Fried Pickles and the Fuzz (8 page)

****

Bronson watched the two women as they walked arm in arm to a nearby bench and s
a
t.
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 silent 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
T
he 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 announce
d
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
m
atrons 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
T
he 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?”

“
Y
eah?”

“
A
re 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. H
er 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.