Busted

by Diane Kelly

  The crowd dispersed, a large chunk migrating en masse to the main stage where the other performances would take place. Meanwhile, I posed next to my bike for the aged photographer from the Jacksburg Weekly, spelling my name for him just as I’d done every year, too.

  Dad and Uncle Angus came over, each of them giving me a hug. “Great job as usual,” Dad said. “Your mom would’ve been proud.”

  I’d like to think so.

  Trey emerged from the crowd and greeted Dad and Uncle Angus.

  “I owe you a big thanks, Trey,” Dad said, giving Trey a friendly chuck on the shoulder. “’Cause of that website you made, I landed a gig trimming trees in the right of ways for the power company. That job will keep me and Angus busy nearly year round.”

  “Glad to help.” Trey draped an arm around my shoulders as we followed the stragglers over to the stage. He glanced down at me. “I loved your performance.”

  I reached up to curl my fingers in his and looked at him. “Come back next year, you can see it again.”

  “Count me in.”

  Our gazes locked for a moment.

  Next year? Where would we be then? Right back where we’d started, that’s where. I’d still be here in Jacksburg, writing traffic tickets, waiting for my life to begin again, still sleeping in my purple polka-dot canopy bed, still cursing Fate, still seeking those simple, yet elusive things I wanted from life. Trey would be in Silicon Valley, working on cutting-edge computer projects, writing challenging code, fighting traffic, earning big bucks, collecting high-priced high-tech gadgets. Our two worlds didn’t mesh, could never mesh. Could they?

  “I’ve used up most of my vacation time,” Trey said, “but I’m coming home next month for Thanksgiving.”

  Next month sounded much better than next year, but it might as well be never. No matter how two people felt about each other, they couldn’t build a meaningful relationship based on brief, intense encounters. Besides, I wanted more than that.

  Trey watched my face as if trying to gauge my feelings. “My mother makes a mean pumpkin pie. You’ll have to come eat with us.”

  I didn’t respond. By then, we’d reached the edge of the crowd at the stage. People sat on the ground, those with forethought sitting on blankets, the rest of us plopping straight down on the dried grass and weeds to watch the performers.

  The frazzled young mother who was organizing the performers seemed to have calmed down some, and was herding the two wayward girls in pink leotards to the back of the stage to await their turn in the spotlight.

  A man dressed in green shorts with suspenders, what the Germans called lederhosen, took the stairs to the stage. He led a muscular Doberman dressed in a plaid skirt. Gretchen’s tail wasn’t docked, a tribute to her owner’s compassion. She wagged her tail as she first looked out at the cheering crowd, then up at her master, waiting for her cue. The man raised his hand, fingers fisted, and glanced back at the stage manager, who turned on the German folk music. After a brief stanza, he gave the signal, a circular motion with his index finger, and Gretchen began to yodel.

  Owooowoo, Owoo. Gretchen tilted her black head back, nose in the air. OwooWOOwoo, owoo. She was precisely in time with the music, never missing a cue. OwooWOOwoo!

  When Gretchen finished, she stood on all fours and bent down on her right front leg, curling the left under her in a canine curtsy. The crowd went wild, giving the dog a standing ovation. In addition to the applause, Gretchen’s handler rewarded her with a dog treat, which she gobbled down immediately.

  Even Trey was impressed. “Y’all sure know how to entertain a crowd here in Jacksburg.”

  “We aim to please.”

  Trey’s hometown held an annual Hockerville Heritage Festival, an international event where those attending could participate in a wine tasting of both continental and European varietals, partake of gourmet international food such as sushi and baklava, and listen to classical musical interludes provided by string quartets, hoity-toity stuff like that. Not our style here. Frankly, I think folks in Jacksburg had a lot more fun.

  The cuties from Tina’s Tap and Twirl took the stage next, a handful of mothers weaving among the girls, moving each of them into their appropriate starting positions. As soon as the mothers left the stage, the music began, the classic Babyface. The girls twirled and tapped their hearts out, with only an occasional thump or whump as a baton was dropped or a girl slipped on her slick metal taps and landed on her bottom on the stage, the crowds cheering when she regained her baton or footing, giving her the confidence to continue.

  “Just think,” Trey said, “if Madame Beulah’s right, you’re going to have two of those little creatures sometime soon.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  He looked me in the eye, his expression serious. He, too, seemed conflicted about our future. “You want kids?”

  “Of course. You?”

  “Heck, yeah. They’d give me another excuse to play video games.”

