That launched a surprisingly in-depth conversation about the state of his ranch.
By the time we finished our dinners, we’d started sketching maps and charts on napkins. Clint was wary of the current model of enormous agribusiness, but recognized the need to move past some of his father’s methods, which were pretty much the same methods that his grandfather had used.
We walked to his truck in a companionable and overstuffed silence, and I hauled myself up into the high cab.
We sat there for a minute, quietly, in the big, comfortable seats.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Clint open his mouth, and shut it again.
"What?" I asked.
He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable.
"What's on your mind?" I pressed.
This dinner had taught me something important: It wasn't just that my body sang to be near Clint's. I liked his manners, his smile, I liked his mind.
I didn't want to lose him before he was even mine.
"We were going to have sex," he said bluntly.
"I think so, yes," I said. Could he hear the catch in my voice? I was trying to stay calm, but I do not know if I really succeeded.
"I don't know if you expect to have sex tonight," he said, "I don't want to disappoint you, but I also would like to get to know you a little better."
He looked at me and gave that half-smile, twisting his mouth.
"Brandon might say that I'm a ridiculous old fool, but now that I am not so frantic to touch you, I can't help but see my mother's face and think about how disappointed she'd be."
I smiled at him.
"Honestly, it's not something I normally would have done either," I said.
He laughed.
"Trying to make me feel better?" he asked.
"No, no," I said.
The sceptical look that flitted across Clint’s face twisted my heart.
“I’m not exactly saving myself for marriage,” I said, “I’ve been with a man before, but never a man I wasn’t dating. Never a man I’d just met.”
He looked a little relieved.
“I’ve slept with women I’d just met, and I’ve slept with women I was dating,” he said, “Never both, though. If I met a woman and wanted to get to know her, I’ve always held off.”
“Six months,” I said.
Clint looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
“Let’s go out for six months, and not have sex until then,” I said.
He laughed.
“That’s going to be torture, but it serves me right,” he said, and nodded slowly. “Okay. Six months.”
“Do you want me to take you home now?” he asked.