Why was he having so much trouble maintaining his distance? Because he was damn hot for her, he admitted. This wasn’t lust. He was old enough and had been around long enough to know the difference. Lust he could control with cold showers, but this feeling was totally different. It worried the hell out of him.
"Are you Nick Buchanan?"
Nick turned. "That’s me all right."
"My name’s Christopher Benson," the man said as he stuck his hand out to shake Nick’s. "Laurant’s my fiancee’s best friend. Mine too," he added with a grin. "I wanted to meet you and say hello."
Christopher was a likeable, easygoing man. He was built like a linebacker. He was as tall as Nick, but outweighed him by at least fifty pounds.
After they exchanged small talk, Christopher admitted sheepishly, "Michelle sent me over to get as much information out of you as I could. She thinks that because I just finished law school, I should be able to grill anyone I want."
Nick laughed. "What exactly does she want to know?"
"Oh, the usual stuff like how much you make, where you’re going to live after you marry Laurant, and most important, are you always going to be there for her. You might be getting the idea that Michelle’s nosy, but she isn’t. She’s just looking out for Laurant."
They both turned to watch Laurant. There were men standing in line to take a turn dancing with her. She was circling the floor now with donut boy.
He answered as many questions as he could and hedged on others.
When Christopher was finally satisfied, he remarked, "Laurant’s an important part of this town. People depend on her. She and Michelle are like sisters," he added. "They bring out the devil in each other, and, man, do they like to laugh."
Nick was wondering when he was going to get a chance to dance with Laurant. He sure as certain wasn’t going to get in line. Being a fiance had a couple of perks, didn’t it? Even if he was all pretend.
Christopher seemed to read his mind. "Why don’t you go get Laurant. The food’s going to disappear fast."
"Good idea," Nick said.
He shouldered his way through the crowd, tapped donut boy on the shoulder, and pulled Laurant into his arms. "I’m cutting in, kid."
Laurant softened the teenager’s disappointment. Leaning to the side, she asked him to save her a dance later, after dinner.
"You’re only encouraging him," Nick told her.
"He’s a sweet boy," she said.
He didn’t want to talk about the kid. He pulled her closer and continued to dance.
"Look like you love me, honey," he instructed.
She laughed. "I do love you, sweetheart."
"I like that thing you’re wearing."
"That thing is called a dress. A sundress to be exact, and thank you. I’m glad you like it."
"Tell me something. If all the men in this town are afraid of you, how come they’re lining up to dance with you?"
"I don’t know" she said. "maybe because they know no. They don’t ask me to go out on dates though. I think Tommy might be right. I might scare them."
"That’s good," he said with smug satisfaction.
"Why?" she asked.
He didn’t answer her question. "Let’s eat," he said.
"Viola and Bessie Jean are waving at us. I think they want us to sit with them."
"Son of a bitch," Nick hissed.
His reaction startled her. "I thought you liked them."
"Not them," he answered impatiently. "I just spotted Lonnie. What the hell is he doing here?"
"Do I get to say I told you so?" she asked. She found Lonnie in the crowd, sitting alone on a picnic table, an insolent expression on his face. No one else was sitting at the table, and Laurant noticed several people, obviously nervous around the bully, who were avoiding making eye contact with him.
Nick was searching the crowd for the sheriff. "I don’t see dear old dad," he said.
"Oh, I doubt he’s here. He wouldn’t answer your phone calls all day, and the jail was locked up when we stopped by. I think he’s hiding from you, Mr. FBI Agent," she said.
Nick shook his head. "I’m going to have to do something about him."
"You’ll have to find him first."
"I’m not talking about the sheriff," he replied. "I’m going to have to do something about Lonnie. He’s a complication we don’t need now."
"What can you do?"
Nick draped his arm around Laurant’s shoulders and headed for the buffet that was set up behind the bandstand.
"Noah."
"Noah’s what you’re going to do?"
"Uh-huh."
He grinned. "Lots."
"Go make Lonnie get off that table first," she suggested. "Then we’ll eat. People need places to sit."
"Okay," he agreed, but as he turned to the tables, he saw Tommy heading for Lonnie from the opposite direction. He had a spatula in his hand and a look on his face that indicated he wasn’t going to put up with any of Lonnie’s terror tactics today. Noah was busy scooping up burnt hamburgers, but he kept his eye on Tommy while he worked, which explained why two of the hamburgers ended up on the ground. Lonnie’s friends materialized out of nowhere and stood by the table as Tommy approached.
"Shouldn’t you go help my brother?" she asked, the worry there in her tone of voice.
"He can handle himself."
Lonnie had a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. Tommy said something to him, and Lonnie shook his head, then flicked the cigarette at him. Tommy stepped on it. Then as quick as a blink, he grabbed Lonnie by the scruff of his neck and jerked him off the table.
Lonnie’s hand slipped into his pants pocket, and that’s when Noah came running. So did a good number of the men attending the picnic. They ran to Tommy to help. The show of solidarity infuriated Lonnie, and within seconds, his face had turned purple with rage. Noah shoved his way through the men just as Lonnie pulled the switchblade out. Noah whacked him hard on the wrist with his spatula and tripped him at the same time. Howling in pain, Lonnie dropped the knife. Tommy picked it up and tossed it to Noah, then hauled Lonnie to his feet and ordered him and his friends to leave.
Laurant let out a sigh of relief. As Tommy and Noah headed back to the grill, several men stopped them to shake their hands. One enthusiastic man pounded them on their shoulders.
"Now can we eat?" Nick grabbed two plates, handed one to her,
After they had filled their plates with salads and chips at the buffet table, they joined the Vandermans. The sisters were sitting with the three men who were temporarily living in the house across the street. Bessie Jean scooted closer to Viola so Laurant and Nick could sit on the bench with them.
Viola made the introductions, adding information she’d gleaned from the weary-looking workmen. Two of the men, Mark Hanover and Willie Lakeman, owned farms in northern Iowa and were supplementing their incomes with carpenter jobs. Justin Brady had just purchased his uncle’s land in Nebraska and was diligently trying to pay off the mortgage as soon as possible by picking up extra work. All three men were in their early thirties and all three were wearing wedding rings. The calluses on their hands proved they were hard workers, and the empty cups lined up in front of them proved they were also hard drinkers. Nick leaned his elbows on the table and listened to the three men describing the work at the abbey, all the while sizing them up.
Mark downed a sixteen-ounce plastic cup of beer in two long gulps. Nick understood why the man was drinking so much when Bessie Jean asked him if he had any children.
Mark lowered his gaze to his cup in his hands. "My wife died last year. We didn’t have any kids. We were waiting until we got some of our bills paid off."
Viola reached across the table and patted Mark’s hand. "We’re all terribly sorry about your loss, but you’ve got to get on with your life and try to look to the future. I’m sure your wife would have wanted you to."
"I know, ma’am," he replied. "With the drought, we all have to pick up work whenever we can. I’ve got my parents to look after, and Willie and Justin have families depending on them too."