  Applause for Tina’s troupe of twirlers interrupted our exchange, and we turned our attention back to the stage. Following Tina’s class were two old folks from the nursing home, dressed in denim overalls that bagged in the rear, playing dueling banjos. The duo had surprisingly agile fingers, despite their joints being bent from arthritis. Rounding out the show were a blond teenage girl who sang a sappy song of unrequited love, an adolescent boy who performed magic tricks in an ill-fitting tux two sizes too big, and a petticoat-clad square dancing group in which three women were forced to dance the men’s parts due to the lack of willing male participants.

  The final act was a round-bellied short-horned goat who could not only count, but multiply and divide. Once the goat left the stage, the mayor wrapped things up by thanking the performers for their stellar performances and the audience for its enthusiasm. “Stick around, folks. The street dance starts in just half an hour.”

  “Street dance, huh?” Trey said. “That sounds like fun. Can I hold you close, maybe let a hand slide down to your butt?”

  “I’m counting on it. I just need to change.” I took a few steps in the direction of the tent.

  Trey grabbed my arm and pulled me back. “Leave the costume on. It’s not every day I get to go on a date with a superhero.”

  Why not? The evening was still warm and the Wonder Woman get-up was a lot cooler than my cop uniform. I collected my clothes from the tent and stashed them in my father’s Cherokee, but put on my belt with my .38, pepper spray, and mobile radio so I’d be ready if the Optimist Club ran out of fried Twinkies and a riot broke out.

  The Six Pack took the stage. They were the same half dozen beer-bellied men in worn jeans, denim shirts, and cowboy hats who normally played at the Watering Hole. After making sure the guitars were in tune and performing a quick microphone check, they launched into their first song, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama.” The crowd whooped and flooded onto the area in front of the stage, hands in the air, hips swaying, boots scooting. No wallflowers in this crowd.

  Eric worked his way through the crowd past us, leading Selena by the hand. She smiled at me as they made their way by, and I gave her a discreet, conspiratorial wink.

  Trey and I danced in the middle of the crowd. He was totally uninhibited, loose-limbed and natural, nothing like Chet, whose reserved side-to-side dance movements were barely perceptible. With Trey I felt free, shaking my head, my hair flaring out around me. I was having a blast, more fun than I could ever remember having. I loved this song. And I loved this guy.

  What?!?Love?

  Gah! It was true. It had snuck up on me like a pair of too-snug panties, but, yes, I did love Trey. This wasn’t just a crush. I was too old for crushes, too careful. Hell, too cynical. Besides, with all the time Trey and I had spent together the past few weeks, we’d crammed a year’s worth of dating into less than two months. Enough time to know whether it was the real thing.

  It was.

  I looked up at Trey. He caught my eye, grabbed me around the waist and pulled
me to him, spinning me around and planting a kiss on me before releasing me again.

  What was I going to do when he went back to California? How would I face each day knowing he was half a country away from me? My heart seized up at the thought.

  Trey glanced down at me and his eyes flashed concern when he saw the pained look on my face. “Something wrong?” he shouted over the music.

  I forced a smile and pointed down at my boots. “Blisters!” I fibbed.

  Angus wiggled through the crowd until he was next to us, holding the hand of a thin woman with curly brown hair, big smiles on both of their faces. I questioned him with my eyes.

  “This is Julie!” Angus hollered. “I met her on the internet.” He gave a thumbs-up sign to Trey.

  I looked up at Trey, pulling him close to speak into his ear. “What’s that about?”

  He bent down, cupping a hand to my ear so I could hear him speak. “I hooked him up to an online dating site.”

  “That’s great.” Now Uncle Angus wouldn’t be alone anymore. He looked happy, and I was happy for him. Maybe Dad should set up a profile on the site, too.

  The next song was Rascal Flatts’ “Life is a Highway”, another southern rock staple. Savannah and Craig made their way over to us, their crew of kids hanging onto their legs. I grabbed Zane, still in his cop costume though he’d lost the hat. I scooped him up in my arms and he giggled. “I bet you never danced with Wonder Woman before, huh?”

  “Let me go!” he shouted. “You’ll give me cooties!”

  Laughing, I set him back down.

  Trey caught my eye and wagged his brows. “I’ll take your cooties any day.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  SMASHED

  One hour and a dozen songs later, the band slowed things down, easing into Garth Brooks’ long-ago hit, “The Dance.” Trey reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me to him as he stepped toward me, the two of us becoming one in a single, fluid movement.

  We did a slow two-step around the dance floor, Trey carefully maneuvering me around the other couples in the crowd. His body felt warm, moist with sweat against mine, but right. So right. I started again to dread him leaving, but forced the thoughts from my head. Why let thoughts of tomorrow ruin the perfect moments of today?

  I closed my eyes. Trey had his hand at the nape of my neck, his fingers tangled in my damp tresses. “Let’s get out of here, Marnie,” he whispered into my hair. He leaned back to look at my face.

