Kit grinned, knowing Bertie’s offer was only a tease, at least where he was concerned. Kit had afar-flung reputation as the world’s straightest-laced time scout. It made most of the women on TT-86 treat him like a favorite uncle or a third grandfather. That had its advantages, but sometimes …
He sighed and pushed away thoughts of Sarah. Ancient history, Kit. But he still couldn’t help wondering sometimes if he might have found a way to make it work. Yeah. Right. You weren’t good enough for her, Georgia Boy. Despite the years, their last fight still had the power to hurt him. And when he’d gone looking for her, what her father and uncle had said …
Kit gave a deliberate mental shrug. She’d made her choices and he’d made his. He’d been through every conceivable argument over the years, trying to figure a way it might have gone differently, and he’d never found one. So Kit picked up his fork, carefully not allowing himself to wonder what had become of Sarah or if she ever thought about him when she read the newspapers or watched the idiotic docudramas ….
Really, Kit told himself sourly, after all this time, there is no point crying about it. He smoothed the paper, turned to a fresh page, and dug into the heaping plate of Denver style steak and eggs, with a bird’s-nest side of golden-brown hashed potatoes drenched with meted cheese and liberally mixed with fried onions and green pepper chunks. Ahh …Bronco Billy’s knew how to make breakfast.
Kit was halfway through the steak, cooked rare just the way he liked it, when a shadow fell across his table. He glanced up-and nearly choked on a bite of half swallowed beef.