Like a Fox on the Run, стр. 121

Lulah had learned long ago that she could rip out Tiger’s heart with hardly any effort at all. And she usually avoided it at all cost. He was like a wounded animal when his feelings were hurt. For such a tough guy, he could be so sensitive when he got his feelings hurt. He would slink off to lick his wounds, shutting himself off to those around him, especially his perceived persecutor, which was usually her. That’s why he’d took a bottle of whiskey and retired to her back porch to sulk.

She arose and slipped on her house pants and an old Stars t-shirt. Everybody else in the house seemed to be sound asleep by now, except for trusty ol’ Tex, who insisted on maintaining his vigil by the front window. Lulah got the feeling this was the most excitement he’d had in quite some time and the old Ranger was enjoying every second of it. She sensed he felt he had a purpose again, a duty to perform. She hung her head momentarily. At this moment, guarding her and her babies as they slept, he was, by far, a lot happier than she was.

She padded into the kitchen, barefooted and tip-toeing so as not to wake the kids or that … that … the vixen. It was still too early for her to start breakfast; the kids would sleep several more hours. But a cup of coffee would be nice. Peeking through the kitchen window, she saw Tiger was still out on the porch. Instantly, she felt those decades-old urges rush back. He was sitting in a deck chair, his booted feet propped up on the porch rail, one crossed over the other, staring out into the blue, morning sky. He sipped his whiskey slowly, never setting the glass down, but cradling it with both hands in his lap. She knew the habit. He did this when he had too much on his mind and was trying to sort it all out.

He also did it when he was pouting.

It would be so easy for her to roll her eyes at his childish antics. After all, he was a forty-something space pilot. Did he not see how unbecoming this made him look? Men could be such children!

But, as sad as it was, weren’t all men still children deep down? Never really growing up, just spending the rest of their lives looking for a replacement for Mom. And she’d fallen in love with the worst of the worst. A true Peter Pan. Tiger had come of age at a time when horizons were expanding; new frontiers were being opened. For generations, young men had dreamed of reaching for the stars. Then suddenly, space travel was no longer reserved for the NASA-elite, or the super-rich who could buy their way up. As he was becoming a young man, climbing atop a rocket and blasting off to new worlds became a reality for the common man. Suddenly, anyone who worked hard enough and had the heart and guts could be Han Solo, Buck Rogers, or Flash Gordon. He found himself living the dream humankind had coveted for centuries.

In truth, he never had to grow up. He was still living a childhood fantasy. The spirit was still young, only the body had aged.

She shook her head. Even though she knew she’d overdone it earlier, she fought the overwhelming urge to let him pout. She was a stubborn woman, and she’d never been one to throw the towel in first. Yet, this time seemed different, this time she feared, might be the last. And her love for him trumped everything else, be it pride, anger, jealousy. She reached over and pushed the “power” button on the coffee maker. Instantly, the smell of brewing coffee filled the kitchen, thanks to the Ready-Brew system. It was time for Mr. Thomas to quit feeling sorry for himself.

Once the coffee was done, she took a steaming cup to a gracious Tex.

“Much obliged, ma’am,” he thanked her politely, his eyes twinkling, much too young for the rest of his creased, leathery face. She got the uncanny feeling he could sense her inward turmoil. Yet, he also seemed to project a silent reassurance, seemingly projecting that he knew somehow it would all work out; it would all be all right in the end. She only wished she shared his silent confidence.

Returning to the kitchen, she picked up the Ever-Warm carafe and grabbed two mugs with her index and middle fingers. Shaking it gently to activate the heating elements embedded inside the ceramic-resin body, she also grabbed the brown bottle she’d set out on the counter earlier that evening and walked out to the porch.

Tiger heard her step out, but did not turn. He didn’t know what lay in store. One thing was damned certain. He certainly wasn’t up for another scrap. He sat quietly as she came around to stand beside him.

“Cup of joe?” she asked with a straight face as she held up the carafe and handed him a mug.

“Sure.” He took a cup from her and held it as she filled it. An eyebrow raised, as a clever smile lit up his face, “Keep it coming. I’m an excellent tipper.”

“Is that so?” She couldn’t help but smile, turning her head, just slightly, in her sultry way. “And what do I get for this?” She held up the brown bottle.

“Choco-Mel!” Tiger’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. He held up his cup for her to top it off with the Milky Way-flavored whiskey.

“I had this droned in from Tennessee after you called yesterday,” she informed him, pouring herself a cup as she sat down on the chaise lounge beside him. “I thought it would make a nice little morning-after treat.” She tried not to sound glum, but she