“No bikinis on a first date.” He nods. “I’m sure that’s a rule. Or should be. For my sisters anyway.”

“Maybe I should know the rules,” he says softly. “Pfft. I’m not a game.” I reach out to poke his shoulder, and unexpectedly he catches my finger. “Sometimes, I’m not so sure.”

“On our first date, you should wear a maternity dress, because I’m going to try to impregnate you.”

“Oh, I should probably set a few ground rules before we do this.”“Oh?” I turn at the waist and look at him curiously. “What kind of ground rules?”He smiles. “Well, number one: my car, my stereo; I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on that.”

“You’re a good date,” he said.“You thought of it as a date?”He nodded. “From the beginning.”

“I’m sixty-eight” he said, “I first bucked hay when I was seventeen. I thought, that day I started, I sure would hate to do this all my life. And dammit, that’s just what I’ve gone and done.”