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Meet Me in the Middle

This one is a little bit longer. I thought about breaking it up into chapters but I liked the continuity of a single submission.

There isn't a lot of sex for its length. If that's what you're hunting for, then perhaps this one isn't the best story for you. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy it.

A special thank you to thewinedarksea for his editing work. He found a number of mistakes and helped make the story better in many ways. Any typos were introduced by me as I converted it for publishing here.

-C


• • • • •



"You've never eaten here?" Ed Wallace asked.

"Nope, never stopped by," replied Miranda.

"Well, Sunday brunch is great. Get one of those boy toys you have sniffing around your skirts to bring you."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Sniffing, Ed? You're always the class act, aren't you?"

He chuckled and she joined in. She liked working with him. He was more than twenty-five years her senior but didn't have that chip on his shoulder about women the way so many of the older guys did. Plus, he was a good cop.

"They never last very long, Randy," he said to her, "so we gotta think you're just using them for carnal purposes."

"They never last very long because they're not the right guy," she said dryly.

"I keep tellin' ya, he's sitting right next to you!"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and I keep telling you that babysitting your butt in the ambulance after I give you a coronary isn't my idea of a fun date."

He laughed as they pulled into the parking lot of The Mason Jar. They got out of the car and walked in.

"Hello, Mr. Mason," Ed said. "I'm Officer Wallace; this is Officer Patterson," gesturing at Miranda. "You're the owner?"

"Yes," Richard Mason replied, shaking the offered hand.

"Everyone's okay?" Ed asked.

"It seems so. They're just a little shaken up."

"And everyone's still here?"

"Well, the staff is but I think many of the customers left. I'm not certain; I only got here a few minutes ago myself."

"The dispatcher said it was a woman who called in the robbery. Who would that be?" Miranda asked.

Richard Mason turned to her. "Ellen — Ellen Bernhardt — was running things. I found out when her husband called me."

"Her husband called? Does he work here?"

"No. He was nearby or something." Richard seemed uncertain of his answer for a second, then continued, "That's him sitting with her in the booth over there." He indicated a couple sitting on the edge of the somewhat-deserted dining room.

A half an hour later, Ed was back to talk to Richard, who was sitting in his office trying to leave a message for the insurance company. "Ms. Bernhardt says she doesn't know how much money was in the drop bags in the safe but that there was a little over $2,500 in the register and the tip pools plus another $500 in the cash box."

"I did the drop bags. There was a little over $9,000 in them," Richard said.

"Is that much cash usual?"

"No. An average Friday for us is about $6,000 with half of it in cash. Saturday is a little heavier but not much more cash. But, with the NCAAs ending this week, Friday and Saturday were non-stop for lunch and dinner, plus the bar got hammered in the evening. Then Saturday there was several brunch catering jobs plus a large birthday party in the afternoon that paid cash."

Ed made a note but said nothing, so Richard went on defensively, "I have register tapes and signed booking orders for everything, plus you can ask the staff how busy we were."

"No, no, Mr. Mason. Nothing like that. That's between you and your insurance company. We're just wondering why you kept the money here, especially Friday's receipts."

"It wasn't supposed to be. We don't deposit at night because I worry about people's safety going to a bank alone that late. But I was on the go from the moment I came in yesterday for those parties and just figured both deposits could go in this morning. Ellen was going to do it today but I guess she didn't get to it, yet."

A while later, Ed flopped into the seat across from Miranda. "Over twelve grand, more cash than they ever have around this place. And it happened exactly at the slowest time of the day when the morning shift was largely gone and the evening shift hadn't come in. Plus, the outside camera — which isn't totally obvious, by the way — just happens to have been knocked to the side. Either someone got really lucky, or..." Ed's voice trailed off.

"Yeah," replied Miranda.

"And I can't help but wonder about the fact that the woman who handed over the money, including the money in the locked safe, is also the person responsible for the money being here. I know the witnesses say the perp had a gun but it feels a little odd to me."

She grimaced, "It gets odder than that, Ed."

"What do you mean?"

"She's Mason's ex-wife."

"What?"

"Yep," she said, "it slipped out when I was talking to some of the older employees. They were married a long time, then she divorces him and marries this Bernhardt guy."

"And her husband just 'happens' to be in the area. Wonder if he owns a silver Dodge pickup and if there's a ski mask in it?"

. . . . .

"I talked with a clerk down at the courthouse," she said, closing her phone. "He says he knows them and the divorce was filed three years ago and seemed amicable. One kid, joint legal custody, she has residential custody. Reasonable child support payments from him. They agreed privately on a property settlement, with him getting almost everything, including the restaurant. Judge Thomas signed off on it."

Ed looked surprised at that. "Husband gets most of it? Jeez, you don't see that every day. Usually the guy gets it up the ass over and over until he screams." Miranda rolled her eyes in mock disgust as he continued, "She get caught in flagrante or something?"

"I wondered the same thing but the clerk says it was no fault."

"Hmmm," Ed mused, "but this state still allows you to cite adultery as a reason and divorce documents are public record. Maybe he put the screws to her in exchange for going no fault and keeping her name out of the mud?"

Miranda was silent for a second, considering. "I don't know. Still, you do have to wonder if she decided to help herself to some additional alimony."

"Let's talk to the current hubby and find out his deal."

. . . . .

Mike Bernhardt wasn't very amused as he looked at the two officers. They had asked him to step back to the break room for a conversation. "How about we just cut to the chase and I'll answer the questions you really want to ask, okay?"

