“Anything else?”
“Yeah, make sure you win her boxed lunch today. It’ll give you the perfect opportunity to apologize.” With that, the spitfire flashed him a million-watt smile then turned and walked from the building calling, “Have a nice day, Sheriff,” over her shoulder as she went.
Bronson sat for a moment in the deafening silence of the office, letting everything Beth Ann said soak in. While it had never been his intention to hurt Heather, Beth Ann’s revelation had changed things. He needed to make some calls and figure out a workable solution that would make everyone happy. Especially Heather.
A low whistle came from the back of the room. “You sure made her mad, Sheriff.”
Bronson turned and looked at Martin. “So, where do you go on Tuesdays?”
The other man promptly returned to his attention to his computer.
****
Heather crossed Main Street and joined the growing crowd on the town square lawn. Many of the locals smiled and nodded their greetings as she made her way to the gazebo in the center of the square. Two long tables were positioned in the center of the structure, each one laden with uniquely decorated boxes and baskets, but all filled with home-cooked fixin’s made in honor of the tradition of a boxed lunch social. In turn, each lunch and the woman or girl who had prepared it would step up to the auction block, and the male residents of Big Creek County would commence the bidding war. The auction proceeds benefited the Historical Society and would be used to maintain many of the historically significant structures in the county.
Because of the sheer number of entrants this year, it had been decided that the auction would be split into two parts in the hopes that the live event would move a little quicker and allow folks to enjoy their meals. All during the week, the list of ladies participating was available at the Community Center, and folks were allowed to stop by and place their bid silent auction style. The final bidding would happen today live, right in the center of town.
After climbing the steps to the main floor of the structure, Heather handed her wicker basket to Mildred Bonam, President of the Historical Society. “I’m sure it will fetch a nice bid, Heather.”
“I sure hope so, Mrs. Bonam. I’m just glad I’m back in town and able to join in.” Heather stepped back to make room for the other women who were bringing up donations and headed off to find Beth Ann.
Within minutes she found her best friend leaning against the trunk of a hundred-year-old oak, her arms folded over her chest. The far-off expression on her face and unfocused look in her eyes made it pretty clear to Heather that Beth Ann was woolgathering in a big way. About what, she didn’t know, but that was one thing she knew she could count on from Beth Ann… a full, uncensored account of anything and everything that was running through her mind.
When the redhead failed to acknowledge Heather even though there was only a foot of space separating them, Heather reached out and waved a hand in front of Beth Ann’s eyes. Her friend started slightly, focused her gaze, and graced Heather with a beaming smile. “What had you a million miles away?”
Beth Ann laughed. “I was just thinking ‘bout all the things I need to make sure and pack for later.”
“I thought you were going home to do that when you left the café earlier?”
“I got sidetracked.”
Heather nodded but wasn’t entirely convinced. Beth Ann was nothing if not dependable and exact. Preparedness was one of her biggest pet peeves. It was, in fact, the only thing that she and Billy seemed to disagree about. The male half of the duo seemed to live by the motto that God would provide, while Beth Ann insisted that God provided them with a brain and the sense to use it. “Well, at least you look cute.” Heather motioned to her friend’s ensemble.
The other woman was fearless when it came to clothes. Cutoffs, hot pink cowboy boots, and a teal sequined tank-top. Her unruly auburn curls were pulled up into their usual messy pony and from her ears hung silver hoops that were so big, they nearly touched her shoulders. “This town expects it from me. Besides, if they’re cacklin’ about what I’m wearin’, then they’re leavin’ some other poor soul alone.” She assessed Heather from head to toe with a critical eye. “What’s your excuse?”
Looking down at her pale blue t-shirt, faded jeans, and square-toed boots, Heather shrugged. “I’m not wearin’ anything different than what I normally wear.”
“Mmm-hmm. That’s my point. After everything we talked about a couple hours ago, and here you are, about to see el guapo, dressed in the same clothes you were cookin’ in all mornin’.” She shook her head. “I swear, woman, if I didn’t love you so much, I’d have to beat you with a fashion magazine.”
“You’re the clotheshorse, not me. And one of these days I’m gonna have you convinced that you need to pursue your passion.” Heather poked her friend in the side and scanned the crowd. Her gaze seemed to zero in on Bronson almost instantly. Tall and handsome, he walked slowly through the crowd, greeting citizens along the way to the gazebo where he would announce the beginning of the auction and turn it over to the ladies of the historical society.
Stars above, but that man was gorgeous. Every time she caught a glimpse of him, even just in passing, her heart did a funny little stutter and her breath hitched a bit. There was no doubt that Bronson was a looker, even when he came dragging into the café at the end of a hard day, his uniform wrinkled and his jaw line covered with a day’s worth of growth. But freshly shaved and wearing a crisp uniform…
“Speaking of pursuing passions.”
Heather jerked her attention away from Bronson. Beth Ann giggled harder then linked their arms together. “Come on. Let’s go sit down and wait for your lunch to come up in the rotation.”
****
Bronson watched the two women as they walked arm in arm to a nearby bench and sat. Heather laughed at something the other woman said, and her face lit with joy. It amazed him how breathtaking she was when she laughed. Not that he didn’t find her attractive all the time, but there was something about her when she was happy. It made him want to do almost anything to keep a smile on her face.
