Toby leans on the refrigerator door and stares at me with those mesmerizing blue eyes that I find so fascinating. Who knew the color of blue could have so many distinct hues? I wonder how they look first thing in the morning when he’s still groggy from sleep. Or late at night in the heat of passion. I imagine they go dark blue, almost black.

“You really want to know my type?” he says. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Long, dark hair, green eyes, and lush lips.” His eyes drop to my chest and I cross my arms protectively. “Large breasts,” he continues, “At least a C-cup. All those guys who say more than a mouthful is a waste are lying through their teeth when it comes to boobs.” He holds up his big hands and pretends to squeeze. “And a big ass. The bigger the better. None of those skinny ass girls for this country boy.”

He’s describing me.

“Is that descriptive enough for you? Or do you need more?”

I want more, and he knows it.

“Oh, do go on,” I say, waving my hand. “I want to hear this.”

“Why?” he asks. “For your interview? I don’t see how my preference for women with a big old booty would be relevant to your viewers.”

“You might be surprised,” I say. “I’m all ears.”

“You’re a lot more than ears, sweetheart,” he says.

I roll my eyes. He never stops with the sexual innuendos. Usually this is a sign the man isn’t going to perform up to expectations. In Toby’s case, I doubt I would be disappointed. The sizzling heat coming off him is impossible to ignore.

“I meant keep going with your ideal girl story.”

“Sweet and sassy,” he says, getting wound up now. “I like a girl with spunk. One that’s not afraid to put me in my place when I need it. To speak their mind if I’m getting out of line.” He rubs the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully. “Not a bitch though. I don’t have much patience for that. And not a fancy girl either. I need a woman that’s comfortable getting down and dirty. Who is willing to crawl up in the back of my pickup truck to help me bale hay in the summer. Or go fishing with me.”

He holds up both hands.

“Only occasionally though. Not always. A man needs some alone time by the river. To think.”

I wish I was writing all this down. For research purposes. So I can remember every detail later.

Not that I’m likely to forget.

“You like to fish?” I ask.

“I don’t just like to fish,” he says. “I need to fish. Like a man needs air to breathe. Sometimes it’s the only thing that calms me down. Those are the most peaceful times I have these days…me, Sadie, and a fishing pole alone on a river bank. No cell phones, ear buds, or other people around to bother me.”

“Why do you need calming down?”

The question slips out. I regret it immediately when his mask goes right back up. Where his face was animated a split second before, now it’s blank and impossible to read. He turns away from me and takes the steaks out of the plastic wrapping before rinsing them under the water.

“Doesn’t everyone need it at times?” he says. “We’ve all grown accustomed to so much noise in our lives. Cell phones, computers. It’s almost as if we can’t function without them. We’re convinced we need constant stimulation. To be multi-tasking every second of the day. It’s a bad habit and nothing but a big cover-up.”

“For what?”

“The noise and activity prevents us from feeling alone. When it’s dead quiet and there’s not a device to pick up, we’re forced to look inside ourselves. And sometimes it’s not pretty what we see there. At least I know it’s not for me.”

Toby is surprisingly insightful and haunted by something. I want to know what is going on inside his head. And where the deep sadness comes from that peeks out when he thinks no one is watching.

“I know what you mean,” I say. “Most days I need to be doing three things at once or I’m not working hard enough. Even when I’m driving, it feels like a waste of time if I’m not talking on the speakerphone to my station manager.”

He whirls around and points a finger at me.

“See! That right there is what I’m talking about,” he says. “Next time you’re in the car, turn off your phone and turn on the radio instead. Full volume. It doesn’t matter what station it’s on. Country, rock, rap. They’re all good. Roll down the window, let your hair blow in the wind, and sing at the top of your lungs. If you don’t know the words, make them up. You’ll feel much better, I promise you. Try it.”

I shake my head at the thought. “If I did that in Atlanta traffic, everyone would think I was crazy. The police would pull me over for disturbing the peace.”

He winks at me and picks up the platter of steaks with both hands.

“They might pull you over. Only to get your number. Everyone else would just be jealous because you would be enjoying life while they’re stuck in misery.”

“You sing in the car?”

“In my truck,” he corrects. “Hell yes I sing! Every chance I get. Loud and off-key. Sometimes Sadie howls along since she goes almost everywhere with me, riding shotgun in the passenger seat.”