"Well, Mr. Bernhardt, if you have something you want to say, we're happy to listen," responded Ed.

Mike held up two fingers. "One, I had nothing to do with the robbery." He put one finger down.

"Two, thinking Ellen had anything to do with this is ridiculous. Not in a million years. She's a wreck." The second finger went down.

"Having a gun pointed at you can be unsettling," Ed agreed.

"Unsettling? Ask Jimmy about the vomit he cleaned up. She wasn't just unsettled; she was scared silly."

"Actually, Mr. Collins mentioned that," Ed responded neutrally.

"So why are you wasting time hassling my wife and me instead of out there trying to find the guy who stuck a gun in her face?"

Ed shrugged. "I'm not trying to upset you, Mr. Bernhardt, but it's our job to consider all the possibilities. For example, it's not uncommon that someone doesn't realize what they're getting into and then reacts when it gets over their head."

It took a second for Mike to get the implication there, but then his expression hardened and he looked almost ready to come up out of his chair. He was shaking his head before Ed finished speaking. "No!"

"Relax, Mr. Bernhardt," Miranda said placatingly. It was Ed's job to push people and hers to pull them back. "We're not accusing anyone of anything. We're just trying to get a picture about people we don't know."

Mike sat back but he clearly wasn't mollified.

"Sometimes, though," she continued with a little smile to take the sting out of it, "we have to ask questions that are a little indelicate just to rule out things. Okay?"

Mike nodded.

"For example, we were wondering about the relationship between Mr. Mason and your wife."

Mike just looked at her with a sardonic expression. "Somehow, I'm pretty sure you know she's his ex-wife."

Miranda nodded, "Yes, we found that out."

"So," he responded slowly, "what are you asking?"

"Nothing in specific, Mr. Bernhardt. But, think about it. We've got a lot of money missing. We've got a gun stuck in someone's face. We've got three people in what might be a..." she paused, looking for a word, "...volatile set of relationships. It's just common sense that we try to get some understanding of the landscape. That's all."

Mike looked back and forth, and then said, "So, basically, you're asking if Ellen harbors a grudge?"

Miranda's shrug showed she was asking just that.

"Not in the slightest."

"What about you?" Ed asked bluntly. "Any resentment about the way he treated Mrs. Bernhardt when she was Mrs. Mason?"

"Nope. He's my best friend."

Ed's eyebrows rose. "Really? Would he say the same?"

Mike hesitated, looking regretful, then answered honestly, "I don't know. Maybe."

Ed's expression was skeptical. "Husband and wife staying friends after a split isn't usually the case, but it's not unheard of. Ex-husband and new husband being best friends, now that's even rarer. You know, havin' ... ahh ... contended over a woman, so to speak. And she walked away without a dime. Makes a man wonder."

Mike shrugged. The expression on his face might as well have been a middle finger pointed skyward at Ed.

Miranda leaned in again. "Mr. Bernhardt," she said calmly, "why don't you tell us, in your words, about the relationships between the three of you?"

Mike transferred his glare to her. "Maybe we should just get a lawyer down here."

Miranda nodded. "We can if that's what you want. But, Mr. Bernhardt, we've only got one goal here: to catch who did this. We're not trying to pin things on anyone just because they're convenient. At the same time, we'd be really derelict if we didn't take a look at the people closely involved."

Mike smacked his palm on the table in front of him. "I'd think taking a look for a man in a silver pickup truck who's got a lot of money that isn't his would be even better!"

"Trust me, almost every law enforcement officer in the county is doing just that right now. We just want to understand, Mr. Bernhardt. However, if you want a lawyer, that's okay."

She waited while he mulled it over. Finally, he spoke. "Richard and I have been friends for close to twenty years, since middle school. He met Ellen in college and they were married for seven years. I'm not certain, but pretty damn sure, that he knew I had a thing for Ellen for about four of those years. I had met her before, of course, but I was away in the military for a while. When I moved back here and we started to hang out, well, I fell for her.

"But, Richard never made a deal about it: we went fishing together; I was the godparent to their kid. He never did the little things guys do to mark their turf. With me?"

"Yes, go on."

"What he didn't know was that, somewhere along the line, Ellen fell for me, too. She still loved Richard but she was in love with me, if you catch the difference. Well, one day he found out how she felt."

"When?" she asked.

"About three years ago."

"How?" she asked.

"I don't have the foggiest. By unspoken agreement we never talk about any of it. He didn't catch us doing something, if that's what you're thinking. There was zero hanky-panky between us."

Ed made what might have been a doubtful noise and Mike turned to him heatedly. "I kept my feelings and my hands to myself! Ellen was even more private. I didn't even have an inkling about how she felt about me until that year, but Richard realized it somehow.

"Another guy might have raised a ruckus," he said reflectively, leaning back in his chair. "You know, had it out with her or me or both of us, accused us of something we didn't do or at least caused a scene. But Richard didn't say a word. He waited until the day when a bunch of us guys were taking him on a fishing trip. He left a note behind along with signed papers for Ellen."

"What did the note say?" Miranda asked, taking a sip of her coffee and breaking eye contact to keep things low-key.

"Two sentences. One: 'I know you'd be happier and that's all I want.' Two: 'Please don't call me or Mike while we're away because it would make things awkward.' Shit! That secretive son of a bitch never gave a hint that entire week; I found out when I got home and she told me."

Miranda blinked at that.

