“It’s the game I told you about before. The oldest man picks a number between one and a hundred and keeps it to himself. The rest of the players pick numbers one by one, trying not to pick the one the oldest man chose. We get told higher or lower as clues. It always comes down to the final two players, each one trying not to guess the right number. Whoever says that number gets stuck with the bill.”
“Seems simple enough,” I said.
“Are you ready for that kind of a challenge?” Pete asked, his eyes getting even wider, the cheer in them contagious. So much so that I plum forgot how nervous I was supposed to be around him. I just wanted to play.
I nodded once, grinning myself.
Big Tom must have been the oldest, because he picked the number, nodding to all of us once he’d decided on a good one. We went around the table, starting with me. These men were all raised to be proper gentlemen, so, naturally, a lady would always go first.
“Twenty-three,” I said.
Big Tom smiled. “Higher.”
“Fifty-five,” Pete said, jumping in before Laraby, who was sitting to my right, could get the chance.
“Lower.”
Each man took his turn, the pool of possible numbers finally narrowing to just two. Somehow Pete had messed with the order, and it was his turn and then mine. He watched me closely, the look in his eyes drawing a small smile from me over how competitive this could get. He hadn’t been kidding when he mentioned this game the last time we ate here. Things could get serious over a tab of a few dollars.
“Thirty-three,” he said. That left thirty-two for me. We both looked at Big Tom.
The hefty old man slammed a big hand on the table, making our half-empty coffee mugs jump. “You got it, son! Which means you also got the bill to pay!”
“Damn it!” Pete said, but he was grinning, too. I could tell that was how he’d wanted things to work out.
I laughed when the rest of the old timers did, so deep it hurt my belly, but in a good way. The twisting knots were long gone. When the waitress wandered back to warm up our mugs of coffee, Pete and I ordered the same dishes we’d had the other day and ate them at the old timers’ table, joking and chuckling in between bites. Near the end of the meal, the conversation turned to Pete’s daddy.
“Charlie Gains was my best friend growing up,” Laraby began. “I never had sons of my own-”
“You never had daughters neither,” Tex grumbled, his old face breaking into a sly smile, but Laraby flat out ignored him and just kept on with what he was saying.
“So I took on Pete as soon as I could.” Laraby gave Pete a sweet, genuine smile, the way I’d sometimes caught Daddy smiling at me when he thought I wasn’t paying close attention. “Charlie and me used to get up to some real trouble when we were coming up.” He whistled, shaking his head as he thought about some of that trouble, his old eyes gleaming.
“Didn’t we all?” Winston chimed in. It was the most he’d said besides numbers since we’d sat down to join them.
“As much trouble as he used to get into — and he used to get into a lot,” Big Tom said, to a chorus of whistling and nodding heads, each man with something different to say about Pete’s daddy, the words mixing together, “He sure did straighten up when he married Linda.”
I snuck a glance over at Pete, who was looking across the table at the old man with a small smile on his lips. He’d left his hat in the truck, and his dark hair lay wild and windblown on the top of his head. Now that I knew how soft it was, the urge to smooth it nearly overwhelmed me. But what would the old timers say?
“A woman can break a man, or she can make a man,” Tex said, sounding wise, his weather-beaten face pinched into a thoughtful expression. “Linda made old Charlie.” His light, watery eyes fixed on mine all of a sudden; the intensity in them set me back in my chair. “Have you decided which you’ll do to Pete here, Missy?”
My cheeks colored, but I didn’t avert my eyes. “Not yet,” I said with a straight face.
He watched me for a minute before his lips split into a wide grin. He looked at Pete as the rest of the table chuckled low in their throats. “I like this one, Petey. Best keep her around.”
Pete’s cheeks were red, too, but he didn’t look away or swallow his grin. “I aim to.”
After finishing our meals and taking care of the coffee tab, Pete drove us back to the farm, the conversation light and easy in the truck, like it’d been after our date on Friday night. We came to a stop in the driveway back at the ranch, but neither of us seemed quite ready to get out. We turned to look at each other at the same time, a bashful grin curling the ends of Pete’s mouth.
; “Are things okay between us?” he asked. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable on the farm.” He paused a moment before adding, “Or around me.”
I smiled, too. All the nerves had left me at the restaurant. It’d been the game. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed so hard at something so simple.
“Yeah, we’re okay,” I said.
His smile cranked up a little, but not all the way. He was still being hesitant. “I was thinking of doing a cookout tomorrow night. Nothing big, just some burgers and beers. I’d love it if you came. We could get to know each other a little more.”