could come in early to use the kitchen and lock up after hours, and to the kids, and no one else. If the alarm was tripped, an alert would go to the Ruger farm, to Ben's cabin, and to the whole group's phones.
Paula had reduced the diner hours yet again, opening a bit later than she used to so that there were more people around, and closing right after the lunch rush so she could go pick up Lissy and Austin from school. (To Austin's dismay. Having your mom pick you up at the door of the high school probably didn't do much for your adolescent social life.)
"And you haven't had any more trouble?" Dan asked. There was a darkly serious undertone. He was still furious on her behalf about the vandalism, in his quiet way. Having that kind of protectiveness directed at her was a new and strange experience.
"None. It's like they're gone." She added hopefully, "Maybe they are? Maybe they realize they went too far this time."
Dan shook his head. "If they're willing to do this, I don't think we can assume that. They might stay out of sight for a while, but they'll very likely be back."
Paula blew out her breath. "I was afraid you'd say that."
"What's your ex have to say about all of this?" Dan asked carefully.
Paula set down his warmed-up coffee a little harder than she meant to. "I'll only find out if he ever gets in touch with me. Right now I'd cheerfully point these goons in his direction if I had any idea where to send them."
"We could look for him."
"Is finding people what bodyguards do?" she asked, trying to keep it light.
"Not normally. But this is a special case."
"Wow, you guys really must not have much work."
She smiled, but this time Dan barely smiled back, just a slight tug at his mouth. His eyes were serious and intense. "You're worth it, Paula."
Paula dropped her gaze, flushing. "I don't want trouble. Believe it or not, I don't even want to get Terry in hot water. I still don't know how things fell apart like they did. He wasn't a bad man, and I thought for a while after the divorce that we could still be friends. Now I don't even know how much of that was a lie. After all, he was lying to me about literally everything else."
"Whether he's good or bad or neither, he put you and the kids in danger," Dan said. His voice was icy, and hard enough to even make Mina—who didn't appear to be paying attention to the adults—glance up from the ice cream and coloring book spread out in front of her. "And he's not willing to man up and come back here and fix his problem."
"He might not even know about it." She couldn't believe she was defending Terry of all people. "I mean, I don't think he'd do anything to endanger the kids. Whatever else he is, I believe that he loves them."
Dan huffed out a sigh and looked like he wanted to argue further, but ground his teeth and backed down. "I'm not going to show up on his doorstep and hustle him, if that's what you're worried about. It's up to you. But it seems to me that none of this is going to be resolved, at least not easily, without involving him somehow. Or contacting the police."
Paula shook her head. "No police. Not yet. Look, I ... I can dig up some of my old correspondence with him tonight. The support checks and the kids' birthday cards, whatever I have around. How does that sound?"
"That would help a lot," Dan said earnestly. "And now, how about a topic that's not your ex?"
She had to laugh. "I really wouldn't mind, thanks."
He smiled too, but it dropped away, his gaze turning soft and serious. "How would you feel about a real date? I had a great time with your family—our families—" He said it unselfconsciously; he didn't even seem to notice that he had referred to the Rugers that way. "But I'd like to take you out to a nice restaurant. Show you a good time."
Paula's breath hitched in her throat. "Well," she said, "the options are the Char Pit bar and grill, or La Taquerita. Meat char-grilled, or meat with beans and cheese, that's what this town has for fine dining."
Dan broke into a brilliant smile. "Is that a yes?"
"Of course it's a yes." She felt ridiculously happy and light, as