"So, yeah, he's still my best friend. Ellen thinks he's the second greatest guy on the planet. Well, maybe third counting her son. I'm not certain how he feels. We don't hang out as much anymore but our group goes out for drinks every once in a while, and things seem fine as long as I don't try to talk about things. Now, does that answer your question?"

. . . . .

After they let Mike go, Ed and Miranda took a break to compare notes. She pushed the cream over to him as the waitress set down two coffees and left them alone.

"He struck me as telling the truth but I'm still having trouble that this wasn't an inside job. There are too many coincidences," Ed said.

"Me too, Ed, me too. I guess we take another crack at the former Mrs. Mason."

. . . . .

Ellen was with Ed for a second round while Miranda took a quick trip to the restroom. As she walked by the side door to the kitchen, she saw Richard standing with Mike, their attention on the servers' hatch. They didn't see her and she could tell they were being careful not to show themselves through the opening. She could hear Ed's voice floating in from where he sat with Ellen in the break room.

"Interesting," she thought. She stepped quietly back to the edge of the door and watched and listened to the conversation already in progress.

"It wasn't the romance of the century but we cared for each other. We had a son we love. Richard was a good husband and a great father."

"But, the word we have," Miranda knew Ed was referencing the notes on the divorce settlement, "you had to walk away with almost nothing from the marriage."

Ellen's laugh was scornful. "You might want to get your facts straight. I didn't have to do anything. I chose to walk away with nothing."

"Oh?" Ed's voice held a slight note of disbelief without being too confrontational. Miranda smiled; he was good at that.

"Officer Wallace, the original copy of the papers Richard signed for me gave me almost everything we had except ownership in this place, plus some alimony to make up for that. It was at least 50:50, almost certainly more. Ask him if you don't believe me. I chose to walk away with nothing but my personal stuff, some photos and child support. Which, if it's your next question, he pays faithfully."

"I understand, Mrs. Bernhardt. I'm just doing my job and part of that job is these types of questions. We need to rule out people. Especially where there might be some animosity."

"I don't think you're listening too well." Ellen's voice had some heat in it now. "We had a successful marriage, just not a permanent one. Odds are, it was better than yours is."

"I'm not married, but you have to allow how it looks—"

She cut him off, exasperated. "This is pointless! You're not listening to a word I'm saying. You don't believe me? Fine! You think I'm just the bitter ex-wife? Fine!

"Personally? I think I hit the jackpot twice in my life. But, you should just feel free to be as hard of hearing as you want, Officer. So, since it seems like you and I are at an impasse, can I go? Or, are there more ridiculous questions you have?"

There was a pause and Miranda could picture Ed weighing whether there was anything to be gained by pressing. "Not at this time, ma'am."

Miranda watched as the two men looked awkwardly at each other. Finally, Richard turned to head back to the office, but Mike touched his sleeve. "Hey, Richard?"

"Yeah?"

"I've always respected the fact that this whole thing isn't a topic you want mentioned..." Richard tensed and started to say something but Mike held up his hand. "Let me finish. I'm going to tell you one thing and then I'll drop it forever."

Neither man was looking at the other. "She meant what she said. Your marriage meant ... means ... something to her. She respected it and you. We never did anything with each other the entire time you were married," he continued. "I mean entire, not just when you left but right up until the day the divorce was final. She meant every word she said to that cop."

Mike tried to catch Richard's eye as if to drive home his point, but Richard just turned and headed toward the exit, his face a stone mask.

The incident made an impression on Miranda. "He looked sincere," she thought, referring to Mike, "and he certainly wasn't play-acting for Ed or me."

. . . . .

"I think we're barking up the wrong tree with the Bernhardts, Randy," Ed said as they climbed into their car. "I wasn't getting 'lying sumbitch' off of either of them."

"I agree. Ditto with the staff." She did agree, but she was glad he had the same feeling. He'd been at this a lot longer than she had. "I guess we just keep our ears to the ground and hope we hear something."

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



A few days later, Miranda stopped in at the restaurant. "Hello, Mr. Mason. I was in the area and wanted to touch base."

Richard rose from the table where he was working on a produce order. "Oh, sure. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

"Sorry. While I'm on duty I buy my own but I'll have one with you," taking the chair he pulled out for her.

"Oh." He looked disconcerted for a second, then he called to the woman behind the counter. "Linda, would you have someone bring a couple of coffees over to number six, please?"

"So, anything new?" he asked when they settled.

"Not really. Silver Dodges are a dime a dozen, but we're weeding through them. We haven't heard any rumors about someone suddenly having a lot of cash. Early breaks are nice but sometimes it just takes grunt work and waiting for someone to talk out of turn at the wrong time."

Richard nodded.

"I stopped by because I wanted to talk to each of your staff just for a moment. Sometimes people remember things after the excitement has passed. I'll be as non-disruptive to things here as I can. Would you mind?"

"No. You can use my office if you'd like," he said, getting up to escort her to the back.

"Thanks, Mr. Mason."

"No problem. And call me Richard."

"Well, Mr. Mason, I'd rather not while we've got an open investigation going on."

He looked at her in astonishment. "Am I under suspicion here? My insurance company was all over this and they seemed pretty satisfied. I didn't realize..." he trailed off.

She cocked her head at him. "Well, officially we haven't ruled anything out but, for my part, I'd say you're not of prime interest to us." She smiled, but it wasn't entirely a warm expression. "But, if we turned out to be wrong, I'd look pretty darn silly if I was all buddy-buddy with you, wouldn't I?"

He looked disconcerted again as she dropped a couple bills on the table and rose to follow him.