He’s relaxed and smiling now. As he’s talking, I realize I would love to hear Toby sing. Or see him standing on a riverbank with a fishing pole in his hand. I might even volunteer to drive the truck if I could watch him pick up bales of hay and throw them into the back. Shirtless, with drops of sweat rolling down his back. I blink my eyes to clear the fantasy that is building up in my brain.

He tilts his head at the back door.

“Open the door for me. I’ll start the grill and put these on. If you want to grab us a couple of beers from the fridge, we can talk out on the deck.”

I open the door for him and rub my arms when the cold air blasts me.

“Whoa! It’s chilly out there. Do you normally grill in the dead of winter?”

“If I’m doing steaks,” he says. “I tried to cook them in a pan once and my house was filled with smoke for days. Plus the smoke alarm scared Sadie.” He nods at a heavy coat hanging on a hook beside the door. “Bundle up in my coat. You’ll be fine.”

I slip on his coat and zip it up. The coat smells of Toby. After checking to make sure he’s gone outside and can’t see me, I take a deep breath of the collar. Maybe I’ll steal his soap when I leave. I slip my hands in the deep pockets and my fingers touch a piece of paper. Curious, I pull it out.

It’s an old faded photograph of Toby and three other men in the military. Toby has his arm draped over the shoulders of the man standing next to him. Both of their heads are shaved, and it’s hard to recognize the much younger Toby except for his bright blue eyes. The men are all wearing big smiles. They’re happy and carefree.

The edges of the photograph are worn thin from handling. I wonder how many times Toby has pulled the photo out to look at it. The men must mean a great deal to him for him to carry the photo in his pocket.

“Are you coming out here or not?” he yells from the deck.

Quickly I stuff the photo back into the coat, grab two bottles of beer from the refrigerator, and follow him out onto the deck. Sadie is excited to have company and is running around in wild circles trying to get one of us to play with her.

“Are you sure you can see well enough to grill?” I ask. “It’s pitch black out here. Doesn’t anyone believe in outdoor lighting up here in the mountains? You must save a lot on electricity bills.” I’m freezing cold, so I jump up and down to stay warm.

Toby reaches over and hits a switch behind me. A dim, single-bulb porch light flickers on. “Better?” he says. “Don’t worry, I can see just fine. I have grilling down to a science.”

I nod and hand him his beer. He unscrews the top and places the cap on the picnic table in the middle of the deck. Closing his eyes, he takes a long sip. “Damn! This hits the right spot after the day I’ve had,” he says. “There’s only one thing in this world I like the taste of better than an icy cold beer.”

“And what’s that?” I ask, then immediately realize my mistake.

The mischievous glint in his eyes and the smile playing around his mouth gives away what he’s referring to. “I’ll show you sometime if you want,” he replies. “Or if you want to hop up on the picnic table right now and slide up your skirt, I can show you now.” He pats the table beside him in invitation.

My face flushes with heat. The mental image of Toby’s head between my legs is making me go weak. Especially with that mouth of his and those full luscious lips. I have no clue how he is getting to me so quickly. He needs to stop it.

Before I do something I’ll regret later.

“Either way, it’s a standing offer,” he says, giving me a sexy wink. “I’ll let you think it over. How do you prefer your steak? It won’t take long for the grill to heat up. Let me guess…medium well for you, and almost charred to the point of being burned all to hell on the edges.”

“Try rare,” I reply.

He cocks his eyebrows at me. “Oh, so you’re an adventurous type?” He takes another sip of his beer while leaning against the deck. He studies me quietly from head to toe. Then he nods slowly. “I can see that in you. Interesting.” He rubs the tiny spot of beard under his lips.

I have an urge to replace my fingers with his. Why does he leave that one little spot of beard on his face? It’s unusual and immensely sexy. It makes him look mysterious. Naughty and oh so very bad.

I like it.

No, I take that back.

I love it.

“What do you do for fun?” he asks. “Tell me what adventurous, wild Maggie does on a Saturday night.”

“Work,” I answer truthfully. “Most of my time is spent either working or thinking about work. It’s where I get my thrills.”

Or I always did in the past. Now I’m mostly bored if I’m being honest with myself.

“That’s what I thought,” he says. “Doesn’t that get old? Life isn’t supposed to be about work. No matter how exciting or important you think your job is.”

