"Hey," Raylan says when she picks up the phone. "I'm stuck in traffic. There's a huge accident on I-90. Life-flight just went over. They're makin' us get off at the next exit, so I'll have to take the back way."
"If you had GPS..."
"I don't need GPS. We'll make our reservation, don't worry." He presses harder on the accelerator and pulls onto the exit ramp, almost rear-ending the car in front of him. "Dammit" He reaches up and loosens the tie, then runs a hand through his hair.
A Miami police officer is directing traffic at the bottom of the ramp, signaling Raylan to turn left. The way to Winona's is to the right and he shakes his head at the cop, hooking his thumb to the right. The overweight man shakes his head, angrily waving the other way and the car behind Raylan honks. He guns the engine and makes his right hand turn, glancing in the rearview at the furious cop screaming at him. At the next street, Raylan makes another right and continues weaving his way down the side streets to the next thoroughfare that will take him to Winona's development.
Pulling up in front of the house, he straightens his tie and brushes crumbs from Richardson's lunch off the passenger seat.
The door opens and his breath catches in his throat. "Wow," he manages as he takes the porch steps two at a time.
She smiles. "I'll take that as a compliment." She looks him up and down, clearly taking in Dan's wardrobe makeover. "Not bad yourself, Cowboy."
"You ready?"
"Let's go." She slips a sparkly shawl over one arm and grabs her clutch from the table.
Walking around to the passenger side, he opens the door for her.
"Why, thank you," she says, giving him another smile and a nice view of cleavage as she dips, slipping into the seat. He recognizes that dress.
"That's the dress that almost gave Dick Cheney another heart attack, isn't it?" He says, sliding into his own seat and grinning at her.
Her hands flutter, then smooth out the skirt. "You remember?"
"Yup. Kinda hard to forget that dress. Skinner was so pissed that I was late to that reception he made me supervise the newbies pickin' up all the spent shells from the range for a week."
She laughs. "So that's why you were so late getting home. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I dunno." He shrugs.
"I wasn't sure it would still fit," she says, sliding her gaze to gauge his reaction.
"It fits just fine."
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
"More Sangria?" The waiter holds the pitcher of ruby liquid over Winona's glass.
"Yes, please," she says, smiling up at him, ignoring Raylan's raised eyebrow. She takes a sip and licks her lips. "Ummmm."
Raylan drinks his whiskey and watches her. "You really like that stuff, don'tcha?"
"It's divine. You really ought to try it."
He swirls the amber liquid in the glass. "I'll stick with my usual, thanks." He says, smiling.
He has to admit, the place has lived up to its reputation so far. Usually he hates modern décor, but the dining area is surprisingly warm and inviting, despite the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto South Beach. The lighting is low and the light from scattered oil candles bounces off the glass creating intriguing shadows everywhere.
The food has been fantastic so far. The seafood stuffed pepper appetizer they shared was delicious and the service is just right. Their waiter isn't hovering, but he seems to magically appear just when they are ready for the next course. Now, as if on cue, a young man approaches with their dinners, their waiter at his side.
"Filet of Sole," he announces, lifting the lid. He deftly removes the bones in one piece and places the dish in front of Winona.
"It smells wonderful!"
"And for the gentleman, the filet mignon with mushroom sauce."
"Thank you."
He picks up Raylan's empty glass. "Another whiskey?"
"Please."
The waiter disappears and Winona dips her fork into the fish and takes a bite, closing her eyes.
Raylan watches her until her eyes slowly open.
"What?"
"That must be good."
"It's delicious. How's yours?"
"Haven't had any yet. Too busy watching you."
She flushes and spears another bite as he slices into his steak.
They eat in silence, each stealing an occasional glance at the other in the candlelight. His steak is perfectly done and the sauce is interesting, although he would've preferred A-1. Winona's fish must be as delicious as she claims, because he can't recall seeing her eat with such enthusiasm for a long time.
"I thought you wanted to talk," Raylan says finally, finishing the last bite of his steak. "Didn't you say something about dinner and conversation?" He picks up his glass, raising an eyebrow at her as he lifts it to his lips.
Winona pushes her empty plate away and leans one elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. Her hair is a halo around her face and those familiar blue eyes flash. "So, what do you think of the mayor's chances of re-election?"
Raylan lets out a low chuckle. "Crime rate's down." He shrugs. "Tourism is up. So, pretty good, I'd guess." He takes another swallow of whiskey. "My turn."
"Shoot, Cowboy," she says with a smile.
"Do you really like kale that much, or are you just pretendin' to?"
A laugh bubbles out of her. "It's not that bad once you get used to it."
"Yeah," he says. "It kinda is."
Winona's nose wrinkles and she leans towards him. "Shhhh," she whispers. "Don't tell Willa."
