The scene? Heh.
Daphne flapped her hands at Nash. “Now, Cowboy Hot, you stand in front of Calla, um, hand on her waist. And Kirby, you were chasing after Gus, who was doing some chasing of his own. Some poor unsuspecting woman who just wanted to eat her lunch in peace.”
Gus stuck his tongue out at Daphne. “She had Cheez-Its. Calla won’t let me have them because they’re too high in salt. I just asked if I could have a couple s’all,” Gus defended, his weathered face—likely in his youth, quite handsome—going all innocent.
“You did not just ask for Cheez-Its, Casanova,” Calla chided, moving around Nash to reach forward and wipe crumbs from Gus’ mouth. “You asked her if she was up for some foreplay with her Cheez-Its. You can’t do that, Gus. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. Women in this day and age won’t put up with that kind of sexist behavior. You’re going to find yourself locked up in the county jail for sexual harassment one day, pal.”
Gus scrunched up his face at her. “Whatever happened to the good old days, when a man was in charge and the women just made sandwiches all nice and quiet in the kitchen?”
Nash barked a laugh, slapping Gus on the back. “I think they went the way of floggings at high noon, my man. As in kaput.”
“Hey!” Clive called from the edge of the lake, where he lobbed bread at the ducks, his feet in the murky water. “Are we doing this? It’s almost time for snack back at the center. If that damn Swanson eats my tapioca, I’m gonna beat his scrawny butt with my cane. Not to mention, in case you two lovebirds hadn’t noticed, the sun is two feet from my face. It’s hot. Get ’er done!”
Clive was right. It was too hot for them to be out here, especially the seniors from the center. “Kirby? Take Clive and Gus back to the center, please. I don’t want anyone passing out from this infernal heat.”
“Aw, the hell I’m goin’ back now!” Clive shouted, hiking up his plaid shorts and wandering into the lake. “I’m not gonna be the one to screw this up. Plus, we got a new pool goin’ on. How long will it take before Marlboro Man remembers his Calla-Lilly?”
“Did I call you Calla-Lilly?” Nash rumbled, sending a shiver of longing down her spine.
Pressing the bottle of the water to her cheeks, she shook her head. “No. The only people who call me that are my grandfather and Denny Parks. Denny, totally against my will, mind you.”
Nash visibly bristled, his jaw tightening. “Parks calls you that? Why so intimate?”
“So you remember him?”
Nash paused a moment and slow-nodded. “Yeah, I remember him. In fact, he was just out at my ranch the other day.”
Calla’s alarm bells sang a warning tune. “Denny was at your ranch? You two can’t stand each other. Why would he come to your ranch? What did you talk about?”
Now he frowned. “I’ll be damned if I can remember. It’s no secret I don’t like him. I’ve never liked Denny.”
Indeed. This was something she’d mentally store away until she could get her hands on Denny and ask him why he’d been at Nash’s. Maybe he had something to do with this?
“So you didn’t answer the question. Why is Denny so intimate with your nickname?”
“Why do you ask?” She crossed her fingers it was because he remembered one of the reasons why he disliked Denny.
He paused a moment then shook his head. “I don’t know. Parks is no friend of mine, but I’m not sure why him calling you anything makes me want to bury his head under a trough of pig slop.”
She tried to keep her cool, but on the inside, her organs stood up and cheered. “You and Denny don’t get along because of me—or partially, anyway. I think you don’t like him for other reasons as well, but I exacerbated the situation.”
Nash’s eyes narrowed suspiciously exactly the way they had when he’d first found out Denny had a thing for her. “Is that because he has eyes for you, too?”
Yippee! “Sort of. Though, I mostly think it’s because he hates the idea of a werewolf and warlock together. The two of you were always butting heads when it came to me because of it, and my kind typically disapproves of us mingling with someone outside our species.”
He leaned in toward her, the scent of his cologne just as Renee had described. “Typically disapproves? I’ve heard that about your kind—all sorts of rules for mating, is that the word? So why didn’t they didn’t disapprove of us? Or did they, and maybe that’s why this is happening?”