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“Sorry, Dory. It’s not good.”
“Not surprised,” she muttered. “They don’t build anything to last anymore.” She nodded toward the table. “Have a seat. I don’t have much, but I’ll see if I can whip up something for you to eat.”
“Dory, we don’t have time for dinner. I need you to come with me.”
“Don’t be silly, Mathew. Why on earth would I want to head out into this storm when I am perfectly fine here on my own.”
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“I’m not leaving without you.”
“It’s out of the question. I’ll be fine.”
The little lady was fiercely independent, and he knew it was going to take some convincing to get her to come home with him.
“Shoot, Dory. I don’t let just any woman ride on my sled.”
Dory peered over the rims of her small reading glasses. “Your flirting will get you nowhere young man.” She frowned. “I have cold chicken. Or cold ham. Take your pick.”
He moved toward her. “Why don’t we go back to my place. I’ve got heat.”
“So do I.”
“That gas fireplace is hardly doing anything and you know it.” He glanced at her feet. “How many pairs of socks you wearing anyway?”
“Don’t get uppity with me, young man.” She glanced down at her feet. “I just so happen to like wearing three pairs of socks.”
She turned back to her fridge. “So which is it? chicken or ham?”
“I’ve got newborn puppies.” He smiled and winked. “Rosie had her litter last night.”
She shook her head and sighed. “I’m allergic to dogs.”
“Bullshit. You’re allergic to cats.”
“Language, Mathew.” She leaned against the counter, eyebrows raised imperiously. Faint tinges of red still ran through her hair and he knew she must have been something else when she was younger.
“Dory,” he said coaxingly—he knew he was going to have to pull out a big gun. “I’ve got a friend over and I should get back.”
“A friend?” Dory paused, suddenly interested. “A lady friend?”
Matt shrugged. “Guess you won’t know unless you come back with me.”
“I’m too old for games, Mathew. Just exactly who is it you’ve got hidden away at your place? And it better not be that Sasha woman I heard you’ve been keeping company with.”
Matt should have known that juicy little piece of gossip would find its way back to Dory. It was a hazard of living in a small town. Everyone knew everybody else’s business and most of ‘em sure liked discussing his.
“You don’t have to worry about, Sasha.” Hell, he hadn’t slept with her yet and after the nasty voicemail she’d left the night before, he was pretty damn sure there was no chance of that happening. Ever.
“Well that’s a relief, Mathew. I told Petra Binter that there was no way you would be interested in a woman like Sasha Armstrong.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “And what kind of woman would that be?”
Dory didn’t pull any punches. “The loose kind. The trashy kind. The kind that is nothing but trouble.”
“There are a lot of folks in this town who would put those same labels on me.”
“Well they don’t know you the way I do, Mathew.” She paused. “So just who is this friend of yours? Anyone I know?”