"Your secret is safe with me."
The waiter returns and they forgo dessert. "Let's walk off dinner and see if we can find some ice cream," Winona suggests.
"You know me well."
"I do." There's a cool breeze coming off the ocean, and she wraps the shawl around her shoulders and slips her hand into his as they exit the restaurant and walk along the wide sidewalk.
"Here," she says, pointing to a sign.
"Frieze?" Raylan says, skeptically. "Do they have vanilla?"
"I'm going to get you out of your comfort zone, Cowboy." She tugs on his hand and he follows her inside.
"Ooooh. Look at all the different flavors." She points. "Key Lime! Or maybe coconut."
"Hey! They do have vanilla."
She looks up. "Seriously, Raylan? This is a date. Do you want me to think you're boring?"
He slips an arm around her waist and pulls her in, dipping his head to hers. "You know damn well I ain't boring."
"Prove it." She puts a palm to his chest and meets his gaze, eyes twinkling. "Let me pick. You aren't afraid of a little something different are you?"
"Fine." He lets her go and shoves his hands in his pockets. "You pick." He looks at the case. "They don't have kale-flavored ice cream, do they?"
"I wouldn't do that to you. Why don't you get us a table, and I'll order." She points to the outdoor courtyard.
"Alright," he says, reluctantly.
She joins him a few moments later, setting down two cardboard containers with plastic spoons sticking out. "I got coconut." She pops a spoonful into her mouth.
He peers at his own. "And I got..."
"Just try it, Raylan."
He digs the spoon in and takes a tentative lick. "Not bad. What is it?"
"Try a whole spoonful and see if you can tell."
"Maple syrup?" He takes another bite. "Some kinda nuts...and something else I can't put my finger on."
She grins at him. "Think outside the box."
"What's that s'posed to mean?" He scowls, taking another bite.
"Something you wouldn't expect in ice-cream." She swirls her spoon around and licks the ice cream off.
"I can't concentrate with you doin' that."
"What?" She giggles and feigns innocence, licking the spoon again.
Raylan lowers his gaze and concentrates on his dessert. "Coffee?"
Winona shakes her head.
"Caramel?"
"Try again."
"Bourbon?" He says finally. "Is there bourbon in this ice cream?"
"Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner. It's called Jack's Maple Walnut."
"Pretty good," he admits
"See?"
"Not as good as vanilla but..."
He gets an eye-roll in reply.
-o-o-o-O-o-o-o-
"So," he says, opening the car door and stepping back for Winona to slide in. "How'd the first date go? Am I gonna get lucky?"
"We'll see." She looks straight ahead, but he sees the smile curving her mouth.
He gets in on his side and buckles up, slipping his phone from his pocket and putting it in the cup-holder.
"I'd better check mine," Winona says. "Mama might have called." Her brow wrinkles. "That's odd."
"What?"
"I've got four missed calls and two messages and I don't recognize the numbers." She pushes voicemail and holds the phone to her ear. Her face goes white.
"What?" He repeats, more urgently.
"It's the State Police. Richard's been in an accident. I must still be listed as his emergency contact. I have to call this guy back." She fumbles with the phone and Raylan lays a hand on hers.
"What's the second voicemail?"
"Oh! I don't know." She listens again. "Miami University Hospital," she says. "I guess I'd better call there first."
She messes up the number twice, but finally gets through. After identifying herself, she says "Yes." then "No." and finally. "I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"What's goin' on?" Raylan keeps his voice soft, seeing the shock on her face.
"Richard is in surgery." She shakes her head and fumbles in her purse for a tissue. "Tommy is there, too."
"Where's his grandfather?"
"I don't know, Raylan!" She dabs at her eyes with the tissue, trying not to mess up her make-up. "Can we just go to the hospital?"
"Lemme see what I can find out." He picks up his phone and calls a Miami cop he knows, asking him about any injury accidents in the past few hours. He waits and listens, thanks him, and hangs up the phone.
"Well, if Carson was with him, he might not have made it. The only injury accident is the one that made me late to pick you up. Two fatalities, one life-flighted out, that must've been Richard. All the rest were minor injuries, so Tommy is probably fine."
"Carson might be fine, too."
"Maybe." He sighs and shifts the car into drive. This is not how he pictured their evening playing out.
"You'll stay with me, won't you?" She turns to him, her eyes wide.
"Whadda ya think I'm gonna do? Drop you off and leave?"
She snaps back. "I never know with you."
Another angry retort is on his lips but somehow he musters up the self-control to swallow it. Maybe he is changing after all.
"Hey," he says, taking her hand. "I ain't gonna leave you. We're in this together now, right?"
She hears the hint of insecurity in his question and squeezes his hand in response, hoping that's enough to reassure him.