Tribute

young, dance naked for my pleasure every Tuesday and wake me with coffee—that’s after the sex—every morning. It’s the law of Kroblat.”
    “Who’s Kroblat?”
    “Not who. The planet Kroblat. It’s a very spiritual place,” he decided on the spot. “I try to live my life by its laws. So, we’ll have to get married and all the rest.”
    “We’ll get on that, first chance.” She brushed her hand over his hair. “Thanks for staying.”
    “Hey, I got coffee, a wife and eight kids out of it. You checked on Steve?”
    “No change. I’m going to go see him. Maybe I can bitch-talk him awake, you know?”
    “Maybe. Give me ten minutes, I’ll drive you.”
    “No. No, I’m fine. I’m going to sit with him awhile, nag him awhile. Then I’m going to pick up some supplies and materials, drop them back here. I’ll be back and forth a lot today. Let me ask you something. If I made a bargain with myself—or with God, fate. Whatever. And it was that I’d paint the barn red, red with white trim if Steve comes out of this okay, would I be jinxing it if I bought the paint before . . . before he comes out of it?”
    “No. In fact, it shows faith.”
    She shook her head. “I knew you’d say that. I’m just the opposite. Too scared to buy the damn paint.” She pushed to her feet. “I’ll see you later.”
    “I’ll be by the hospital.”
    She stopped at the door, hesitated, then turned back to look at him. “I can pick up dinner for tonight, if you want.”
    “That’d be great.”
    “I really want to sleep with you.” She smiled when he nearly bobbled the coffee and when Spock’s tiny ears perked. What a pair they were. “I really want to know what it’s like, to just let go. But I guess it’s like buying the paint, for now.”
    He kept his gaze on hers, and smiled. Slowly. “I’ve got time. For later.” Ford sat where he was, drinking coffee and making a mental note to write down that stuff about Kroblat. It could come in useful sometime, somewhere.
    He felt pretty damn good for a man who’d slept on the floor, he decided. And one who’d had some trouble not thinking about the woman sleeping on the floor in the next room.
    Now, since he was up at this ungodly hour, he’d drag his ass across the road, get in a workout, check on Steve, get a couple solid hours in on the novel, then drop by the hospital.
    “You get your lazy ass up, too,” he said to Spock, and juggled the dog fully awake with his foot. He heard the first truck pull up as he pulled on his pants. By the time he was dressed and pouring a second cup of coffee, with Spock doing what Spock had to do in the backyard, the noise and activity level hit the red zone. Deciding he’d just borrow the mug and bring it back later, Ford headed outside with the coffee.
    He saw Brian directing one of his men toward the back of the house with what looked like a load of sand. Ford shot up a wave. "Hey, Bri.”
    “Well, hey.” With his thumbs in his front pockets, Brian strolled over and shot a meaningful look toward the house. “And hey.”
    “Nah. Separate rooms. I didn’t want her to be alone.”
    “How’s she doing?”
    “Seems steadier this morning. She’s already on her way to see Steve.”
    “Shanna called the hospital. No change yet. It’s the damnedest thing. Hell of a nice guy.”
    “Yeah.” Ford looked over at the barn. “How much paint do you figure it’d take to do that barn?”
    “Hell if I know. Ask a painter.”
    “Right.” He glanced over as another car pulled up. “This place is a madhouse half the time. I’m going home.”
    “Cops.” Brian jerked his chin. “Cops’re back. I hope to hell they don’t want to talk to Shanna again. It gets her going.”
    “I’ll see if I can take it.”
    Neither of the men who stepped out of the Crown Vic were the cop— Taney, Ford remembered—they’d talked to the day before. Neither of them wore a uniform, and instead sported suits and ties. Detectives, he assumed.
    “Hey, how’s it going?”
    The taller of the two, with snow-salted gray hair and prominent jowls, gave Ford a curt nod. The second, small, lean and black, eyed him coolly.
    And both, he noted, stared down at the dog that stared up at them.
    “Cilla—Miss McGowan’s—not home,” Ford began. “She left for the hospital about fifteen, twenty minutes ago.”
    Tall White Guy studied him. “And you’d be?”
    “Sawyer. Ford Sawyer. I live across the road. I spoke with Officer Taney