  I moaned, closing my eyes. I pointed down to my belt, loaded with my gun, nightstick, and pepper spray. “I’m still on duty, remember?”

  He tossed his head back and groaned.

  I glanced at my watch. “This’ll be over in an hour. The crowd usually clears out pretty quick once the band stops playing.”

  “Good. Guess what I’ve got in my pocket?”

  I grinned up at him. “I know what you’ve got in your pocket. You’re pressing it against me.”

  “Not that.” Trey glanced around, put his hand in the front pocket of his shorts, then pulled it out, his fist closed. He opened his hand and gave me a glimpse of a shiny silver key.

  “What’s that?”

  “The key to the Lone Star Suite at Magnolia Manor.”

  The suite was the bed and breakfast’s most elegant, most romantic room. I felt like Liesl von Trapp in The Sound of Music after Friedrich kissed her, fighting the urge to throw my hands in the air and squeal “Weeeee!”

  Trey returned the key to his pocket. “What do you think, Wonder Woman? You can tie me up with your Golden Lasso and have your way with me.”

  “It depends,” I said, playing hard-to-get. “What are they serving for breakfast?”

  Trey nuzzled my ear. “Who cares? We’re not getting out of bed ‘til they drag us out.”

  ***

  The band played its final song, “The Girls All Get Prettier at Closing Time”. Without the usual beer paycheck, they’d remembered all the words and notes to their songs tonight. The lead singer stepped to the mic and tipped his hat. “’Night ever’body. Drive careful now.”

  Bright white spotlights around the perimeter of the park came on full blast like a nuclear explosion, burning into our retinas. Trey followed me as I headed to the parking lot for traffic detail. My heart did a back flip in my chest when I noticed the yellow and black Ninja still parked at the far end of the lot next to Glick’s orange tank truck. Being with Trey, I’d forgotten all about the Ninja. But the Ninja’s rider was still here somewhere. My heart felt as if were being torn, wanting to give itself fully to Trey, but knowing that would be stupid and futile, still holding on to a wispy, desperate hope that the mystery man with the Ninja could offer me something more than Trey could.

  The noisy crowd piled into their vehicles in the parking lot. The guy should be in the lot in the next few minutes to get his bike. Of course I wouldn’t be able to approach him with Trey around, but at least I’d finally get a peek at him.

  Trey gestured toward the far end of the lot where the motorcycle was parked. “The Ninja’s here.”

  “Really?” I glanced at the bike, feigning nonchalance. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Liar.”

  I was a liar, and if Trey didn’t stop looking at me like that, with a look that was both accusing and sexy at the same time, sending a flare of heat between my thighs, my Wonder Woman costume would catch fire. But a man’s ego was at stake here. Time for some damage control. “I bet he’s not hard wired.”

  Trey’s expression morphed from accusing and sexy to cocky and sexy. Better.

  I retrieved my flashlight from the saddlebag of my police bike and quickly made my way to the exit. Andre had beat me there, standing in the middle of the road, a palm raised to halt the oncoming traffic while he waved a dozen or so cars out of the lot. Traffic jam, Jacksburg style. Of course it would be all wrapped up in mere minutes, nothing like the gridlock I’d experienced in Dallas.

  I turned on my flashlight and swung it in a repeated arc, guiding the cars out of the lot, stopping a carload of teenagers and giving them the obligatory lecture about wearing their seatbelts. Trey waited on a nearby park bench, one arm draped over the back, never taking his eyes off me.

  Gah! Couldn’t these people move any faster? Didn’t they know I had an orgasm waiting for me? “Come on folks, keep it moving, keep it moving.”

  My head snapped to the right when a loud engine revved up, but it turned out to be only Mayor Otto coming through on his tractor. The Ninja sat forlornly in the lot, still waiting for its rider. Where the heck is he? Maybe he’d caught a ride with friends to the Watering Hole and planned to come back for his bike later. Maybe he’d hooked up with some cute young thing and was off somewhere having wild, passionate sex. When I turned my attention from the Ninja back to the cars, I noticed another pissed-off look flash across Trey’s face. Damn. Should’ve been more subtle.

  Finally, I waved out the last occupied car, a banged-up mini-van driven by a weary white-haired granny hauling five screaming kids hopped up on snow cone syrup and cotton candy.

  “Later!” Andre called as he climbed into his cruiser.

  I raised a hand in good-bye to him and clicked off my flashlight. Besides my police bike, the Ninja, and Glick’s truck, it was only me and Trey in the parking lot now. Trey must’ve left the Lincoln on one of Jacksburg’s side streets. No problem. He could ride behind me on the police bike to pick up his car.

  Trey walked over to me, wrapped his arms around my back, and gave me a sexy grin. “You’re all mine now, Wonder Woman.”