The next morning, Logan got up to find Hank in the kitchen, whistling as he prepared breakfast. Hank handed his friend a cup of coffee as he shuffled in, saying cheerfully, "Good morning, you old sloth."

"Hank, it's not even eight o'clock yet," grumbled Logan, sipping the brew. He squinted, grimaced, and made a brief shudder, then sighed. "Damn, that's good. I'd almost forgotten what properly made coffee tastes like. I usually get espresso in the mornings, so I only make coffee these days when I have guests, and they can't handle the real deal."

"Like it weak, do they?"

Logan grinned as he sipped again. "You're one of the last proponents of cowboy coffee, Hank."

"If it won't hold up a horseshoe, I don't see much point in it. How do you want your eggs?"

"I haven't changed that much, Hank."

"Sunnyside up it is. Make your own toast."

As Hank broke eggs into the sizzling grease, Logan dropped bread into the toaster. "Speaking of food, how was Choyez?"

"I took a look at the menu, and do you know? I think it was actually worth the prices."

"Good. I'll take Tina there next chance I get." He watched Hank as he expertly bathed the eggs in hot fat, setting them. "It's so nice to have someone around who shares my bad eating indulgences. You want toast, too?"

"If I didn't, I'd eat 'em scrambled. Hand me a plate."

Logan did, and watched as Hank slid the eggs onto the plate. "You're the only person I've ever known who never broke a yolk, and who can drain the eggs till they aren't too greasy."

"Everyone has to have at least one talent."

They sat down and ate for a couple of minutes, and Logan said, "You know, you've always been disgustingly chipper in the mornings, but it's even more pronounced today. Exactly how good a night did you have?"

Hank paused in the act of dipping his toast into his yolk. "Now Logan, you know I don't talk about things like that."

"You don't have to. If anything had really happened, you'd be blushing up to your ears right now. I've met Hunter a few times. He seems like a nice guy, Hank."

"He is," said Hank quietly.

Logan shook his head. "Hank, if you'd been so inclined, you could have gotten into almost every set of panties and most of the boxers on campus. I'm glad to see that you're starting to go out some." He hesitated, and then said quietly, "You know I'd have never wished you out of the Rangers--I know how much they mean to you. But you also know I think your code combined with the unspoken expectations has limited your personal life."

Hank sat back. "You're the best friend I have in the world, Logan," he said softly. "But there are some things I'm not comfortable discussing, even with you."

Logan nodded, and dropped the subject. He'd known of Hank's sexual orientation since the beginning of their friendship. Neither one of them could quite say how the knowledge had been gained. There'd never been 'a talk'. It was the same way with his family--somehow the knowledge just gradually evolved, and by the time anyone was sure, it just didn't seem to matter. Hank had never come out publicly, and if someone was looking for signs they'd be hard pressed to point to any. Hank even dated. He genuinely liked women, liked spending time with them. The ones he'd dated throughout college and during his law career might have eventually begun to wonder why Hank remained a perfect gentleman, but by then they liked him too much to be upset.

"You don't mind if I fix a couple of eggs for Chill, do you?" asked Hank.

Logan felt relieved. Hank wasn't upset about the awkward moment. He should have known. "As long as he doesn't climb in the fridge and suck them."

"He won't. He's not tall enough to reach the handle, or I'd have trained him to bring me beer, like that dog in the commercials."

"Hank, that's a Texas armadillo--he'd just drink the beer himself."

When they were through, Hank scraped and rinsed the plates, and Logan put them in the dishwasher. "Look, are you going to be all right tonight?"

"If I hadn't learned how to be good company for myself, I'd have gotten depressed a long time ago."

"It's just that Tina promised to go to this thing over a month ago, and I can't let her go by herself. It's pretty important."

"You don't have to convince me, Logan. And I told you, I'd be perfectly willing to sit with Chase tonight and save y'all the expense of a babysitter."

"Thanks, but this is Chase's regular sitter. She's an older lady, and her grandkids moved out of state a while back. She really looks forward to her time with Chase."

"I couldn't deprive her. I'm sure I'll figure out something to do."

The phone rang, and Logan answered it. "Berryman residence. Yes." He glanced at Hank, and smiled. "Yes, he's right here. Hang on." Logan offered the receiver. "It's Hunter Overend." Hank took the phone, and Logan said, "I need to... go do something." He left the kitchen.

Hank put the receiver to his ear. "Hello."

"Hi there, yourself." Hunter's voice was warm, and it kindled an answering warmth in Hank. "Tell me, do you have anything planned for tonight?"

"No. Logan and Tina have something on for tonight--some sort of studio shindig."

"That's sort of what I want to talk to you about. I've been invited, too. I wasn't going to go, but I just took another look at the invitation. Guess what it says?"

"What would that be?"

"'And Guest'. Interested in being my guest, Hank?"

Hank smiled, leaning his shoulder against the wall. "That depends. Do I get a corsage?" Hunter laughed. "I'm serious. Texas is a serious football corsage state. Big, fluffy mums, ribbons, glitter, little plastic footballs..."

"And no one ever gave you one?"

"Oh, no, no. I played football in high school, and the pep squad made them for all of us, but that was it."

"I can't promise you mums and glitter, but I could manage a boutonniere. What will you be wearing? I wouldn't want to clash."

"Classic dark suit, my good boots, and my black dress Stetson."

"I'll have to beat people off you. Of course, you'll have to do your part by beating me off you."

