Holly returned the Beretta to her bag.
“How about some dinner?” he asked.
“You bet. What are we having?”
“My famous crab cakes.” He walked toward the kitchen, switching on lights.
“Famous to whom?”
“To them that has eaten them.” He took several items from the fridge and began to put together their dinner.
Holly watched with interest. She was a good, plain cook, but Jackson had obviously had a lot more practice. He had half-prepared everything in advance, and in twenty minutes they were sitting at the table consuming a very fine dinner.
“Your cue,” he said.
“Oh, terrific crab cakes,” she said.
“The best you’ve ever had?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good guest. Like the wine?”
“It’s perfect, what is it?”
“Robert Mondavi Reserve Chardonnay, ’94, one of the best of the vintage, which is said to be the best ever for California chardonnays.”
“I believe you,” she said, sipping her wine. “So, how come you’re still single, Jackson?”
“Just lucky, I guess.”
“That’s my line.”
“We’ll share it.”
“Never married?”
“Nope. You?”
“Nope.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. When I was in the army I wasn’t much interested in being married to an army man. Too many complications—transfers, assignments, et cetera. And being married to a civilian would have been even worse.”
“And now that you’re out of the army?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think about it.”
“I’ve had all the time in the world to think about it, but I haven’t, much.”
“Is there a shortage of single women in Orchid?”
“Not really. I’ve managed to stay reasonably busy in the evenings. Am I the first guy to hit on you?”
“You hitting on me?”
“You betcha.”