Wearing clues a person would be stupid to miss, Arnie noted the fatigue jacket with the name Westmoreland on the chest. A ball cap declared him a Vietnam vet, and he wore the black horse insignia of the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment.
“Black Horse,” Arnie said in a voice filled with awe. The respect he had for the 11th could not be understated. Their Vietnam service was only one small part of a storied hundred-year history.
“Where are you headed, Cy?” Summer asked. She reached for a pack of Mini Oreos on the old warrior’s leg, but he laughingly smacked her hand away.
“Back off, Missy,” he growled a tone as menacing as a hug.
“Aw, come on.” She giggled in a wheedling whine. “But, but …”
“Nope. There’s no ten-second rule for stuff dumped in my lap.”
Her happy grin was infectious. “Wheelchair etiquette,” she informed Arnie in a snarky drawl that got a laugh from the Sergeant Major. “Rumor has it, he makes the rules up as he goes.”
Arnie eyed the wheelchair scooter, picked up on the custom look and paint job, and felt a surge of relief. Thank god her friend wasn’t homeless.
He watched their interaction with growing curiosity.
After stashing the snacks in a saddlebag, Cy patted his lap and waggled both brows. “Give an old man a cheap thrill and go for a spin?”
Summer clapped her hands and giggled. “But of course!”
Wait, what? Arnie thought as his golden girl in her pretty Boho dress plopped onto the vet’s lap and shrieked with laughter as he used the scooter controls to whirl them in a circle.
“Whee!” she exclaimed with childlike exultation
Arnie’s jaw locked, and he fought the urge to scowl. Sergeant Major Cyrus Westmoreland was your run-of-the-mill dirty old man. Not that he could blame him. Summer must have the same effect on lots of guys—a thought he did not easily accept.
“Relax, son.” The guy chortled when the scooter show ended, and Summer scrambled off his lap. “Bit of harmless fun.”
This harmless fun was debatable, but Arnie backed down when the man added, “The missus makes me stand if I wanna dance. This is way more fun.”
Summer suddenly bent and hugged the old guy. From his viewpoint, Arnie was treated to quite the view of her delightful ass in a pair of boy shorts. He knew his reaction was ridiculous, but that didn’t stop him from being relieved that more than a thong covered her lap-sitting bottom.
“Give Joanne my love and tell her I finished the bread.” She turned to catch Arnie’s gaze and smiled. “His wife tried teaching me how to bake, but I sucked at it. My first attempt was less than stellar.”
Cy opened his camo jacket to show them the sweater vest he wore beneath. He puffed proudly and proved with his words what a great husband he was.
“I hate the cold, but there’s nothing worse than wearing fuddy-duddy, old man clothes. My missus knows me”—he snortled—“and did me a proper with this Grateful Dead pattern.”
“Look,” Summer said in a lighthearted voice. “The dancing bears have black horse scarves. How cute!”
Arnie glanced at Cy. Their eyes met, and they both smiled at the same time. It was obvious the aging veteran wasn’t immune to Summer’s charms.
“I’m headed to Tony’s for an intervention.” Cy’s face appeared more amused than concerned. “It’s Marty. He’s off the wagon again.”
“Oh, no,” Summer said in a drawn-out sigh. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Cy chuckled. “He ate half a pan of lasagna and a pile of garlic bread while bitching about the evils of keto with every mouthful.”
Arnie chuckled. “Wait, you’re having a carbohydrate intervention?”
Summer roared with laughter and tried to explain. “Poor Marty. His daughter is getting married this autumn, and he’s trying to get into shape for a tuxedo.”
“The carbs are winning,” Cy drawled. “But he made his best buds swear to call him on his shit if he wavered.” He shrugged. “There are worse things than a roly-poly father of the bride, but hey, what do I know? I have two boys and three grandsons.”
“I’m having dinner at the Four Seasons, and if there is a god and she’s listening, I hope there will be plenty of carbs,” his feisty golden lover stipulated in her power-girl voice.
He thought it was adorable when she tried to act big, bad, and in charge.
The way Cy studied him after Summer revealed their plans made it abundantly clear the guy thought Arnie was a dog. He cringed inwardly and waved off a hot flush of guilt, remembering some dog-like positioning