"Promises, promises."

"Yes, I do see a lot of promise. Pick you up at seven-thirty?"

"I'll be ready."

Hunter's voice was quiet. "That's all right. I don't mind waiting for a good thing. See you soon, Hank."

"Looking forward to it."

He hung up and went into the living room. Logan was going through the morning paper. "Lo, you don't have to worry about what I'll be doing this evening."

Logan peered over the top of the paper. "Good. I have most of the next week cleared out to show you around, but I've been feeling guilty about the last couple of days. Where are you off to tonight?"

"The same shindig you are. I'm going to be Hunter Overend's 'and guest'."

Logan blinked, then nodded, lifting the paper to hide his grin.

That evening, as they had often done in college, Logan and Hank inspected each other 'to be sure there's not threads or lint, and the barn door is firmly closed.' Hunter was just pulling up as Logan was pulling out to pick up Tina. The two men exchanged waves in passing. Hank started to step out, but Hunter waved, calling, "Wait, wait, wait!" He got out of the car and came up the drive. He was wearing a sharply tailored Armani suit. He wouldn't have been out of place on a GQ cover. Hunter approached, saying, "What kind of an escort do you think I am? I don't just sit out in the car and honk the horn--I come to the door."

Hank nodded his approval. "You're allowed to date in my family, then. Come on in."

As Hank shut the door, Hunter said, "I'm sure your family is lovely, but there's only one member I'm interested in dating." He put his hand on Hank's shoulder, leaned in, and kissed him lightly.

Hank enjoyed it for a moment, and then pushed him back, saying lightly, "If this is how you say hello, I'm going to have to use defense training on you when we say goodnight."

Hunter wiggled his eyebrows. "Maybe by then you won't want to. Ready to go?"

"Just about. I need to feed Chill Pill before I go. I don't like to put it out too early. It's sort of perishable, and though road kill might be a staple in some animals' diets, the last thing I want is to spend tonight nursing a 'dillo with a bellyache."

Hunter looked interested. "Can I come along? I'd like to meet Chill. He's quite an object of gossip around the station."

Hank led him back into the kitchen, reaching into the refrigerator. "He should like that. There aren't too many notorious armadillos in the world."

Hunter watched as Hank spooned some of the armadillo feed into a dish, and then popped it into the microwave. "I've heard the expression 'looks like the dog's dinner', but I have to say that I think 'looks like the 'dillo's dinner' might be just as appropriate. What's in that?"

"Minced meat--beef only, I don't do pork or chicken, because..."

"I'm a cook, Hank. Underdone pork and chicken are dangerous--I know."

"Sorry. I'm so used to answering this question, sometimes it's on automatic. I use chuck steak because I can find good quality at a reasonable price. I love Chill, but I'm not feeding him anything fancier than what I eat, and I don't do prime rib too often. I mince it fine, but not to a paste, then I add grated carrots and apples--sometimes other vegetables, if I can get them fresh. Some condensed milk--not the sweetened evaporated kind--he waddles enough as it is..." Hunter laughed, and Hank smiled in return. "And an egg."

Hunter scratched his chin. "You know--with just a little adjustment, I could pack that into a loaf pan and sell it at the restaurant."

Hank gave him a look. "You're a fine cook, Hunter, and I've never been accused of being all that picky about food. There weren't a lot of arguments at our supper table about what was and wasn't going to get eaten. But I think I'd have to draw the line at 'dillo feed."

Hunter grinned. "I could declare it part of a theme dinner. They'd eat it, and like it."

"Use your powers for good, Hunter."

In the back yard, Chill Pill shocked Hank by ignoring his food dish in favor of giving Hunter's shoes and cuffs a thorough inspection. Hunter squatted down and scratched the little beast behind the ears, eliciting grunts of pleasure. "Hey, Chill Pill. I saw you on the news. I'm surprised your friend Hank doesn't have a black eye. I'd hate to see what you're capable of when you're pissed off."

"Appropriate term. He has been known to urinate when he's upset."

Hunter put his fingers under Chill Pill's chin and tipped his head up till he could look into the animal's jet-bead eyes. "Chill! I'm shocked." Chill Pill sneezed. Hunter shook his head, looking up at Hank. "No respect for his elders."

"I just don't understand it. I raised him right."

Chill Pill had turned his attention to his dinner, so they departed. In his car, Hunter reached into the back seat and pulled out two small clear plastic boxes. Hank grinned. "I'll be damned. You weren't kidding about the flowers."

"I promised, didn't I?" He opened one of the boxes. "Good, they include a pin. Sit still, handsome." Hunter carefully pinned a half-furled, butter-yellow rosebud to Hank's lapel.

Hank looked down. "Yellow?"

"Pink is too effiminent unless maybe you're in a wedding party. Besides, you're from Texas--what other kind would I get?" He handed Hank the second box. "Do me?"

Hank shook his head as he opened the box. "I know you know how that sounded, son."

Hunter cocked his head. "And do you know how that 'son' sounds, now that I've made my wicked intentions clear?" Hank flushed, and Hunter chuckled.

"I can see I'm going to have to watch myself around you." Hunter's rosebud was a delicate ivory white. "Now that's nice."

As Hank pinned it on, Hunter said, "I'd like to say it's for purity, but..."

Hank slapped his shoulder. "Are you ever serious?"

Hunter's smile softened. "Sometimes."