. . . . .

A week after that the two officers found themselves back at the diner after a call from Richard.

"You said you had something for us?" Ed asked.

"Not me. Come on back to the office." Richard stuck his head through a swinging door and called, "Maria, can you cover Linda's tables a minute and send her to the back?"
"So, Linda?"

"Well, the other night I was over in Lawson Heights and I saw Hailey — she works here," she added to the officers, "getting into Brenda Turnbridge's car. And, well, last week the officer asked if we knew anyone who might have a grudge."

"Hailey or Brenda had a grudge?" Ed asked for clarification.

Richard spoke up, "I fired Brenda about ten, maybe eleven, months ago."

"Oh, why was that?"

Richard didn't answer at first. Finally, he said, "Maybe if you're done with Linda?"

The two officers looked at each other. "Is there anything else you would like to tell us, Linda? No? Okay, then thank you very much."

"Mr. Mason?" Miranda asked, turning back.

Richard got up and closed the door that Linda had left open. He thought for a moment and then said, "I'm wondering if I need my lawyer here." The officers frowned in surprise. "It's just that I don't know much about slander."

"Well, we can wait for your attorney if you feel that is the best course, Mr. Mason. Or, you can give us a general idea and we can take a formal statement later if that is necessary. No one is trying to hang you here."

He assessed them for a second and then continued, "I let Brenda go because she was turning tricks in the back parking lot with some of the through traffic, the truckers. I can't have that. This is a family place."

That raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't think to mention it because it was so long ago. But, yeah, she was pretty angry."

. . . . .

"Officer Patterson, hello," Richard said. He was walking around the restaurant, saying hello to the regulars.

"I thought I'd stop by and give you the news," she said. "Ms. Hailey Hodges turns out to be the cousin of Mr. Brian Hodges. Said Mr. Brian Hodges turns out to be the live-in boyfriend of Ms. Brenda Turnbridge and, I might add, a rather nasty piece of work."

"Oh? Sit down. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

She shook her head. "I think we went over that last time, Mr. Mason."

He grinned, "But Officer Patterson, I have taken up detecting since you last met me."

"Oh?"

"Well, for starters I saw you pull up in a red SUV without county plates, unlike the last time." He pointed out the window at the car parked out front. "Second, you are wearing a rather nice dress and heels that seem appropriate for a night out," he gestured at her clothes. "Third, since everyone here knows who you are and might blab, you can't possibly be undercover. The only sensible conclusion is that you are, in fact, no longer on duty."

She laughed and tipped her head in acknowledgment. "Nonetheless, I'm here on official business."

He made a face and she went on, "I just wanted to let you know that it turns out that Mr. Hodges is the owner of a silver Dodge pickup truck with a license plate that traffic cams on the bypass can put in this general area on the Sunday in question. A search warrant revealed an unlicensed handgun as well as a black ski mask such as the one Mrs. Bernhardt described. It also revealed approximately $11,000 in cash, a brand-new TV plus some other stuff, all purchased in the last few days, and some drop bags that belong to the same bank as you use. We're going through their trash now looking for the deposit slips you said were in them."

"Wow!"

"Mr. Hodges and Ms. Turnbridge are in custody and she, at least, has been rather helpful. Anyway, I just thought you might like to know, Mr. Mason. I think I can say now that you are no longer of any great interest to the police."

"Thank you," he said, "but at least you can call me Richard."

She laughed, "Official business I tell you," and turned to go, then looked back over her shoulder, "but maybe Sunday."

"Sunday?"

"I hear the food is great here. Sunday's my day off and my partner said I should give it a try." With a little wave, she pushed out the door and was gone.

Richard had a happy smile on his face and, Maria, who had been at the register for the entire exchange, gave him a wink and smile, causing him to chuckle.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



"Dick?" she asked across the table.

"Only if you're mad at me and, even then, I generally don't answer to epithets."

She laughed and shook his hand, "Miranda."

When she had come in, the Sunday rush was over and he had asked if he could join her. She had said, "That would be fine." He led her over to a booth in the back and dropped in across from her.

"Did you really suspect me?" he asked after they had eaten lunch and were sipping coffee.

"Not especially. We had to consider an insurance scam but nothing really led us in that direction. I guess we wondered more about Ms. Bernhardt, given the circumstances, but even that was just covering bases," she replied. Her look was level but he could see the curiosity as her eyes flicked over to Ellen sitting by the register.

They chatted for half an hour before she said she had some shopping to do. He enjoyed watching her walk away. There was just the right amount of curve under her jeans. Then he quickly looked away, worried that someone on the staff might have caught him checking her out.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



She didn't stop in the next Sunday. Richard came in and hung around for a couple of hours but then headed out, mildly disappointed. She did the following week and, again, Richard joined her.

"I guess you like the food," he said.

She laughed, "Yes, I do."

"Well, we're glad you came back."

"We?"

"Well, sure. Everyone here likes a good customer," he said, totally deadpan. Then he grinned and said, "Okay, I admit that, now that you're not viewing me as a desperate criminal, I enjoy seeing you stop by."

She gave a little tip and nod of her head to acknowledge the compliment as the waitress came up to take their order.

. . . . .

"Well, I have to go," she said. "Places to be. People to see."

"Okay. Umm..." He hesitated a second; she waited. "I wondered if next Sunday you would have dinner with me?"