“I love my work,” I say. “I go to interesting places and meet new people. It’s exciting.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” he asks with a knowing look. “How long have you been at the station?”

“Five years. They hired me right out of college and put me on the air a year later. I was lucky to be offered such a great opportunity. Other people would love to be in my position.”

“I bet,” he says, unimpressed. “And yet there’s something missing.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a yearning in your eyes for more,” he says. “You’re still searching. When was the last time you felt alive? Think for a second before you spurt out some glib answer. Feeling truly alive is rarer than you might think.”

I’m quiet for a moment while I think about his question.

My life is getting old and stagnant. I can’t remember the last time when I truly felt alive.

Up until the shooting.

I felt more alive in that ten minutes than I have in years. Maybe everyone feels that way when they’re faced with death.

“I felt alive yesterday,” I answer. “For the first time in my life, I was faced with the chance of dying. I never knew how much I wanted to live. I’ve never been suicidal or anything. Don’t get me wrong. I just didn’t appreciate the mere act of breathing until I almost lost it.”

He nods in understanding. There’s a far off look in his eyes.

“I know what you mean,” he says. “It’s a life-altering experience, and it should be. To make you appreciate what you have. The first time our platoon came under enemy gunfire, reality hit me like a freight train. The knowledge that I could die at any time, on any day, was life-changing. You start to think about how you would want to live your life if you only had one more day. Or even another ten minutes. All the things you would do differently if you had a chance.”

“What did you come up with?” I ask.

Toby is slowly but surely drawing me into his spell, sucking me into a world where I want to be right at this moment, listening to him talk about his life, his wants, his needs.

Or to show me if he can’t find the words.

“I realized that the simple things in life are what brings me happiness. Not money.” He lets out a short laugh. “Not that I would ever have a ton of it anyway. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to be dead-ass broke and go without food or a roof over my head. I’ve been at that place too when I was young, and it wasn’t a cakewalk. All I need is enough money to have a decent life.”

“Do you realize you’re sitting on a gold mine right now if you need money?” I ask. “The publicity might be good for you and the Steel Infidels. You could make a lot of money off this if you play your cards right. What about social media accounts? Are you on Instagram? Facebook? You and Sam could also make a ton from public appearances. Maybe even hire a ghostwriter and write a book.”

Toby grows still and stares at me like I’ve grown devil horns.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” he asks in exasperation. “Do I strike you as the type of man who gives a fuck about money? Whatever you’re trying to get me to do, I’m not interested. Stop right there.” He holds up his hand. “No way, no how. I don’t want people snooping around in my business. I’m not interested in fame or publicity. I want this all to go away.”

“It wouldn’t be forever,” I say. “These kinds of things tend to burn out quickly. That’s why they call it ‘ten seconds of fame.’ Make some fast money now while you have a chance.” I wave a hand at his house. “You could fix up your place or buy a bigger house. Put some money aside for the future. What would be so bad about that?”

“My house might not be fancy, but it’s home,” he says curtly. “It’s good enough for me. And besides, I’m not fond of change. I like things just the way they are now. The grill is ready. Time to put on the meat.”

He stabs the steaks almost angrily with a fork and places them on the grill. The fat on the steaks drips down onto the flames, causing them to flare up. They sizzle loudly and smoke floats my way.

“I’m sorry,” I say, realizing my words rubbed him the wrong way. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was only trying to help.”

“I don’t need your help,” he replies. “Sadie and I are making it just fine. We were fine before you got here and we’ll be fine after you leave in two days.”

Well…damn. He’s prickly.

Toby has shut me out tight. I guess I learned my lesson about mentioning money to him. I didn’t mean to sound as if I was criticizing him or making fun of his house. I was enjoying listening to him talk. Now I’ve screwed things up with him again.

This isn’t going well.

The smoke causes me to cough and I move my chair. Toby flips over the steaks and the smoke changes direction, coming my way again.

“I see smoke still follows beauty,” he says with a hint of a smile.

“Is that your awkward way of trying to say you think I’m pretty?”

Did I really ask him that? Now I’m sounding like a high schooler.

“No, it’s an old saying whenever someone changes position and the smoke still follows them,” he explains. “Not a personal statement on my part.”

Now I feel awkward and stupid.

