“Dating?” She peeked up at him through her lashes, so damn pretty it made his chest ache all over again. She had a tiny smile on her lips. “You must have been pretty good at it to have been married before.”

Except he hadn’t been married to Libby’s mother. Hank went silent. He wondered if she’d think less of him if she knew he’d been hoodwinked by a local woman who preyed upon trappers. Better to not say anything at all.

“I’m sorry. I’m prying. I know it’s a sensitive topic.” Her expression changed to one of regret. “I keep telling myself not to ask and I do anyhow. I apologize. When would you like to go out?”

Go out? He had to pick a date? Hank really hadn’t thought that far ahead on things, but he should have. It made sense that he’d need to have some sort of plan for this. Damn it. He wasn’t good at thinking on his feet. “Tomorrow,” he blurted, and then figured that sounded like as good a plan as any. Calving season was slowing down to a reasonable speed anyhow.

Her eyes went wide. “Tomorrow . . . night?” When he gave a sharp nod, she thought for a moment. “It’ll be Friday, and I don’t have any appointments after four. I can close up a bit early. Dinner, I assume?”

Dinner sounded like a smart choice. He nodded again.

“Are we bringing Libby? Should I bring some stuff to keep her busy?”

Bring his daughter on a date? Hell no. He loved Libby. Loved her more than life itself. But the thoughts he’d been having about Becca were distinctly unchaste and he didn’t want to be trying to get romantic with the pretty hairdresser with his daughter around. A four-year-old—a bored one especially—would quickly take over a date.

Besides. He knew she liked Libby. He wanted to see if she liked him enough. To see if she was having the same flirty—dirty—thoughts he was having. “Jack’ll watch her.”

Of course, he’d have to ask Jack, but his younger brother probably didn’t have plans and Hank would offer him some money. Problem solved.

“Right. Okay.” She turned her face up and gazed expectantly at him.

He nodded.

A flash of disappointment crossed her face, as if his response hadn’t been what she’d expected. Did she . . . did she want him to kiss her? He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that, yet. Not with Libby sitting right there. Not with that expectant look on her face.