"I'm sorry, I can't. I already have plans." Her smile might easily have been part of the practiced, polite refusal of a woman who had been hit on time and again, but she reached out and briefly touched his arm that was lying on the table as she said it. The gesture might have been unconscious but, even so, Richard thought it was encouraging body language.

"Well, what about Saturday?"

She looked at him questioningly. "I sometimes work pretty late on Saturdays, Richard, and you just got done telling me how early you have to get up to be here."

"Oh, Sunday's one of my days off, too. I just stopped by for a while today."

"Interesting," she said and laughed. She pulled out a business card and pen, wrote down a number. "My cell. Saturday would be great. I like Italian. Give me your number in case something unexpected comes up."

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



"Do you ask all the women who come into your restaurant out on a date?" she said as they backed out of her driveway Saturday evening.

"No. Just" — for the split second before he finished the sentence Miranda thought he was going to say something disappointingly lame like 'just the pretty ones' — "the police officers."

She grinned. "I see, and how many is that?"

He glanced over at her for a second and then turned back to the road. "You'd be the first."

She laughed.

"Well," he amended, "the first in a while."

"Aha! Now the real story starts to come out. Are you gonna start lying to me?" He glanced over again but she was smiling to let him know she was teasing.

"Nope. There were a couple of cute waitresses back in high school days when my parents owned the place but fifteen or sixteen years ago doesn't count. "

"I guess not," she allowed. After a minute, "Did they say yes?"

"One did, one didn't."

"Well, two out of three ain't bad."

. . . . .

"Thank you for a nice evening," she said, she leaned up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then pulled out her keys. "I had fun."

"I did, too," he said honestly. As she unlocked the door and turned to say goodbye, he said, "I'd like to do it again, if you're interested."

She glanced back at him as she was stepping inside and said, "If you want to give me call sometime, we'll see."

"Oh, sure." He gave a little half-smile and turned back to his car.

As the door latched behind her, Miranda frowned and then kicked herself a little. Her job made her good at noticing reactions in other people. She had seen the flicker in his eyes when she answered but she was tired and it hadn't registered immediately how offhand her answer must have seemed. She hadn't intended it to sound like that. Her mind was saying, "I would like that. Call me and we'll figure something out," but it had been a very, very long day and the words just didn't come out that way.

In fact, the casual conversation, pasta and a beer had been the ideal way to unwind after a day that included two domestic disturbance calls, one at an ungodly hour of the morning when a husband had come home drunk. Richard had been attentive and amusing all evening, suggesting they head out at the first, discreetly muffled yawn. He deserved a kinder answer. She wondered if he'd assume he'd just been brushed off.

He wasn't certain but he didn't rate his chances very highly. Oh well, no point in chasing someone that didn't want to be caught.

. . . . .

She slept late the next morning. When she finally cracked an eye at the clock, she groaned but got up. She wanted to get to the gym before an appointment to get her hair cut at 11:00, and had wanted to look for a new dress, not to mention needing groceries badly. It was a lot to do and still be home early enough to shower before dinner time. However, she was still annoyed at herself for her response to Richard and there was time to squeeze another stop in before she went to the mall.

"Officer Patterson, hello," said Ellen. "Just one for brunch?"

"Hello. No, I just stopped in for a moment. Is Richard here?" she asked.

"I'm afraid you missed him. He was in about an hour ago to pick up the bank deposit but he's gone now," Ellen said. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh, that's okay." Miranda said. "I guess I can try to call him."

"Well, you might want to wait until this evening. He and our son are out canoeing today and Richard has learned that tippy canoes, Charlie, and cell phones are a bad mix."

"Oh." She had a date that evening and calling him wouldn't be very appropriate. She thought for a moment. "Can I leave a note?"

"Of course. I can grab you an envelope from the back."

. . . . .

I was half asleep by the time I got home and probably forgot to say thank you.

Thank you. I had a nice time. Talk to you soon? -M

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



"Can I see you again next weekend?" Richard had found the note sitting on his desk when he came in Tuesday morning. He knew that a call at 5:00 a.m. was unlikely to earn him any points but the clock had seemed to crawl until he could close the door of his office and pick up his phone.

"A friend's birthday is Saturday and I already have plans next Sunday."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed. "Well, then I guess some other time, perhaps."

"I do, however, also have Mondays off."

He considered, "Oh. Okay. Would you like to do something then?"

"Movie and then dinner? My treat but you drive because my car is going into the shop. Sound good?"

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



The movie didn't happen. They couldn't find something they wanted to see at a reasonable time. So, they ended up in a small bar she knew of, eating burgers and drinking single malt whiskey, a taste they discovered they shared.

After their second drink, he asked the waitress for another for her and just water for him. "Driving," he said, smiling.

The conversation continued pleasantly, mostly getting to know one another, with occasional comfortable pauses. In one of the quiet moments between sips, she said abruptly, "Okay! A lot of divorced couples don't hate each other, but Ellen's working for you? And we heard that—" she stopped suddenly. Her faced turned red as she realized how inappropriate the question was to someone on a second date.

"Oh my God! I'm so sorry. It really is none of my business! That was three drinks talking. Now I'm really embarrassed. Please, forget it!" She looked mortified.

And, just like that — perhaps it was the alcohol working in him also — he told her.

"We dated our senior year in college. She got pregnant by mistake the following summer and we loved each other enough that we decided to get married. We were happy, I think.

"Mike was my best friend since we were kids. When he moved back here we hung out with him. After a while, I realized he liked Ellen, too. But he did his best to keep it hidden and I didn't want to embarrass him, so I just ignored it. Then, one day, we were out drinking and I saw ... I mean, really saw ... the way Ellen looked at him. The best way I can put it is hungry." He shook his head at the unwelcome memory.

