He leaned across the table and spoke in a confidential tone. “Did you ever think that Mrs. Wilcox is too kindhearted to leave Monica in a lurch, even though she might be ready to take a break?”
“No!” she whispered, looking around as if someone would overhear them in the bustling sports bar. “How do you know—oh, wait, the Widows’ Boardinghouse and Gossip Mill.”
He grinned. “Good one. But I’m not revealing sources. I could talk to Monica for you.”
Though she should be amused at how easily he tried to take charge, she found herself stiffening. “I’m perfectly capable of speaking to Monica myself.”
His smile grew lazy. “I’m relieved.”
After a glance at the check, he tossed some money on the table. She’d already pulled out her wallet, and they had a momentary staring match. With a sigh, she let him have his way.
As they walked out of the Halftime, Scout at Nate’s heels, she gave Nate a sideways glance, knowing she’d become his project, and she was only encouraging him by asking for his help. If it had been pity, or thinking he had to help the “little people,” she’d have put a stop to it immediately. But it wasn’t. She guessed it was Nate’s very nature to help everyone he could, but that was difficult for someone like her, who wanted—needed—to do things on her own.
She glanced over her shoulder as the door closed behind them, and saw Mr. Thalberg watching them. She gave a wave, and he answered with a pleasant nod. He’d raised a lost boy into a fine man. He hadn’t been a biological father to Nate, and it hadn’t mattered one bit. Love and respect were what mattered.
Nate paused, looking over his shoulder back inside the Halftime. “I forgot about something I need to discuss with my dad. Can I meet you back at your place in fifteen minutes?”
“Nate, you’ve shown me enough to finish out the day, and perhaps several days’ worth. Why don’t you go back to your own work?”
Standing there on the street, he looked down at her, indecision in every line of his tense body. That tension jumped to her like lightning, and she couldn’t help wondering if there was more to his need to help her—and it set off alarm bells in her head.
“Go, Nate,” she said, giving his shoulder a friendly push. “I’ll give you a call when I reach a renovation impasse. Text me about Doc Ericson when you get the chance. And thanks for lunch. Now go on. Daddy’s waiting.”
It was his turn to roll his eyes, and she gave him a grin as she turned and walked back down Main Street. Her purse swung and bumped against her hip as she walked, and she knew with certainty that he was watching her.
Chapter Twelve
Nate stood on Main Street, admiring the cute sway of Emily’s ass as she walked away from him. People were watching him, he knew, but a man had a right to look at an attractive woman.
But did he have a right to keep coming around when his body was telling him he wanted more from her?
Scout was watching him, his head cocked to one side with confusion.
“Nope, we’re not going with her, buddy. I’m giving you every mixed signal today. Let’s go see Dad.” He and the dog went back inside the Halftime and approached his father’s table. He nodded to Deke. “Can I borrow my dad for a sec?”
Deke frowned as he forked his salad around his plate. “Sure thing, kid. It’ll give me time to find the fried chicken I know was buried in here somewhere.”
Nate walked back to the bar and found two empty stools at the end. Before he could think how to broach the uncomfortable subject, his father did it for him, as straightforward as always.
“Did you lie to that girl, Nathaniel?” he asked mildly.
Nate winced. “ ‘Lie’ is a lot stronger word than’s necessary.”
“She thinks I still own the lien on her property. Why didn’t you tell her you bought it?”
“At the time it came up, she and I were pretty upset with each other,” Nate began slowly.
“You’re talkin’ that first night when you two were settin’ the town gossips afire?”
“Yeah, that night.” Nate sighed. “I didn’t know anything about her except that she was down on her luck. And I didn’t want her to think . . .”
His dad put his hands on his hips. “That you’re more than a dirt-poor cowboy?”