magic moments when two people become one in the moonlight. But then he opened his mouth, and not to kiss me, either.
“Want me to call a tow truck or a camera?” He had an annoying habit of thinking he was funny when he wasn’t. “Did you get the license plate on that deer?”
“Shut up, Boyer.” I pushed him away. Now I was steady, no longer shaky. “Good thing you’re a cop ’cause you couldn’t make it as a comedian.”
“Good thing I got thick skin. Thick as deer hide.” He whistled when he saw the size of the stag. “Nice rack,” he said. “The deer. Don’t want any complaints about comments offensive to women.”
“None taken,” I said, stiffly. “Just get Bambi off my car.”
He counted the antler tips one at a time. “Wow. A ten-pointer. Drivers are allowed to keep a deer if they hit it. Nice trophy. Good eating.”
His eyes sparkled at the prospect, but I didn’t want to see a deer ever again. Dead or alive. The idea of consuming my attacker was revolting.
“Don’t have to decide right now.” He opened his trunk and unrolled a tarp. “I’ll write you out a possession permit.” I turned away when I saw him take out a large hunting knife to gut the animal. “You can think it over.”
He hoisted the deer onto his shoulders and dumped it in back. Slammed the lid. Turned to me and said, “Maybe we ought to stop at the ER and have you checked out.”
Boyer let me ride shotgun, but wouldn’t turn on the lights, even though I asked politely. While he radioed to have my car towed to a body shop, I called the station to explain my vehicle versus venison encounter and let them know I wouldn’t be in the next day. The emergency room doctor gave me two stitches over my left eyebrow, determined I had no concussion, and then sent me home to rest. It was past midnight when Boyer and I pulled into my driveway.
“Thanks, Boyer. I’d ask you in for coffee, but you probably have miles to patrol before you sleep.”
“Actually, I got off a couple hours ago.”
“Above and beyond. Now I feel guilty. You definitely deserve coffee.”
“I didn’t have anywhere I needed to be.”
“Do you have anywhere you need to be now?”
He followed me inside to the kitchen. We both grabbed a Summit beer from the fridge and headed for the living room. He admired my painting of a bare-breasted mermaid hanging over the fireplace and I admired his gun. I hit the gas switch for flames and was rewarded with instant atmosphere. Between laughs and liquor we became entangled on the couch.
The fire shone on our faces, and for the second time that night we had a chance at a Hollywood moment. This time, instead of saying something stupid, he kissed me. And I kissed back. Forget love at first sight, this was love at first…well, touch.
I SHOOK HIM awake early the next morning and made him move his patrol car a half mile away so my neighbor Mrs. Fredericks wouldn’t think I was sleeping with a cop.
“Let’s do something this weekend.” He put his arms around my waist as I stood at the kitchen counter buttering toast.
“I’m out of town,” I replied. “Investigative reporters’ conference in Las Vegas.”
His disappointment seemed genuine, and that cheered me.
“It really is a lot of work once you get there, but it’s the getting there that’s the hardest part.”
“Need a ride to the airport?” he asked.
“What I might need is to have you put me on the plane at gunpoint. But I suppose airline security might have a problem with that.”
He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and because he didn’t ask, I told. It wasn’t like I had anything to be ashamed of—lots of people hate to fly. With great difficulty, I can get on a commercial airliner. As for a small single-engine plane, forget it. This fear means I’m not network material. On a clear day I get that my career is more likely to crash and burn because of my phobia than I am to crash and burn because of an
“Want me to call a tow truck or a camera?” He had an annoying habit of thinking he was funny when he wasn’t. “Did you get the license plate on that deer?”
“Shut up, Boyer.” I pushed him away. Now I was steady, no longer shaky. “Good thing you’re a cop ’cause you couldn’t make it as a comedian.”
“Good thing I got thick skin. Thick as deer hide.” He whistled when he saw the size of the stag. “Nice rack,” he said. “The deer. Don’t want any complaints about comments offensive to women.”
“None taken,” I said, stiffly. “Just get Bambi off my car.”
He counted the antler tips one at a time. “Wow. A ten-pointer. Drivers are allowed to keep a deer if they hit it. Nice trophy. Good eating.”
His eyes sparkled at the prospect, but I didn’t want to see a deer ever again. Dead or alive. The idea of consuming my attacker was revolting.
“Don’t have to decide right now.” He opened his trunk and unrolled a tarp. “I’ll write you out a possession permit.” I turned away when I saw him take out a large hunting knife to gut the animal. “You can think it over.”
He hoisted the deer onto his shoulders and dumped it in back. Slammed the lid. Turned to me and said, “Maybe we ought to stop at the ER and have you checked out.”
Boyer let me ride shotgun, but wouldn’t turn on the lights, even though I asked politely. While he radioed to have my car towed to a body shop, I called the station to explain my vehicle versus venison encounter and let them know I wouldn’t be in the next day. The emergency room doctor gave me two stitches over my left eyebrow, determined I had no concussion, and then sent me home to rest. It was past midnight when Boyer and I pulled into my driveway.
“Thanks, Boyer. I’d ask you in for coffee, but you probably have miles to patrol before you sleep.”
“Actually, I got off a couple hours ago.”
“Above and beyond. Now I feel guilty. You definitely deserve coffee.”
“I didn’t have anywhere I needed to be.”
“Do you have anywhere you need to be now?”
He followed me inside to the kitchen. We both grabbed a Summit beer from the fridge and headed for the living room. He admired my painting of a bare-breasted mermaid hanging over the fireplace and I admired his gun. I hit the gas switch for flames and was rewarded with instant atmosphere. Between laughs and liquor we became entangled on the couch.
The fire shone on our faces, and for the second time that night we had a chance at a Hollywood moment. This time, instead of saying something stupid, he kissed me. And I kissed back. Forget love at first sight, this was love at first…well, touch.
I SHOOK HIM awake early the next morning and made him move his patrol car a half mile away so my neighbor Mrs. Fredericks wouldn’t think I was sleeping with a cop.
“Let’s do something this weekend.” He put his arms around my waist as I stood at the kitchen counter buttering toast.
“I’m out of town,” I replied. “Investigative reporters’ conference in Las Vegas.”
His disappointment seemed genuine, and that cheered me.
“It really is a lot of work once you get there, but it’s the getting there that’s the hardest part.”
“Need a ride to the airport?” he asked.
“What I might need is to have you put me on the plane at gunpoint. But I suppose airline security might have a problem with that.”
He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and because he didn’t ask, I told. It wasn’t like I had anything to be ashamed of—lots of people hate to fly. With great difficulty, I can get on a commercial airliner. As for a small single-engine plane, forget it. This fear means I’m not network material. On a clear day I get that my career is more likely to crash and burn because of my phobia than I am to crash and burn because of an
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