encounter. A good sign. Then again, she realized with a start, Hannibal the Cannibal at his hungriest would have appeared more relaxed than Dafoe Tillian in those first few moments after the chopper almost hit him. Still, she was looking for normalcy and was reassured: clean khaki cargo pants, crisp white tee, sunglasses that weren’t duct-taped together. Handsome enough that if she’d seen him in fine threads in the city, she would have been more inclined to wonder if he was gay than whether he was a horror. Not that he’d said anything that had registered on her gaydar, just that he was, in fact, good-looking, clean, and shaved. And let’s face it, she told herself, the benchmark for straight guys isn’t real high these days. Clean and shaved? Come on.
Jenna was grateful for her gay friends, including Nicci, but she knew without question that she wanted a husband and children. Now, at thirty-seven, she’d become focused on this. Not panicked about her prospects, but clear of mind and motive.
She shut off her BlackBerry before she stepped from the train. No calls this weekend; Nicci could handle anything that came up. Dafoe took her hand, letting go after they hugged gently. Not too awkward, as such things went. Then he took her bag. He did not attempt further contact while they made their way to his dusty old pickup, which sat right by the station, completely charming in its lack of pretense.
“What’s your preference?” he asked once he closed the door for her, resting his arms on the open window. “I can take you to the B&B, or I could take you to my farm, give you an icy beer, and show you around.”
Decisions, decisions. If she went with him now, they’d have daylight for their first hours together.
“I’m not one to turn down a cold beer on a hot day.”
“You’re a wise woman,” he shouted as he rounded the front of the truck, moving with ease. Like an athlete, she thought.
He drove with the same confidence; and despite the drought, the countryside looked pretty. Dafoe’s twenty-two acres could have been a photo in Sunset magazine, the golden hues of the pastures so enticing that they almost obscured the tindery conditions.
He turned onto a dirt and gravel driveway, and they rolled down the two-track for a quarter mile, cattle fencing on both sides of them. She oohed and ahhed at appropriate moments, knowing enough about farm life to appreciate a tidy and well-maintained operation—and hoping that it wasn’t evidence of obsessive-compulsive disorder.
His home sat on a slight rise, a classic square farmhouse with a veranda on the main floor, and two dormers and a balcony on the upper level. Celery green with white trim and a white roof.
“Hey, that’s smart. I was just reading about white roofs but I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen one.”
“I had to replace the old one,” he said as they climbed out of the cab, “so I figured why not? Send some of that sunlight back up where it belongs. I should warn you that I don’t have air-conditioning, so even with that roof the house might be a mite warmer than you’re used to.”
If so, she wouldn’t find out till later; he stepped up onto the veranda and grabbed two pilsners from a green minifridge that blended artfully into the wall. “Saves me from having to take my boots off every time I want something to eat.”
Then he led her on a leisurely stroll to a nearby pasture, reduced by the drought to dead grass and dust. His herd had congregated near the barn under the sparse shade of two withered maples.
Bowser, as she’d dubbed his border collie at the reservoir, kept his vigil by the cows, eyeing the two-legged intruder warily.
“I had those fields in hay,” Dafoe pointed past the barn, “till the crop burned up two years running. Seedlings never got higher than half a foot.”
“What are you doing for feed?”
“I’m buying hay by the truckload, and this year I started supplementing with alfalfa and flaxseed, which kind of mimics the wild grasses they used to get in the spring, before everything dried up. Their methane’s down seventeen percent.”
“You’re putting me on.”
“Not a bit, and they like it. They’re hungry right now. That’s why they’re hanging around near the barn. Bayou.” He whistled to the dog and gave him a hand signal. “Watch this,” he said to her.
Bayou darted through the cows to the gate, clearing a view. Jenna watched him