Not that he had done anything in the past few days to make her smile. Quite the opposite, in fact. It seemed that in the process of doing his job, he had done nothing but cause her pain. He mentally groaned and climbed the stairs of the gazebo. With any luck, he would be able to keep Heather from telling him to go suck eggs for just a couple more days. Her deadline with Gus was coming up fast, and he had a sinking suspicion that she wasn’t going to be able to pull a rabbit from her hat this time. Then if everything went right after that… well, everything might just work out the way he wanted.
Beth Ann was right. He had it bad. Heather was never far from his thoughts. When he wasn’t with her, he was thinking about her. What was she doing? Was she busy or was the café hitting a lull for the day? He wanted to know everything. Their evening talks were always the highlight of his days, but lately, since he had been taking his meals at the station, he’d come to realize how much he really enjoyed talking with her. Watching her. Just being near her.
After giving the go-ahead to Mrs. Bonam, Bronson stood quietly at the base of the gazebo steps and tried to focus on the auction. His attention, however, continued to wander to Heather, who had been approached by well over half the townsfolk since the auction started. Most, it appeared, were just being neighborly and saying hello, but he had seen a few linger, and one in particular had carried on a particularly lengthy conversation with more than one hand gesture in his direction.
“The next boxed lunch up for auction was made by Miss Heather.” Mildred Bonam held up the wicker picnic basket for the crowd to see then placed it on the small table by the podium where she was acting as auctioneer. She glanced at the paperwork before her and smiled. “The highest silent auction bid for Heather’s basket was eighty-seven dollars. Are there any other bidders?”
Bronson held his breath and said a little prayer that no one would go above his sile
nt auction bid. The last thing he wanted was to get into a bidding war right here in the middle of the town square with one of the local boys over who was going to get to have lunch with Heather. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have worried about it, since usually he ate supper with her most nights. But since she banned him from The Pickle and pert-near everyone in town seemed to think he had it coming to him, he needed to show her how sorry he was and that him locking Gus up wasn’t personal, but it was his job.
Now, if only he could get her to believe it.
“Sold, to Sheriff Andrews for eighty-seven dollars.”
In reality he’d known that when they sold the lunches they also announced to the entire town in attendance who the winning bidder was, but for some strange reason, it had simply slipped his mind when he’d penned the bid an hour ago. He tried to smile as one of the matrons handed him his basket, but the butterflies in his stomach were suddenly a lot bigger and seemed to be trying to climb up his throat.
Heather stepped up beside him, a bright quilt over one arm, and smiled at the clapping crowd. “We need to talk.”
With a sigh of relief, Bronson nodded and followed her as she led the way to a shaded patch of grass on the far side of the square lawn behind the gazebo and away from the majority of the crowd. She spread the blanket near a flowerbed that was bursting with colorful blooms and sat. He placed the basket in the center and joined her.
Neither spoke as she unpacked the lunch and laid it out between them. She withdrew a large bread knife and deftly sliced the loaf, the light yeasty aroma making his mouth water. After placing a slice of tomato on the bread, she layered on six crisp strips of bacon, topped it with bright green lettuce, and added the second slice of bread that she had liberally covered with mayonnaise. After adding a healthy portion of chips, she handed him the plate and set about making her own. Once her portion was made, she poured them each a glass of tea, and they ate in silence.
Well, as much silence as could be expected in a public park with about two hundred residents milling around.
“Heather, I’m—”
“I wanted to—”
They both smiled. “Ladies first.” Bronson took a long swallow of the fragrant peach tea, reclined back on one elbow, and waited for Heather to continue.
“I just wanted to let you know that I understand that you’re doing your job. That you locking Gus up and giving me the deadline to find a permanent place for him was about the safety of the town and not about me personally.” She set her plate down on the blanket and gave him a little smile. “I’m also sorry about banning you from The Pickle.”
Gathering his nerve, Bronson reached out and took her right hand in his. “I’m glad you understand. And you’re right, it wasn’t personal. Fact is, I should’ve said something about Gus a long time before now, but I didn’t want to push the issue. I knew you were tryin’ your hardest, but that whole thing with the parade and then Mrs. Pearson just pushed it to a point that I couldn’t ignore any more.”
She winced. “You knew it was him at the parade?”
“I figured. Not that I could really get a straight answer from anyone. Most of the folks in town are loyal to you.” Bronson caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. At that moment, it hit him that this was the first time they had ever shared anything more than a casual touch.
“Are you?”
He tilted his head slightly to get a better look at her face. Dappled sunshine filtered through the canopy above, giving her a soft glow. His heart thundered in his chest. “Do you really need to ask?”
A light breeze tugged a loose strand of her blonde hair across her cheek. Bronson’s fingers itched to tuck the wayward lock behind her ear and caress her silken skin. He watched intently as she nibbled at her lower lip and nodded slightly.
Releasing her hand, he sat up and angled closer to her. The first touch of his hand to her cheek sent a spark down his arm, straight to his heart. She placed her hand over his, closed her eyes, and nestled into his caress.
