He stared into her eyes, wondering what this was that was building between them.

To get things on a less intimate keel, and because he was feeling particularly wicked, he said, "You know, Livvy, I thought a lot about this idea of yours. And if I ever decide I need to find Miss Right, I have some questions of my own. Wanna hear some?"

She nodded. "Sure."

"Number one. Is the Superbowl a football game?"

Livvy cocked her head and gave him a confused look. "Of course it is."

"See, that's where you're wrong. My Miss Right needs to know the answer to that one is, it's not a football game. It's a sacrament." He enjoyed her laughter. "How about this one, Have you ever had to say, 'Put the gun down?' Or what does it mean if you find a slice of lemon in your dog's water bowl? Martha Stewart was there."

Livvy's deep-throated laugh did very good, very bad things to him.

"What's the international telephone dialing code for Antarctica?" he asked.

"Don't know."

"Some librarian you are. 672. Who are the Four Horsemen and what color horses do they ride?"

"I know this one." She sat closer. "Pestilence rides a white horse, War red, Famine black, and Death pale. What do they carry with them?" she shot back.

"Pestilence carries a bow and a crown, War wields the Great Sword, Famine carries weighing scales, and Death--" He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Death brings Hell with him."

"You're good," she whispered in admiration.

"So I've been told." And he didn't mean his mind.

Her eyes narrowed as though something had occurred to her. "Are you making fun of my questions?"

"Daffy, would I make fun of you? Even if I was, you need to loosen up. You're never going to find a husband this way, so why not have some fun."

She cut him a look. "You mean like what Peter was offering? No thanks."

Without examining his motives too closely, Tex reached for her planner and opened it to tomorrow.

"Let's see. 'Eight o'clock, Ginger's for pre-date interviews.'" He grinned. "Tell you what, in the interests of helping you enjoy yourself some..." He took her pen and drew a line through that entry. "Now, let's see. Seven is open."

He started writing.

"What are you doing?" She reached for the planner.

Tex held it away. "No, no." He put it back on the bar and continued writing. When he'd finished he handed it back to her.

"Now, I'm on your calendar, Daffy. You're going out with me tomorrow. I'll pick you up at your place at seven."

"Maybe I don't want to go out with you."

"But you have to," he countered, feeling very satisfied with himself. He really had her trapped. "I went to college. I'm passably good-looking. Right?" He stared her down until she nodded. He grinned. "Thanks. You're passably good-looking, too. And I answered your questions correctly."

"I've got lots more," she replied sassily.

"I'll answer them, too. But--" He held up his hand when she opened her mouth, he was sure, to launch into the next set. "I'll answer them five at a time. Okay?"

"Oh, you think you can answer them all?"

"I'm sure of it. So, you'll be ready?"

She fixed a narrow-eyed stare at him, then she smiled. "Well, you are on my calendar. I suppose I have to now. Especially since you wrote it in pen," she chided. "You never write in a planner in pen. What if something has to be changed?"

"I thought you didn't believe in contingencies, Daffy."

"I believe in erasers, Tex."

He laughed.

She sipped her second Tickle Me Elmo.

"Where are we going?" she said.

"You'll see tomorrow." He leaned over. "Another thing Peter didn't mention that guys don't like to wait. I'll be there at seven."