Page 5 of Viking Unchained

Pink color rose in both their cheeks.

I feel as if there is a whole other conversation going on here below the surface. Surely, there is birth control in Norway. “Do you have children?” She addressed both Kirstin and Alison.

Kirstin shook her head. “Nope. No children. No husband. I’m thirty-two years old, which is totally over the hill back in our . . . um, country. But here . . .” She shrugged. “I’m still hoping for Prince Charming to come riding over the horizon on his fair steed. Or Harley. Hey, I’ll even accept a broken-down pickup truck for the right guy. In the meantime, I enjoy my job.”

“No children for me, either, though I do have a husband. ” Alison blushed just mentioning her husband, and Lydia could understand why. Lydia had met Ragnor Magnusson one day when he came to pick up his wife at the studio. Some kind of computer genius, he was pure, one-hundred-proof hunk. “We didn’t want to have any children ’til we decided exactly where we wanted to live. Then when we were ready, nature wasn’t. But we’re still trying.”

An awkward silence followed, but not for long.

“Since you and I are the only single ones here, maybe we should hit the Wet and Wild one night,” Kirstin suggested. The Wet and Wild was a singles bar that catered to military personnel, especially SEALs, from the nearby base.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Another Navy SEAL? I don’t think so!

Madrene narrowed her eyes at Lydia. “Have you been with any man since your husband died?”

Lydia bristled at that intrusive question, but then relaxed, knowing Madrene meant well. “There’s a landscape contractor I know . . . but, really, we’re just friends.”

“How long has it been . . . since Dave’s death?” Alison put a hand on hers in understanding.

“Five years.” She gulped. “But it seems like yesterday. I know, I know, I should be getting past this . . .

this . . . grief, but I still feel raw.” Truthfully, since Lydia had never viewed Dave’s remains before his burial—the explosion presumably making him unrecognizable—she’d always sustained an unspoken hope that he was still alive . . . a POW, or involved in some secret government operation, and that someday he would knock on her door and say, “Honey, I’m home.” Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic! She turned to Kirstin. “Yes, I would like to go out clubbing sometime, but the Wet and Wild would not be my first choice. With all due respect”—she glanced at Madrene and Alison—“I don’t need another military man in my life.”

The waiter arrived, cutting off conversation for a bit.

As an appetizer, they all opted for blue crab bisque with sweet sherry and tarragon. For an entrée, Madrene chose grilled salmon with braised fingerling potatoes and a shaved fennel, green bean, and wilted lettuce salad. Alison picked the mushroom ravioli in vodka sauce, and for Lydia and Kirstin, it was black and blue Angus burgers, heavy on exquisite Roquefort blue cheese, with caramelized onions, lettuce, tomato, bacon, and cheddar, served on warm-from-the-oven kaiser rolls. Then, for dessert, coffee and crème brûlée for all. Not quite the fare you would expect from body-conscious women, but then they’d worked hard today.

They were on their way back to the studio parking lot, where their cars were parked, when Lydia told them, “We’re starting a new class next week that you ladies might be interested in.” She grinned and paused for a ta-da moment. “Pole dancing.”

“Are you serious?” Kirstin’s jaw gaped open.

“Oh, yeah! A good pole dance works all the muscle groups at one time.”

“Plus, there’s the naughty factor.” Alison waggled her eyebrows.

Alison and Kirstin giggled, but Madrene frowned in confusion. “What is pole dancing?”

Once Lydia explained, Madrene snorted, “Pfff! As if I need to do aught but look at my husband to turn him lustsome!”

“I don’t know. I think it might be fun,” Alison said.

“Me, too.” This from Kirstin. When Madrene and Alison both looked at Kirstin questioningly, she said, “Hey, if a little pole dancing will attract Prince Charming, I’m game.”

They all laughed at that. The image of some knight on a white charger coming on to a woman pole dancing was just too funny.

“Leastways, where would I get a pole to dance for my husband?” Madrene continued to harp.

“How about that support pole in your basement?” Kirstin suggested.

“Now I must go down into the basement, amidst the furnace and storage bins, to entice my husband?”

Madrene asked mockingly, but Lydia could tell that she was interested.

“I could use the flag pole in our backyard,” Alison said.

“Your neighbors would appreciate that, I wager,” Madrene scoffed.

“Don’t be such a killjoy,” Kirstin said. “Oh, look. Ian’s here.”