Anna said, “Yeah, if you define ‘just’ as two years ago. He’s going to be a junior when he heads back to WVU in a few more weeks.”
Chuckling, Ramsey looped her arm through Sullivan’s and gently pulled him away from the bar. Grinning, he led the way to the back of the tavern and the large, gleaming stainless steel kitchen. Here the light was bright enough to make them blink. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust.
Theo Constantinides threw up his flour-dusted hands when he saw Sullivan in the doorway, then remembered what he was doing and plunged them back into the kneading bowl. “Come here, boy,” he said in his pleasantly accented English. “I’d hug you but the dough’s still sticky, you understand. I can’t abandon it.”
“I can hug you,” said Sullivan. He crossed the kitchen to do just that.
Theo was a full head shorter than Sullivan and half again as wide, but Sullivan had the reach of a champion swimmer and had no trouble wrapping Theo in his arms.
“Hey,” Theo said. “Go easy. You’re going to squeeze the juice out of me.”
“Honey, you mean. You smell like honey.”
He shrugged his heavy shoulders as Sullivan released him. “I might have had a spoonful. Maybe two.”
“You’re diabetic, Theo.”
“Now you sound like my wife.” He continued kneading. “Get away and introduce me to the young lady.”
Sullivan waved to Ramsey to come closer and made the introductions. “She tells me she’s an excellent shot, Theo.”
“Wait a second,” said Ramsey. “Is today an audition? Is that why we’re here?”
Theo whistled softly. “You stepped in it, Sullivan. I smell something and it’s not honey.”
“It’s not an audition,” said Sullivan. “We’re here because I thought you’d like it. Was I wrong?”
“No, but when you said…oh, never mind. I want to learn how to make phyllo from a Greek.”
Theo was pleased to show her and by the time she had the steps committed to memory, Anna appeared to tell them the four-wheeler was back.
“Ramsey, ask Little Theo for the Glock 43. That’s the one Anna’s been using, and she isn’t sure she likes it. Maybe you can get a feel for it. You carry concealed?”
“I do.”
“It has a small grip, hard to grasp and draw when you need it, but you let me know what you think. Sullivan, I want you to try out the Peacemaker I bought at auction. Old West style. It’s all cleaned up. Mother of pearl shiny. See how you do with that.”
“Old West. I like it. Thanks Theo. We’ll be back for lunch.”
The ride to the range was bumpy. Ramsey was sure Sullivan launched the four-wheeler into the air more than once, and on purpose. She couldn’t talk to him over the roar of the motor so she head-butted him a couple of times as if by accident. She thought the helmet made the point for her because he slowed down both times, at least for a little while.
When they arrived at the range, Sullivan pulled up to the front porch of the gun shack. Ramsey climbed off the four-wheeler and shook out her bones. “This is the gun shack?” she asked, pulling off her helmet. The exterior was replica of the tavern only on a much smaller scale. It reminded her of one of those tiny homes that were so popular. The porch had room for one rocker, not a row of them, but the roof had the same architectural shingles in pine green and an abbreviated sign across the length that read Shooters.
“Yeah, it’s the shack,” Sullivan said, catching the helmet she tossed at him. “Something wrong?”
“No. I expected a…ashack. How did you ever find this place?” Ramsey put her hands to her ears, not because she didn’t want to hear Sullivan’s reply, but because this close to the range, the steady shooting was reverberating in her head.
“Inside,” said Sullivan. “It’ll help.”
Ramsey hurried in. Little Theo was sitting at the end of the counter in a chair that he had managed to balance on its two back legs. Sullivan closed the door firmly behind him, which had the desired effect of making Little Theo flail comically to catch himself before he fell.
“Your sister told me to drop you,” Sullivan told him. “Consider yourself lucky.”
Little Theo jumped to his feet and kicked the chair out of sight behind the counter. “Sullivan! About damn time you got out here.” He started forward and then stopped abruptly when he noticed Sullivan was not alone. “Damn,” he said, abashed. “You saw that, didn’t you?”
Ramsey didn’t answer the question, couldn’t really. She was very nearly slack-jawed as she stared at the Adonis. He was six feet five, maybe taller, with the curly brown hair that appeared to be a family trait. He had dark eyes and a wide mouth; his expression was still abashed, and there was a hint of color in his neck above the collar of his shirt. Here, standing in front of her, was the reason the Greeks adored the male form and immortalized the gods in marble.
Ramsey’s mouth closed with an audible click of her teeth. She thought she heard Sullivan breathe something that might have been a sigh or a chuckle deep in the back of his throat. Still staring, she found wits enough to ask, “You’reLittle Theo?”
