned away fromthe kitchen sink and tossed him a slice of mushroom to stop his chattering. He caught it deftly in his sharp
Rucker handed her a chicken breast and took a big bite from a biscuit. He chewed heartily, his green eyes completely content to do nothing but gleam at her with unabashed admiration. Then he swallowed and said, “He and me sat at the town square a while and shot spit balls at the cars on Main Street. He tells great stories. He’s a very happy, contented man. He gets a pension from the Army and he—”
“You shot spit balls?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Do you enjoy provoking people everywhere you go?”
“Well, we didn’t hit anything but a furniture truck from Mobile,” Rucker protested. “And only because it was movin’ slow.”
Dinah shook her head in resignation. “And what sophisticated business do you have planned for the afternoon?”
“Well, I’m gonna drive down to Birmingham and play a little golf with the mayor there, then I’m comin’ back here to go dove huntin’ with Dewey tonight.” He sighed. “I have to find something to do, since you’re gonna ignore me and spend your evening at a city budget meeting.”
“The chief? You made friends with my police chief and he’s taking you dove hunting?”
“Sure. I want to ask him what it’s like to be a black chief of police in Alabama.”
“Do you even like to hunt?”
“Of course!” He looked grandly offended. “I’m a real man, right?”
“No doubt. I recognize it by the mustache.”
He smiled crookedly. “Well, okay. I’ll tell the truth. I haven’t been huntin’ since I was a kid. I’m not too good at it.” He paused. “Actually, I couldn’t even bag a bird at a restaurant.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t mention anything about my huntin’ to the possum.”
She chewed her chicken distractedly and basked in the glow of his vibrant personality and outrageous humor.“So what time do you want me to come for dinner tomorrow?” he asked abruptly.
Dinah coughed, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and eyed him askance. “You weren’t invited.”
“Never stopped me before.” He looked plaintive. “Me and the possum can’t eat a lot of restaurant food. We’re delicate.”
“Like a Mack truck is delicate.” She fumbled with her fork, absently raking it across a cup of greasy potato salad that Rucker apparently thought was wonderful. All right, calm down, she told her skipping heart. Let him come to dinner. Show him that you’re in charge of your wild fantasies and don’t intend to be bowled over by his charm. His incredible charm. “How about seven o’clock? But I can’t promise that you’ll like my cooking. I don’t cook southern.” Dinah glanced wickedly at her fellow teachers, then looked back at Rucker. “How would you like some baked oysters, or maybe some enchiladas?”
“Great,” he said enthusiastically. “I can’t wait.”
When they finished lunch he grasped her hand, squeezed it hard, winked at her, and stood up. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he promised. “Enchiladas or oysters. Hot damn.”
Dinah stood also and squeezed his hand back. She realized with a sinking feeling that she was already anticipating their dinner together. She had to get herself under control before then.
“Be careful when you go hunting,” she told him.
He looked so happy at her concern that she squeezed his hand one more time before she let it go. Rucker said a pleasant good-bye to the rest of her group and strode out the door whistling.
Gita stared after him, sighing blissfully. “He doesn’t care if you’re a size ten and he’s willing to eat oysters and enchiladas for you. Oh, Dinah, this is so romantic.”
“I think,” Nureyev said loudly, “therefore I am!” He preened a little and chanted that bit of philosophy several more times. Finally Dinah turned away fromthe kitchen sink and tossed him a slice of mushroom to stop his chattering. He caught it deftly in his sharp
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