"That started to eat at me. She seemed the perfect wife on the surface but I began to doubt everything, suspect everything. I just became more and more insecure until finally I just got really stupid."

"What did you do?"

"What any stupid cheating story out there tells a guy to do."

She looked puzzled.

"I used our Nanny Cams. You know, the things you put to watch the babysitter that look like clocks or books or such? Her folks had given them to us when we had Charlie though we never used them. Bedroom, living room, one that looks like a rock for the patio."

"Oh dear!"

"Yeah, not my proudest moment," he said ruefully. "I was afraid to use them and afraid not to. Ellen would have been furious if she'd found out. But, I couldn't bring myself to ask her with no evidence that it was anything but my imagination. So, I manufactured a fishing trip."

"And was it as bad as you suspected?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "No. But maybe a little yes.

"No, in that there were no scenes of naked bodies writhing around to a soundtrack of animal grunts. Nothing happened. Yes, in that I wasn't imagining she cared for him."

"What did you see?" she asked.

"Mike came over on Saturday afternoon for a swim, something he often did. The picture was a little distorted and the sound was a little tinny, but I could see enough. They swam; they sat and talked; from where I sat you could almost see the electricity in the air. Then Ellen went for a last swim. As she came out, the sun went behind the clouds and she shivered, so Mike picked up a beach towel and laid it across her shoulders. As she reached up to gather it in, their hands touched and they both froze. Then I saw her shoulders sag; it was almost as if ... I don't know ... maybe like she was defeated?

"I don't know what to say," she said softly.

"No," he answered, shaking his head, "nor do I."

She nodded, almost crying. "I made a promise, Mike, and I won't break it. He's a good man, and Charlie's father, and I do love hi—"

He put his hand up to silence her. "I know; I won't ask you to break it. I couldn't do that to any man, let alone my best friend."

She nodded. After a moment she said, "I don't think you should come over here when he's not around anymore."

"We're not doing anything."

She shook her head. "I don't think an affair has to be physical to be an affair, you know? This one has to stop before it gets started."

He thought about that for a moment and then looked sad and nodded. Just before he left, he looked back over his shoulder.

"Will you answer one question for me completely honestly?"

"Yes."

"If you had never married and you had to choose. What would your choice be?"

She was silent for a few seconds. "You. Don't ever ask me that kind of thing again and please go now."

"Jesus!" Miranda said.

Richard nodded, his face full of remembered sadness. "She wasn't cheating with him. I didn't really have any doubt about that anymore. But," he shook his head, uncertain of what he was trying to say. "But, it was a bad couple of weeks. In the end, I..." He ran out of words.

Miranda reached over and touched his arm. "Mike told Ed and me what you did." He looked surprised at that. She continued, wanting to lighten the depression she hadn't meant to stir up, "Pretty classy of you, we both thought."

He tried to deflect that, "All I did was accept reality. Ellen was the one who was classy."

Her fingers pinned his arm, giving a little squeeze to get his attention, "Yes, she was ... also." The emphasis on the last word was clear.

"And has everything been okay?" she asked, letting him decide whether to keep talking or just say fine and blow it off.

"Of course not!" he looked at her almost angrily. "At times, I've hated her. At times, I hated him and wanted to kill the bastard."

Miranda perked up, "Umm, cop sitting right here."

The anger turned sheepish. "Oh. Figuratively speaking, of course."

She smiled. "Of course. And, yet, you have her working with you."

"Mike got laid off for a bit last year. I needed a third manager; she knew how to do it. He found a new job but she decided she wanted to stay on." He waved vaguely. "It just seemed to be the right thing, helping them out. She's the mother of my kid, after all, and Charlie will get the place someday.

"It's not too bad. Our shifts don't overlap more than an hour or so and, well, it's not so bad seeing her anymore, just a bit lonely. I've sorted of accepted it." He paused, then sat up straighter. "Wow! Did that sound as maudlin to you as it did to me? Sorry!"

"Why are you sorry? I started it."

"Well, I'm finishing it. So," he said brightly, "tell me about you, Miranda."

"With good friends, I'm Randy."

He froze, fighting hard to keep his face straight but then he saw the twinkle in her eye and burst out laughing. "I'm not touching that one!"

"What?" she said, her face all innocence.

. . . . .

"Good night." He leaned to kiss her cheek.

She shook her head and leaned in. Her lips felt perfect to him, soft and warm. She held it for a second, enough that it was definitely a kiss and not a peck, and then leaned back. "A nice evening," she said.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



He stopped by the restaurant in the late afternoon on Sunday. Since the robbery, he had been keeping very little cash in the place and Sunday brunch was always a fairly big hit with the after-church crowd.

Ellen mentioned to him, "Officer Patterson stopped by for brunch today."

"Oh," he said with elaborate nonchalance, "that's good. She seems nice."

He headed back to the office, simultaneously feeling sorry that he hadn't come in the morning and absurdly pleased at the news. Ellen watched him walk away, also smiling a bit to herself.

He dialed Miranda's number. "Hey, I hear you were in today?"

"Well, the food's not bad."

"Not bad?" he asked, pretending to be outraged.

She laughed. "Hey, Richard. I can't really chat right now; I'm running late."

"Can I see you again?" he asked quickly.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I know it's rude to ask at the last minute but can I see you tomorrow?"