Leaning in, he stopped a breath away from her parted lips. “I’ll be as loyal as you want me to be to you, Heather.”
“Good,” she whispered. “Bronson?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you gonna kiss me?”
“Is that a request?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled and closed the short distance between them.
The first brush of her lips against his sent an explosion of electricity dancing through his body. Her hand left his and trailed up his arm until her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Closing his eyes, he relished the multitude of sensations bombarding his senses. Her smell. Like the air after a spring rain. Crisp and pure. Her taste. Sultry and sweet like a homemade pie. Her skin beneath his fingertips. Soft as the muzzle of a newborn foal.
A small moan escaped her as he gently sucked her bottom lip and kissed her again. Her grip in his hair tightened as she pulled him closer.
“Hey, y’all, this is a family event.” Beth Ann’s voice carried across the lawn. The chorus of chuckles and whistles that followed assured them both that the entire town had seen their little display.
Oh well. More fodder for the gossip mill.
Saturday Night
The committee in charge of the decorations for the street dance had really outdone themselves. Thousands of tiny white lights adorned the gazebo and surrounding trees. Festive multi-colored paper lanterns were suspended on lines that were tethered to the corners of the gazebo and radiated out toward the edges of the square lawn.
A wooden dance floor had been assembled near the center structure, but many of the attendees took to dancing wherever they could find the room. With the streets blocked, the entire downtown area was teaming with people, as well as a number of vendor booths selling everything from cold drinks and snacks to art and purses.
Heather smiled and dropped the curtain back over her apartment window. She really had missed this during her years at college. Growing up, Granny Joy had made sure Heather never missed anything during Big Creek Days. She went above and beyond in her duties as a grandmother to ensure Heather had everything she needed… and then some.
With everything Granny Joy had done for her over the years, the least Heather could do was make sure Gus was safe and happy for what were sure to be his last few years.
“Come on, gal. He’ll be here soon, and you’ll still be standin’ around half-dressed.” Beth Ann rooted around in the large black bag she’d brought with her. Full of necessities, she’d said when she dropped it on the couch, and immediately began pulling out her arsenal and arranging them all on the coffee table.
Heather eyed the top of the table and cringed. Not a square inch of free space could be found that wasn’t occupied by make-up, hair clips, rollers, or jewelry. “What’s the purpose of all this again?”
Beth Ann sighed and pushed Heather into a kitchen chair she’d placed near the coffee table. “You two are finally getting together on a date, and I just wanna make sure you knock his socks off.” She moved to stand in front of Heather and gave her an assessing once-over.
“He knows what I look like.” Having never been very big on getting gussied up, Heather wasn’t sure she was ready to put herself completely in her best friend’s hands. Not that she didn’t trust Beth Ann, but their tastes didn’t exactly cross over. Dressing up to Heather was putting a good shine on her boots. Beth Ann? Now, she pulled out all the stops. Make-up, jewelry, hair. The whole nine yards and then threw in a few more just to make certain.
“We all know what you look like. Nothing wrong with that, but for a first date you wanna take his breath away and show him what you don’t show anybody else.” The redhead grabbed a large brush and set to removing any tangles from Heather’s long tresses.
“Isn’t that sorta like false advertising? It’s not like I’m gonna do this on my own.”
Beth Ann poked her shoulder. “Don’t you wanna blow him away? Leave him speechless?”
/>
Heather shrugged. “I guess.”
“What’s the matter? I thought you’d been dreamin’ about him finally askin’ you out?”
“I have been. I’m thrilled he asked. I just can’t help but wonder if he’s gonna get me out there and realize that the only thing I’m good at is cookin’.” Heather lowered her gaze and stared at her hands. She’d always envied Beth Ann’s long slender fingers, tipped with perfectly filed nails. Her own had never looked like that. Heather kept her nails short and unpainted. Her hands carried numerous scars in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors, depending on age. Nope, there wasn’t anything about her hands that even remotely hedged on feminine.
Beth Ann released a snort of laughter. “You just sit there and let me work my magic. You’ll knock his boots sideways when he sees you. And, if he’s any kind of a man, he’ll realize in no time flat what a great catch you are and that you’ve got a ton more goin’ for you than just your cookin’.”
Without waiting for Heather to reply, Beth Ann went to work creating a sleek new hair style, slathering on make-up and accessorizing the fire out of Heather.
****
Bronson cleared his throat and tried to calm the jitters in his stomach. He quickly rubbed the toe of his left boot against the back of the opposite leg then did the same with the right, to remove any dust they’d picked up on the walk over to Heather’s apartment above The Pickle. Standing there on the tiny landing just outside her door, he realized he’d never been more nervous. Ever.
He was a man in his thirties. Not some kid who was new to girls and dating. He was a man… and Heather was certainly no girl. But no matter how many times on the way over he’d told himself there was nothing to get worked up over, his body just didn’t seem to agree. His stomach was in knots, and his heart was racing. With his luck, he’d ask her to dance and his palms would be so sweaty, she’d never want to see him again unless it was on the opposite side of the counter at the café.
Fried Pickles and the Fuzz Page 5