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sheet he used to drape the stool. Rushing back, I shoved it under Mr. Davis’s nose. “I’m so sorry!”
    He had to be about five eleven or six foot, with the build of a teddy bear. A teddy bear dressed up as a cowboy. White shirt with black ribbing tucked into jeans over his cuddly middle and some shit-kickin’ boots. Probably some kinda snake or crocodile hide. He looked down at me with teddy-bear eyes. “No, it was all my fault. You got a lump on your head.”
    I touched the spot directly over my right eyebrow and winced. That’d be colorful. Sighing, I said, “Mr. Davis—”
    â€œLionel.” He put his hand over my hand holding the blue sheet up to his nose.
    â€œRight.” Taking my hand away, I let him hold the sheet to his nose and stepped back. Something crunched and squished under the heel of my boot. Lifting my foot, I looked down. Instead of leaning over, I did a deep knee bend that tested the seams of my jeans to pick up the item.
    Nose spray. Dear God, we’d practically traded brains for a bottle of nose spray. Looking up at Lionel, I said, “Do you have a cold?”
    â€œAllergies.”
    I suspected his nasal tone was from his nosebleed. “Why don’t you sit down, Lionel, and let’s see if we can get your nose to stop bleeding. Do you think it’s broken?” Did I have insurance to cover this kind of thing?
    He sank down in the chair, still holding the sheet to his nose. I set the nose spray down on the table. “Here, let me take a look.” TJ and Joel had regular nosebleeds. I pulled back the sheet. The bleeding had stopped. His nose didn’t really look swollen. “I don’t think it’s broken.”
    â€œYou smell good.”
    Huh? I glanced at his soft eyes. Lord, I hoped he didn’t have a concussion. “Uh, Lionel, listen could I get you some coffee? Or maybe some ice for your nose?”
    â€œNah, my nose is just sensitive. My doctor says it’s all the nose spray, but I have to use the nose spray. I can’t breathe if I don’t, and I have to breathe to line dance.”
    â€œLine dance?” Maybe I had the concussion, because I was having a hell of a time following this conversation. I went to the door to the little storage area and tiny bathroom behind the interview room. Pulling open the door, I tossed the bloody sheet in. I’d take it home and wash it tonight or whenever I remembered. “You line dance?”
    He fidgeted with the nose spray. “I have awards. I dance a lot in contests. When I go to bars, women gather around and ask me to teach them to line dance.”
    Blinking, I wondered why the heck I was standing here talking about line dancing with a teddy-bear cowboy. Roxy was desperate and miserable. Janie was desperate and miserable. This guy was . . . well, weird. Nice weird, but still weird. And let’s be realistic—if women gathered around and asked him to teach them to dance, why would he be at a dating service? I sat down across from Lionel and picked up the clipboard. “Why don’t I tell you a little bit about our dating packages? We have the basic package that—”
    Lionel held up a blood-smeared hand. “I already paid Blaine for the Temecula wine tasting dating package. I thought you’d probably like that. I’ve read all about you in the newspapers, so I guessed you’d like wine tasting.”
    Blaine’s smirk flashed before my eyes. I didn’t know what was going on with Lionel, but Blaine did.
    And he thought it was funny.
    Oh, boy.
    I studied Lionel. He’d gone red around the ears, either from the head banging, embarrassment, or he had romantic feelings about me. Sheesh—he knew about me from the newspapers? Sure, why not fall in love with a woman he only read about in the newspapers? This could only get better, since I’d been in the newspapers from my tendency to stumble onto dead