“Thank you,” Ketch said before she needed to tell him she had to go. He guessed the librarian must be a workaholic who lived in her office. She wasn’t young or old, early forties, he guessed. Amelia Remington was probably called ma’am before she’d been out of college. He’d always seen her hair curled in a knot, but now only a ribbon at the base of her neck bound it. Her wavy brown hair hung halfway down her back.

She handed him a list of studies on his topic that she’d ordered. “The articles will be scanned and emailed by Monday, and I’ll ask that the books on interlibrary loan are sent as fast as possible. There may be a small charge.”

“Put it on Dr. Monroe’s bill,” Ketch said.

The man she’d called Hank stood and very carefully picked her up before he faced Ketch. “Would you mind taking the chair outside and down the steps? It’ll be faster.”

“Sure.” Ketch dropped his books in the wheelchair and rolled it out behind the couple. The guy looked a few years older than the librarian, but it’s hard to tell with people over forty. He was fit, and even holding the lady, he walked like a man in balance. Like at one time he’d been a fighter or athlete.

Ketch thought about being a bit older than Tuesday too. He wondered how she really saw him, not as just four years older, but really an “old man.” He’d seen the world and been in combat by the time he was twenty. He’d have his degree before he turned twenty-seven, so he didn’t figure he was much behind those who skipped the army.

Funny thing about going into the service: You think you’re going to be behind when you get back home, but when you come back, you notice no one is moving that fast.

So, if he measured age in experience, he probably was an old man to a twenty-two-year-old who’d never gone anywhere. Smiling, he thought of how much fun it would be to show her the world.

Hank lowered Miss Remington into a boat of a Lincoln. Then he shook Ketch’s hand. “Good luck with the study. Sounds interesting.”

“Thanks,” Ketch managed to say as they put the wheelchair in the back. “Nice car,” he lied.

Hank laughed. “Yeah. You want to buy it?”

“No, thanks. I couldn’t give up my truck.”

“I know how you feel. I’ve never been able to give up my Harley. Nice meeting you, Ketch Kincaid.”

He had the feeling the stranger had just filed information about him in his brain.

Something made him say, “If you or the librarian ever need me, just call.” He looked at her curled up in the seat, her head resting against the window. “She is going to be all right?”