chest the wilting bodice of my sheath. What an idiot . How in hell had I been so stupid to let it happen again? I felt like I’d been had, but for what reason? It hurt, especially considering I was skating very close to scamming him. But at that moment, at the prospect of Andy leaving me hanging, the only thing that concerned me was how the hell to extricate myself from this situation. Then suddenly his old Ford truck screeched around the corner to the curb. He jumped out, trotting to me.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he said breathlessly, his chest heaving. “Really I . . .”
All at once he stopped and stared, and I had to admit, I did likewise. With his hair wind-tousled, his eyes a frantic blue, he looked so downright gorgeous in his black suit and tie, I think I could’ve forgiven him anything short of murder. Especially when I caught sight of the bouquet of yellow wildflowers clutched in his hand.
“For—you,” he said, handing them to me.
I wrapped my fingers around the stems and buried my nose in the blossoms, even though black-eyed Susans don’t carry a scent. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”
He came closer, his gaze fixed on mine. “I could never forget about you.”
Amazing how this man could make my insides go to mush with nothing more than a few everyday words. Yet when Andy looked at me, smelling of fresh air and sounding like music, my angst eased a bit. “Then maybe all we need to do is synchronize our watches?”
“Maybe,” he said, so close to me I could see a tiny muscle pulsing on his cheek, “but I’m pretty sure Betsy wouldn’t care.”
I felt dreamy, ready to—“Who’s Betsy?”
“My heifer. She’s just about ready to calve.” He picked up my stuffed suitcases like he was lifting balloons and pulled back on the door. “So, we’d better hurry,” he said, holding it out with his foot. “Uncle Jinks is with her, but we haven’t much time.”
Heifer? Calve? I hurried up the hallway beside Andy, rethinking the logic of this for maybe the last time. We stopped at a door that said, PAUL S. HINKLE, MAYOR. HUNTING & FISHING LICENSES MONDAY THRU THURSDAY 10-1. Andy set one bag on the floor and opened the door.
“After you,” he said and, spreading the door wide, kicked the suitcase in.
We stepped into a tiny, windowless anteroom, chairs lined against one wall, a counter directly across. Five feet or so behind it another door opened, and out walked who I presumed was hizzoner.
“Andy!” boomed a ruddy, barrel-chested man. He thrust a beefy paw at Andy. “So,” he said, giving me a languid once-over, “ this is your intended!”
I tried to ignore the objectification and gifted him with my most gratuitous smile. “Good afternoon, Paul,” Andy said. “This is Julie, my fiancée.”
He squinted at me. “Hey. Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “On a utility pole, maybe?”
“Haw!” he laughed, snapping his suspenders. He pointed to Andy. “I like her! Last chance before I snatch her up myself!”
Andy set down the other suitcase and shook the mayor’s hand. “Thanks, but I think I’ll keep her. And if you don’t mind, we have to hurry. Betsy’s about to calve.”
His eyes widened and he erupted again, nudging Andy.” So it’s the cow , then? Haw! Guess we won’t need the shotgun after all! Come on!”
It’s for the story, it’s for the story, I kept telling myself, feeling a little ill.
The mayor led us into an office with long windows that looked out on an expanse of tall trees. Between the cab ride and the front steps I had sweated away the afternoon, but thankfully an old Kelvinator window air conditioner chugged away, chilling the room considerably. The mayor shrugged into a jacket and picked up a small leather-bound book.
“Got a witness?” he asked.
“Jinks was supposed to be here,” Andy said, “but he’s with Betsy.”
The mayor thought a moment. “Hold on, I think I got it
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” he said breathlessly, his chest heaving. “Really I . . .”
All at once he stopped and stared, and I had to admit, I did likewise. With his hair wind-tousled, his eyes a frantic blue, he looked so downright gorgeous in his black suit and tie, I think I could’ve forgiven him anything short of murder. Especially when I caught sight of the bouquet of yellow wildflowers clutched in his hand.
“For—you,” he said, handing them to me.
I wrapped my fingers around the stems and buried my nose in the blossoms, even though black-eyed Susans don’t carry a scent. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”
He came closer, his gaze fixed on mine. “I could never forget about you.”
Amazing how this man could make my insides go to mush with nothing more than a few everyday words. Yet when Andy looked at me, smelling of fresh air and sounding like music, my angst eased a bit. “Then maybe all we need to do is synchronize our watches?”
“Maybe,” he said, so close to me I could see a tiny muscle pulsing on his cheek, “but I’m pretty sure Betsy wouldn’t care.”
I felt dreamy, ready to—“Who’s Betsy?”
“My heifer. She’s just about ready to calve.” He picked up my stuffed suitcases like he was lifting balloons and pulled back on the door. “So, we’d better hurry,” he said, holding it out with his foot. “Uncle Jinks is with her, but we haven’t much time.”
Heifer? Calve? I hurried up the hallway beside Andy, rethinking the logic of this for maybe the last time. We stopped at a door that said, PAUL S. HINKLE, MAYOR. HUNTING & FISHING LICENSES MONDAY THRU THURSDAY 10-1. Andy set one bag on the floor and opened the door.
“After you,” he said and, spreading the door wide, kicked the suitcase in.
We stepped into a tiny, windowless anteroom, chairs lined against one wall, a counter directly across. Five feet or so behind it another door opened, and out walked who I presumed was hizzoner.
“Andy!” boomed a ruddy, barrel-chested man. He thrust a beefy paw at Andy. “So,” he said, giving me a languid once-over, “ this is your intended!”
I tried to ignore the objectification and gifted him with my most gratuitous smile. “Good afternoon, Paul,” Andy said. “This is Julie, my fiancée.”
He squinted at me. “Hey. Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “On a utility pole, maybe?”
“Haw!” he laughed, snapping his suspenders. He pointed to Andy. “I like her! Last chance before I snatch her up myself!”
Andy set down the other suitcase and shook the mayor’s hand. “Thanks, but I think I’ll keep her. And if you don’t mind, we have to hurry. Betsy’s about to calve.”
His eyes widened and he erupted again, nudging Andy.” So it’s the cow , then? Haw! Guess we won’t need the shotgun after all! Come on!”
It’s for the story, it’s for the story, I kept telling myself, feeling a little ill.
The mayor led us into an office with long windows that looked out on an expanse of tall trees. Between the cab ride and the front steps I had sweated away the afternoon, but thankfully an old Kelvinator window air conditioner chugged away, chilling the room considerably. The mayor shrugged into a jacket and picked up a small leather-bound book.
“Got a witness?” he asked.
“Jinks was supposed to be here,” Andy said, “but he’s with Betsy.”
The mayor thought a moment. “Hold on, I think I got it
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