'You won't even give me a hint?'
'Not a single one. I want you to wallow in anticipation, Sherlock.'
She sighed, then punched his arm. 'All right, but I'll probably be too excited with all this anticipation to sleep. Would you sing me just one line?'
He blinked, then raised his head and sang, 'I don't know nothin' better than a spur that's got its boot.'
'All right, that's not enough. More.'
He kissed her ear, then her throat. 'I don't know nothin' better than a barb that's got its wire.'
She laughed and snuggled closer. 'More.'
'I don't know nothin' better than a glass that's full of scotch.''
'More.'
'I don't know nothin' better than a poke that's got his cow.''
'And the last line?'
'No, I don't know nothin' better than a man who's got his mate.''
'Oh, Dillon, that's the greatest.'
'Goodness, you're easy.' He kissed her mouth. 'No, my sister didn't write that one, I did. You like that? You're not putting me on, are you? You appreciate the finer points of my music?'
'Oh yes,' she said. 'Oh yes.'
'I wrote it for you.'
She gave him a radiant smile, 'I just thought of another verse.'
An eyebrow went up.
She sang in an easy western twang, ' I don't know nothin' better than a fetlock with its horse.''
'A team,' he said. 'We make a great team. What's a fetlock anyway?'
She just grinned up at him. He stroked his fingers over her soft skin. He began kissing her and didn't stop for a very long time. When he was finally on the edge of sleep, he wondered what she'd play for him first on the new Steinway grand piano that was being delivered tomorrow.
