He waved a hand to dismiss the need for apology. He was intrigued by the mind picture she painted. “Like Ree Drummond’s kitchen.”
“Exactly, except not so big.” Her brow furrowed as she turned to look at him more directly. “You watch The Pioneer Wife?”
His face heated but he told her, “Hah! I watch all the cooking shows when I am between missions. My brothers much prefer war movies or shows like The Walking Dead, but I prefer Food Network.”
“Lots of people find them soothing. Comfort food in troubled times.”
Exactly, though his brothers thought they were not manly subject matter for a Viking warrior. It pleased him that she understood. Sort of.
“Do you like to cook?” she asked.
“Holy clouds, no!”
She laughed. “Typical man!”
He wished! “So, why are you not married and living in such a dream home? I mean, I assume you are not wed.” He stared pointedly at her ringless fingers.
“What makes you think I need to be married to have my own home? I’ll have you know, I own the condo I’m living in now.”
“I forgot. Women in this ti—uh . . . country are independent of men. You are not . . . um . . . are you?” Surely his Viking radar was not so far off that he would not recognize that kind of woman. But then, women had been fooling men since the beginning of time. Take that wily Eve, for example. Got Adam in a hell of a lot of trouble.
She laughed. “No, I’m not gay. And before you ask, I am not, nor have I ever been married.”
“Why not? Are you opposed to marriage?”
“Not at all. I hope to marry someday and have children, hopefully three.”
That rules me out. “Should you not get started soon then before—”
She swatted him on the arm. “Don’t you dare mention my age. I am not too old for children. Not for another ten years, at least.”
That was a stretch, in his opinion, but dumb as men were purported to be, even he knew not to mention that fact.
“How about you?” She glanced at his fingers, which were also ringless, which meant nothing, of course. Men did not wear wedding rings in his time, and in fact many men didn’t do so today, either, for obvious reasons.
“Never wed. No desire to. Same goes for children.” Enough on that subject!
Of course it wasn’t.
“Why not? A guy who looks like you must have to beat women off with a stick.”
“I told you afore, I did not always look like this.”
“How long ago was that?”
“A long time.” A very long time!
“Well, how about today? No significant other?”
“No.” The only significant other in my life is an archangel with an attitude who has thrown me into the duck pond. He took a flight magazine from the seat pocket in front of him, a silent signal to her that he was done talking.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers.” She put her hand on his, which was resting on the armrest between them.
For his sins, he turned said hand so that they were palm to palm. In fact, he twined their fingers together and said, “Ruffle away.”
Chapter 6
COCKTAILS & NIBBLES AT HORROR CASTLE
Deviled eggs and deviled tongue (from fertile females)
Wicked wings soaked in diablo sauce
Blood fondue with toast points
Black Mass caviar on small blinis with crème fraîche
Lucifer’s Loin Chops (mini lamb lollipops)
Bite-size devil’s food cupcakes
Crispy lady fingers
Designer marshmallows toasted over hellfire
Satan’s Whiskers Rambutan, the hairy fruit (beware of occasional maggot)
Bloody Marys (with thanks to Lucipires-to-be Mary Higgins, Lady Mary Ethridge, and Mary Contraire)
Hooch from Hell
Beelzebub’s Beard Punch (it will put hair on your chest, if not your chin)
Devil Juice (nonalcoholic but sinfully good)
Yippee-ki-yay, get along little dogies, uh, demons . . .
John Wayne was walking down the hallway of Horror Castle in the remote icy mountains of northern Scandinavia, beyond Svalband, presumably an uninhabited area too cold for humans to withstand. That was the very feature that appealed to demons. Spend a minute in Hell and you develop an appreciation for ice. A lack of neighbors was also an asset. He could only imagine what would happen if someone knocked on the door to borrow a cup of sugar and was confronted with a Lucipire. The scream would be heard ’round the world.
The spurs on his cowboy boots jingled as he strutted his long, tall Rio Bravo self, complete with chaps, hip holster holding a pair of Colt pistols, and the traditional Stetson Silver Belly hat. He even walked a little bowlegged, from all that horse riding, dontcha know? he joked to himself. Or another kind of riding.