The women lived in an older single-story ranch-style house, with maybe ten acres or so of property, and a small barn and two horses out back. Lilah’s official SUV was parked in the drive, next to a newer Toyota SUV. A Ford truck I suspected was Lilah’s personal vehicle sat parked off to the side.
I hadn’t asked what to bring and Lilah hadn’t volunteered anything, so I opted to stop by the store and bought a pre-made fruit bowl and a package of brownies. I’m not a huge drinker and usually don’t bring alcohol to a gathering unless it’s specifically mentioned.
Forallthe reasons, including the flashbacks I have of empty beer bottles clinking on wet pavement when the other driver staggered out of his car while my parents and sister sat dying in ours.
Whenever I went out with friends or coworkers I always volunteered to be the DD.
I had nothing against drinking in moderation, especially if it’s safely done at home or in a hotel room where no one’s driving until hours later when they’re sober. But between my own experience and the shit I’ve seen professionally over the years, it’s a vigilance I refuse to temper.
It’s also one of the things I enjoyed about Rawhide Ranch. While alcohol was allowed and served on the premises, they didn’t tolerate drunken behavior and took great pains to prevent anyone who was even slightly intoxicated from playing.
I parked behind the Toyota and walked up. But I hadn’t even reached the front door when it opened. There stood Emmy, maybe 5’5”. She had long, curly red hair she’d pulled into a ponytail at the back of her head and sweetly luscious curves I instantly adored because it meant I wouldn’t worry I might snap her like a twig if I hugged her too hard.
“Yabba dabba do,” I said.
Did I mention I can be socially awkward sometimes? Because… yeah.
She cocked her head like an adorable spaniel, and I was about to apologize when she looked down at her shirt, got it, and started laughing. “That’s a good one,” she said, welcoming me in. “Jack?”
I waited until she closed the door behind me. “Jack Hesten,” I said. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Colefield.”
She smiled again and took the bowl of fruit from me. “Brownie points for style, but Emmy’s fine.”
I held up the brownies and she paused, laughing again.
Something about the sound of it tugged at the edges of my brain in a way I wasn’t used to.
A pleasant way.
“Well, you brought your own brownie points. Good on ya. Come on, this way.”
The house smelled delicious and I soon found out why as she led me to the kitchen and sat the bowl of fruit on the small, round table off to the side that was set for three. Lilah was putting the finishing touches on something on the stove and glanced over at me.
“There you are. Right on time, mister. And you came bearing food. Too bad I’m deathly allergic to chocolate.”
I froze, trying to stumble my way around an apology when Emmy lightly swatted her shoulder.
“Stop it,” she scolded. “Youinvited him—don’t scare him off.” She turned to me. “She’s not allergic to anything but bullshit.”
But Lilah cackled. “What good’s life if I can’t make a guy metaphorically shit himself every once in a while?”
Emmy rolled her eyes at her but took the brownies from me and set them on the counter, next to a plate of what looked like freshly baked chocolate-macadamia cookies covered by plastic wrap.
“Have a seat,” she said, pulling out a chair. “It’s almost ready.”
“Sorry, Jack,” Lilah said, still snickering. “I can’t help myself sometimes.”
“No sweat. I’ve survived far worse hazing in my career.”
“Sothatwas a day yesterday, huh?” Lilah said, and twenty minutes later the three of us were in the middle of a delicious meal, talking like we’d been friends for years.
I’d caught a glimpse of their living room shelves on the way to the kitchen upon my arrival and I had to ask it. “So Kirk, or Picard? And not the reboots, either. I mean TOS and TNG.”
The women exchanged a glance and together said, “Janeway.”
“Interesting,” I said, pausing to take a sip of iced tea. “But that’s not what I asked.” I met Emmy’s green gaze. “I didn’t ask about the best captain, but your choice between those two.”
Yes, that was deliberate on my part, to see if my tone would spark indignation or intrigue.