"You're not kidding about last minute!" She was laughing as she said it. "Tell you what. Last Tuesday was rough due to someone getting me drunk the night before." He sputtered a bit and she laughed again. "So, how about lunch? I could stop by the restaurant."

It was his turn to be quiet and think. Miranda sensed that it was something a bit more than thinking about his schedule. "Maybe," he said, "if you were willing, we could grill something at my place?"
"Well—" she started to say.

"Or I could meet you somewhere near where you live," he offered.

She thought about what wasn't being said. His place? Had he been thinking about more than lunch? Some kind of third date rule thing? Suddenly, it clicked: Ellen was probably working the restaurant on his day off and she realized she had put him in an awkward spot. She said hesitantly, "I guess your place would be fine."

"Great! You can meet Charlie."

She smiled to herself.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



"Dad says you're a police woman."

"Yes, I am."

"Do you carry a gun?"

"Most of the time."

"Can I see it?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Have you ever shot anyone?"

"No."

"Do you have a siren in your own car?"

"Nope, just my work car."

"Do you have handcuffs and stuff like that in your own car?"

"In my purse."

"Have you ever caught a robber?"

"With some other police officers, yes."

He thought for a moment, "Cool!" and ran off.

Richard looked on affectionately. She gave him a bemused look and he laughed. "Sorry," he said.

"No, don't be."

. . . . .

They had a good time. The conversation was light and amusing. Charlie was running around them most of the time. After a couple of hours, Charlie came up and said, "Dad, when are we going?"

"In a bit, kiddo," he answered. "Go clean up." He turned to Miranda. "I promised I'd take him over to a friend's house this afternoon," he said regretfully.

"Then I'll go," she said lightly. "Have fun!"

He walked her to her car. When they got there, she turned back and there was an awkward pause.

He smiled, "Charlie might be watching."

She smiled back, "Yeah. Thank you for a nice afternoon. Take care and see you around."

"Hey, Randy?" He stopped.

"Yeah?"

"Umm," he said hesitantly, "would you be free next Sunday evening?"

It sounded odd to her. He hadn't been diffident about expressing interest before. "I'm afraid not. I already made plans to go to a party that night."

"Monday?"

"Sorry, it's Memorial Day weekend and I'm covering for someone who's taking the day off then I have a barbecue in the evening."

"Oh, I see. Okay, then."

"Maybe some other time?"

"Sure," but he seemed a little off.

"Is everything okay?"

"Sure, no problem. Some other time, then."

Actually, everything wasn't completely fine. Most of the time, Richard had come to terms with the changes in his life. The past was the past and there was a lot of life to enjoy.

Two days, however, still left him feeling melancholy: May 29, the day he had married Ellen, and August 19, his birthday and the day his marriage to Ellen ended. His friends, David and Frank and their wives — and sometimes Mike and Ellen, though he wasn't sure how he felt about that — usually had something planned for his birthday. However, his former anniversary tended to go unremarked.

He had thought the distraction of a date with someone he liked would be a good way to break the pattern.

. . . . .

For her part, Miranda was pensive as she drove home. She didn't give much thought to Richard's demeanor, figuring he might have just been wondering about whether he was pushing for too much. But she did need to take stock about things. She hadn't felt so comfortable and relaxed in a long time.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



Richard stopped into the restaurant on the Sunday of the long weekend to pick up the day's deposits.

"Any plans for the rest of the weekend?" Ellen asked.

"Nah. I'll just watch some games, maybe hang out with some of the guys down at the pub. Honestly, I'm so tired of crowds after yesterday's rush that just sitting and drinking beer will seem like heaven," he replied, laughing.

Ellen knew him well, probably better than he realized, and she could hear the tight, false lightheartedness in that laugh. She was also pretty sure she knew the reason but the unwritten code of silence he asked for stopped her from saying anything about it.

. . . . .

The evening found him sitting in Largie's, his third Macallan in front of him. If asked, he would have described his mood as low and he was trying to decide whether calling it a night or full-out drunk was the best plan when he felt someone climb onto the stool next to him.

"Any idea if they can make a good Gin Gimlet here?" she asked Richard. "Or do they just splash lime juice in with the alcohol?"

"I don't know. Patrick," he called to the bartender, "can you make a really good Gin Gimlet?"

"Absolutely!"

"Absolutely," Richard said to her.

She laughed and held out her hand, "Caitlin. Who are you?"

"Richard," he said and shook.

When her drink arrived, she took one look at it and complained, "Hey, what's this cucumber doing in here? Where's the lime?"

Patrick laughed, "You said really good. If you just wanted good, you'd have gotten Tanqueray and a lime. But really good is Hendrick's with cucumber garnish. Try it!"

She took a sip, rolled it around in her mouth for a second and then pronounced, "You are forgiven."

Caitlin and Richard fell to talking. He admired how she looked; she was attractive in that blonde, generic way that he associated with cheerleaders and any girl from California. She was wearing a dress that was slightly sexy but not over the top. It fit her figure nicely with a neckline that showed just an inch or so of cleavage. The hem was high enough to show some nicely-tanned legs without any risk of giving a peep show. Her makeup said she was out for a night on the town, and she was certainly easy to talk to, keeping the conversation rolling without effort despite the fact that he had a little buzz going.

There was a pause in the conversation after about twenty minutes. She put her hand on his arm and looked him firmly in the eyes, saying, "Would you like to go somewhere private?"

Richard was caught off guard. Talking to her had lifted his mood but his mind hadn't traveled beyond the conversation. "Private?"

