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We got to the pub and made our order, and then we just looked at each other across the table. “So,” I said after an awkward silence.
He nodded. “Yup.” Some conversationalist.
“How, uh… How are things at the ranch?”
“Oh, can’t complain. Dozer scored me some clean practice runs this week. The ol’ man’s still got it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “And Dozer is?”
“My heading horse. Gettin’ a little stoved up, though. Think I might need to retire him. Oh, hey, the game’s on.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear about Dozer. Doc Burns gave me this great supplement for Nash because he gets a little… Luke?”
Luke’s eyes had already glazed over, his attention centered about six feet above my head. Good grief. “Hey, Luke!” I mock-shouted, just loud enough to get his attention.
“Huh? Oh, right. Sorry.” He folded his hands on the table and twiddled his thumbs, the strain of not looking at the TV twitching all over his face. He forced a smile that looked like something out of a cartoon for how pained it was. “Wha’d you want to talk about?”
“Anything. How about what you like to do in your spare time?”
“What do you mean?” His eyes flicked helplessly to the TV.
“You know. Movies, books. Do you have a workshop you like to tinker in?”
“Workshop? Heck yeah, we have a workshop. We all have to weld and stuff like when the mower…” His forehead wrinkled, and his gaze tightened when the TV announcer got all worked up about a play. Luke was obviously trying to be polite, but he lost the battle. He jumped to his feet to watch the quarterback streaking across the screen. “Get him! Run, you butterfingers! Aw, man. What’s wrong with you? Is that ref blind? For crying out…”
When it went to a commercial break, he sat down with an apologetic look. “Sorry.”
I just hiked a thumb over my shoulder at that all-pervasive screen. “Who’s playing?”
“Broncos.”
“Denver?”
Luke scoffed. “Heck, no. College ball, Boise State. Buddy of mine used to play for them. What were you saying?”
I had to think about it. “Oh, you said you had a shop of some kind. I was asking what you used it for.”
He lifted a shoulder. “We fix stuff. Me and Dusty had to put a new head on my truck a while back. Didn’t it sound good?”
“Oh. Um, yes, it did,” I said as politely as possible. “I was thinking more like a wood shop. Crafts, projects, that kind of thing. Do you have any hobbies?”
He grabbed a handful of peanuts and stuffed them in his mouth. Then he talked around them. “What for?”
I refused to cringe. If I’d been interested in Luke as more than just a friend, I’d have cared, but as it was, I just sighed and arched a brow. “Just something to do. Everyone has to have some kind of outlet.”
“Not us Walkers. We work.” He grabbed another handful of peanuts.
“What about when you take a break? You’re a pretty good dancer,” I remembered.
He grinned. “That’s right, I am. I’m a better roper, though. Pretty good at tyin’ things up.”
It took me a second to realize he was making some kind of innuendo. I probably turned about six shades of scarlet, but Luke didn’t notice. The game was back on.
“Go! Catch him, you filthy varmint! What the heck are they paying you guys so much for if you can’t take down—”
“Luke… Luke! You know they can’t hear you, right? And didn’t you say this was college ball? They’re not professionals.”
“Half the fun of watching the game, yelling at the quarterback. So, where were we? Oh! Nachos are here.”