“I don’t need to tell you you’re beautiful,” he says after a minute. “I’m sure plenty of other men have told you that before in your life. I’m more of a show-not-tell kind of guy anyway. Certain words are used so much that they don’t mean anything anymore…beautiful, love, I’m sorry. The list could go on and on. They’re just words that need actions to back them up.”

Toby is slowly warming up to me again. I don’t want to screw it up and have him shut down completely.

“How would you show a woman that you think she’s beautiful?” I ask. “If you don’t tell her.”

“Is this another one of your interview questions?” he asks. “I have to admit, I don’t know much about news stories and investigative reporting. Even so, your interviewing tactics seem a bit strange. Don’t you want to know about the motorcycle club instead of me? Not that I could tell you much. Flint or Jesse would be better to talk to about that.”

He’s right. My interview questions have gone completely off track.

“Flint’s offer to interview the Steel Infidels caught me by surprise,” I admit. “I wasn’t expecting anything like that when you guys agreed to talk to me.” I shrug. “I’m not sure which direction the interview will take, so I want to cover all my bases. Since you took my phone, I haven’t talked to my station manager. In the meantime, I’ll try to gather as much background information as I can. Starting with you. Then I’ll work my way on to Sam and the other Steel Infidels.”

“I’ve said more than enough for one night,” Toby says. “And it’s been a long day. Let’s just sit here in peace for a minute, relax, and finish our beers.” He pulls down the bill of his baseball cap and closes his eyes.

In other words, please stop bothering me with questions. Okay, I get it. I’m tired too. The last twenty-four hours have been crazy and I haven’t stopped for one second.

I dust off one of the lawn chairs on the deck and sit down. Closing my eyes, I lean my head back to rest. After a minute, I notice the loud sound of insects coming from the woods behind the house.

“What on earth is that sound?” I ask, sitting up. “Bugs?”

“Spring Peepers,” Toby replies.

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Which are?”

“Frogs. Hush for a minute and listen.”

I stay silent as the sound of frogs get louder and louder until it’s almost deafening to me. “Are they going to hop up here on the deck?” I ask, imagining a plague of toads creeping closer by the minute. I’m seriously getting freaked out by the thought.

“The frogs? Hell no!” Toby bursts out laughing. “Girl, where have you been living? Have you really never heard frogs before?”

I shake my head. “Not like that. Can’t say that I have.”

“That’s hard to believe. They’re one of my favorite sounds in the whole world. You should learn to appreciate them. One of these days, the frogs will all be gone and then there won’t be sounds like this anymore.”

Appreciate the sound of frogs? I don’t think so.

“Do they quiet down enough at night for you to sleep?” I ask. I’m wondering how in the world anyone could sleep through the loud racket. Thankfully I always keep an extra pair of earbuds in my purse.

“Wouldn’t know because they lull me straight to sleep,” he says. “Always have. Ever since I was no bigger than knee high to a grasshopper.” He holds his hand about a foot off the ground. “When I was in Afghanistan, the sound of frogs was one of the things I missed the most. And all the other night sounds of Georgia. Nothing else like it in the world.”

My ears perk up and I lean forward. Now that he’s brought up the subject of Afghanistan, he might be willing to talk about it. There’s a hidden side to Toby that I want to know more about, especially after seeing the photograph.

“You were in the military?”

“Marines.”

“How long were you in for?”

He’s studying the label on his beer as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world then slowly starts peeling it off from one corner. “Years,” he answers vaguely. “Several long, hard years. I enlisted when I was eighteen.”

“Were you in Afghanistan the whole time?”

“For the most part. We would come home every seven months. It didn’t seem right though to sit my ass on a couch when some of my buddies were still there. I was always glad in a way when it was time to go back. When I was there, I wanted to come home. When I was home, I didn’t feel comfortable until I went back. It was a fucked- up situation. I felt anxious and uneasy no matter where I was.”

“Are you home now for good?”

I hold my breath and wait for his answer. I can’t imagine how it would feel to be with a man like Toby then to send him off for seven long months. Waiting for him to return home would be agony. Or worse, not knowing for sure if he would come back at all.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m back for good.”

Relief washes over me. Why do I care about a man I only just met?

“The steaks are ready,” he says suddenly, putting an end to our conversation. “Let’s eat. I’m starving. Enough talking for one night.”