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There were some 60s Mustangs out there, but everybody did Mustangs, and they were expensive. Erin wanted something unique, maybe a little challenging, but not something that was impossible to find parts for, like an International Harvester. Maybe she should restore a truck, a classic old pickup, like a 50s Ford or something. Those were fun. Or maybe something newer, like a 70s Bronco? Those were big now. She wouldn't solve the problem tonight. She closed the computer with a snap, picked up her e-reader, and flopped down on the couch. Two could play at this game.
Suddenly, the TV clicked off, and Ryan got up. "I'm headed for bed. See you in the morning. Let me know when you want to leave. Thanks for dinner."
Erin checked the time. Wow, it was late. "Goodnight. See you in the morning." She checked all the doors and walked to her bathroom. Maybe she could get some sleep tonight, but that didn't seem likely with Ryan sleeping upstairs. She really needed to get over her infatuation. With Michael, she'd had it all; she should be happy with what she had and quit moping about what she couldn't have.
Hopefully, it would all look better in the morning.
Chapter 21
Sponges Can Be Dangerous, Too
Ryan rolled over and smacked his phone. Ugh. He'd slept in, but even so, he didn't want to get up. It'd taken a long time to get to sleep—again. He had to get over his infatuation with Erin. Yeah, it would be a perfect morning if he could've followed through on his fantasy and finally kissed the woman. But no. Argh. He should go work out. Yesterday felt good, but he'd lose ground if he didn't keep pushing. And they had stuff to do today. Ryan forced himself to get out of bed, putting on running shorts and a shirt.
Erin was going running this morning. Maybe he'd meet her on the trail, and they could run together. He laughed. He had it so bad, and it was so useless. Erin would never be his.
Ryan walked down the stairs, crossed to the coffeepot, and smiled. Sweet—Erin had left him half the pot. He'd need that and more to get moving this morning. Erin's bedroom door was open, so she must be running the trail already. He poured himself a cup, made a PBJ for breakfast, and took it all to her patio. Eating, Ryan gazed out at the trees, enjoying the peace. Even the highway noise wasn't bad; it kind of faded into the background with his tinnitus. Another lovely present from his military career.
Why didn't Erin have kids? She and Sarge were married six or seven years. She'd said nothing about kids, so maybe she was one of those women who didn't really want any? Didn't seem to fit her though. Or maybe they couldn't have any? Or maybe they'd been waiting for Sarge to deploy less often? He snorted. Like that would happen. Ryan suddenly realized he didn't even know how old Erin was. He laughed. Like he cared. She could be part of the little old lady brigade, and he'd still want her.
He didn't even know Erin's birthday. And that bugged him. He wouldn't want to miss it. Guess he could ask Deb or Sam tonight if he got the chance. Hmm. Really, there were a lot of things he didn't know about her. The backpacking trip might be a real learning opportunity because everyone else would expect a basic rundown. Ryan scowled. They'd want to know about him, too. He'd share what he wanted to, then stare if they pushed for more, like usual. Most people couldn't maintain a stare-down with him.
Okay, enough useless thoughts. It was go time. Ryan stretched, drank a glass of water, and tightened his shoes. He locked the door, then realized he wasn't wearing an arm—and he didn't care. If people stared, it was their problem, not his. Ryan walked briskly down the driveway, warming up for the run.
Near the shop, a guy peered through the coffee shop window, a shiny black Mercedes parked behind him. Ryan cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hey, we're closed on Saturdays."
The guy turned. Cust. Ryan ran closer. "You're not supposed to be here. Leave, or I'm calling the cops."
Cust sneered at Ryan's missing left arm. "And what are you going to do about it?"
Fake it until you make it. Ryan laughed. "I kicked your ass no problem last time. It doesn't take much."
Cust sneered. "Without your bionic arm?"
"Nope. No problem at all." Ryan grinned. "By the way, see the new signs? Smile and wave. You've just given us all the ammo we need to get a restraining order."
"What, 'cause you put up a sign?" Cust scoffed. "Like Erin's got the money for a real surveillance system."
The garage door opened. Wiz held a semi-automatic pistol pointed at the ground. "Yes, she does. Leave or I fill you full of holes."
"Who are you?" Cust stepped back, gaping.
"I'm the person who will kill you if you take one step this way." Wiz's voice was dead flat. She raised her weapon.
This could go real bad, real fast. Ryan backed away so Wiz had room to move. "Cust, she means it. Move your ass or you're dead. You do not want to mess with her."
Cust backed toward his car, got in, still staring at the pistol in Wiz's hand. “You’ll regret this. I have dangerous friends!” He drove off, fishtailing and spraying gravel back. Wiz holstered her weapon and stared down the drive.
"Wiz, are you okay?" Ryan didn't touch her—she'd probably react badly.
"Yeah. I was about to leave." Wiz kept staring at the highway, even though Cust's car was long gone.
He wasn't sure what was going on in her head, but talking was probably a good idea. "Thanks for the save. I could kick his ass, even one-handed, but I might have gotten beat up."
Wiz finally looked at him. "No, Ryan, you might have gotten dead. He was packing."
"Really?" Ryan swallowed. He hadn't seen a gun.
"Yeah." She nodded. "Concealed holster, back of the pants. He reached back there a couple of times, then I saw the outline when he turned."
