It was evident that she believed him. And yet the worry stayed in her eyes. “It’s not that I’m imagining things. And it ain’t the way you look at women, either. It’s the way they look at you. Even when they’re on the other side of the street and you come walking past, I see them turning their heads. I know just what’s in their minds.”
He shrugged again. “These Vernon dames’ll look twice at anything wearing pants.”
“No, they won’t,” she said. “I’m one of them, I ought to know. It’s just that there’s something about you that women go for.”
There was nothing complimentary in the way she said it. Her tone was sullen and resentful. “I’ll be damned if I know what makes them so weak for you. After all, what are you? Just a big chunk of beef, an ordinary dock-walloper who never even finished high school. And you sure as hell ain’t pretty. I’ve seen punch-drunk pugs who could give you cards and spades and come out in front. So I know it ain’t looks. And it ain’t brains. I wish to God I could figure out what it is.”
Kerrigan was vaguely uncomfortable and somewhat annoyed with this probing of his physical and mental make-up. “Don’t knock yourself out trying to figure me. Just relax and take me as I am.”
For a long moment she just sat there and looked at him. Then gradually her lips shaped a smile, the sparks came into her eyes, and the red of her cheeks grew redder.
She stood up and said, “Come on, let’s go in.”
He started to move. But something kept him seated there on the doorstep. He frowned slightly and said, “I want to sit here for a while.”
“How long?”
“Just a few minutes.”