A Gleam In His Eye. Terry Essig

dry them out a bit.

      Hunter borrowed some towels from the lost and found to spread along the leather seats of his pride and joy. He still cringed as he buckled in those sodden little bodies. His own soggy self wasn’t doing the car’s seats much good, either. He thought of Johanna’s sleek, wet body when she’d stepped out of her shorts and shirt. Now, a body like that, he’d let ruin his leather any day of the week.

      “Come on, kids, let’s get a move on here,” Hunter said, suddenly in a hurry. How had they left the kitchen? Were there dirty dishes in the sink? Damn, he couldn’t remember. He needed to shower, put some dry clothes on. Hunter felt his chin. Maybe he should shave. His five o’clock shadow tended to be heavy.

      He stopped at the grocery store on the way home and froze in his damp clothes while he picked up the ice cream and various assorted toppings. He probably went overboard a bit on the topping part, but what the heck, he wanted to make a good impression. Johanna needed comfort food, he’d see she got it. Anything that would buy him time with her.

      “That’ll be $34.28. Having a party, huh?”

      Hunter came to with a start and looked down the checkout counter. He’d spent thirty-five dollars on dessert? Good grief. Well, it would be worth it in the long run. He hoped. “Here you are.” He handed over two twenties and waited for his change.

      “$5.72. There you go. Have a good night. Enjoy your ice cream, kids.”

      Aaron and Mikie smiled shyly. Robby grinned and nodded. Karen was the only one who actually got a thank-you out. He was going to have to work on their manners.

      Still, they were cute kids, as far as children went, and Johanna was obviously crazy about kids. Thoughtfully, Hunter buckled bodies in and stowed the ice cream in the trunk of the car. “Anybody who takes their safety belt off before this car is in the garage with the engine off, dies. Hear me, Aaron?”

      “I won’t do it again, I pwomise.”

      “And no unbuckling anybody else to get them into trouble.”

      “Okay.”

      “I mean it.”

      Hunter watched Aaron nod solemnly in his rearview mirror before grunting and cranking the engine. Maybe he had Aaron sufficiently cowed. Maybe. In the short time he’d had the children he’d learned it was a mistake to think in absolutes.

      “All right, here we go. Keep it down to a dull roar, okay? Uncle Hunter needs to pay attention to his driving. I really don’t feel like wrapping us around a pole on the way home.”

      Hunter strategized as he drove down the quiet streets. He was good at reading people, figuring out what made them tick. It was why he was good at his job. If you wanted to sell major manufacturing systems, you learned how to do that in a big hurry. An effective businessman made small talk with people who liked to chat. He took sports fanatics to the stadium in Chicago or the Hoosier Dome in Indy. Clients who were more into the arts got museum tickets, symphony concert tickets, architectural tours of the city. Whatever it took.

      So, what did he know about Johanna and what would his best approach be?

      She liked kids. Had to, or she wouldn’t surround herself with them. In the world BK—before kids—Hunter would have run as hard and as fast as possible to get away from such a woman, no matter how good-looking she was, but Hunter had entered an alternate world and he was not running away, no indeed.

      At any rate, the obvious thing to do here to keep Johanna interested was to surround her with his children. Hunter would make sure they were clean and threaten them with their lives so they’d behave. Hunter nodded thoughtfully. It should work. He nodded more forcefully as he pulled into the garage. His kids were as good—no, better—than any others he’d seen to date. Of course that wasn’t saying much in his book, but women thought differently. To his way of thinking, Johanna was a goner.

      “Kiss the competition goodbye,” he told himself as he pulled into his garage. “You’ve done it again, Hunter old boy. The woman won’t know what hit her.”