"Private is wherever you feel comfortable, hotel or your house. It's $300 for an hour or $1,500 for the night."

He stared at her for a second and then laughed a deep belly laugh of real humor.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



One of Miranda's colleagues caught up with her as she was coming in on Tuesday morning.

"Hey, Miranda, got a second?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Well, I've heard that you've been seen with that guy who owns the restaurant."

"Did my dating life suddenly become fodder for office gossip?"

"Hell, no!" he laughed. "There's nothing sudden about it. We've talked about you since you came here."

"You're an asshole, Matt!"

He grinned, then sobered. "Look, really none of my business, I know, but there's this thing."

"Go on."

"I saw him in Largie's with another woman the other night. Thought you might want to know."

Miranda wasn't entirely pleased to be hear this but, then again, she wasn't upset either. She had no reason, or right, to be. "There are no strings, Matt. We just went out a couple times. Nobody promised undying love."

"Yeah but, well, if it matters, she was a pro, Miranda."

"Oh! You mean...?"

"Yeah."

"Did he leave with her?"

"Well, not arm-in-arm, but he paid both bills and left within a minute or two of her."

Miranda was quiet for a moment, then said lightly, "Well, let's hope that, for the sake of any future conquests, Mr. Mason is well-acquainted with condoms."

"Hey, sorry to be the bearer, et cetera, but I didn't want anything to come from your blind side."

She cut him off. "Forget about it. It was a just a date or two. He wasn't Prince Charming. Thanks for having my back."

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



Richard called her on Wednesday. "Hey, Randy, I was wondering if we might get together this weekend."

"I'm sorry, Richard. I really can't make it this weekend."

"Oh," he said. "Maybe some time during the week for dinner?"

"I don't think so. I'm usually exhausted after work and just want to put my feet up. Thanks, though." Her voice was cool.

"I see," he said quietly. "Well, maybe I'll give you a call next week and see how the following weekend is going."

"Sure. I may be going to see my folks but we'll see." If anything, her voice became even more distant.

He hung up, knowing that things had gone south but not having the slightest idea why. That Sunday he stopped by The Mason Jar in hopes that it had just been a bad moment for her but she didn't drop in for brunch.

"No sense beating a dead horse," he thought. It wasn't his first rodeo and, while he had liked her, life had made him a pragmatist, or so he told himself. He didn't want to admit that he hadn't felt this depressed in a long while, maybe even three years. "I thought it was going well," he said to himself. "I guess I was clueless as always."

When Ellen came in to take over that afternoon, she noticed that the recent spring in his step was gone.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



Friday morning found him sitting in a booth going over the week's figures. Maria sat a customer down at the next booth. "Stacy will be right with you."

Richard looked over and realized it was Ed Wallace.

"Officer Wallace," he said, nodding a greeting.

"Mr. Mason."

"Oh, not you, too. Please call me Richard. I'm done being a suspect."

Ed smiled cordially. "Richard. Call me Ed."

Stacy was new and hovered in the background, uncertain if she should interrupt. Richard turned to her, "Go ahead. Though I suspect the answer is coffee, black, two eggs poached, wheat toast, home fries well done, side of bacon burnt."

Richard smiled at the look of surprise on Ed's face, continuing, "You come in here almost every Friday, usually with another guy, and you always order the same thing. He orders a western omelet with white toast and likes his coffee sweet and light."

"Holy cow! Do you know what everyone orders?"

"Well, some of the long-time regulars if they're consistent. But, with you, Randy made a joke about it when I had poached eggs one day and now I just notice you guys."

Ed's head tilted at the statement. "You must be closer than I realized."

Richard's looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing, forget about it. Not many people call her Randy."

"Oh." Richard shrugged. "We went out a couple times. I guess we just didn't click. I haven't seen her since before Memorial Day."

"It happens," Ed said neutrally.

"Did you have a good holiday?" Richard asked.

Ed rolled his eyes. "Hell, no! I pulled shifts the entire weekend so I could have July 4 off. I ended up conking out on the sofa both Sunday and Monday. My friends think I'm an old man."

"I have friends who say the same when I have a tough day here," Richard agreed. "Maybe you had the better plan, though. I did go out Sunday and Monday and all I had to show for it was a wicked hangover. Except for one moment of excitement it was, all in all, a weekend to forget."

"What happened?"

"Well, maybe not the most cop-friendly story in the world but..."

. . . . .

He finished the story, saying, "I started laughing and couldn't stop. I mean, here the two of us are, thinking the other person knows what the score is and that our evening won't be a waste when, actually, we weren't even playing the same game. Clueless, that's me!"

"So, did you?" Ed asked.

"Nah. I mean, I'm not a monk and I confess to a few meaningless encounters, especially right after my divorce. But, well, I may not be Ryan Reynolds but I don't scare kids away and know how to treat women nicely. I own my own business and can hold a conversation. So, I can get laid if I want to.

"I don't really have a problem with what she does. But, frankly? It would be just a little too emotionless for me no matter how much she faked it. Plus, I'm scared of what I might catch."

"What did you do?"

"I picked up her bar tab and told her I'd buy her dinner to make up for the misunderstanding, but she passed on it. I think she wanted to drop her line back in the water. I assume she headed for another bar and I just headed for home.

"Anyway," he continued, standing, "I need to get some orders called in. See you next Friday."

He turned back, "Hey, Ed, I guess I'd prefer you didn't repeat that story around. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea."

"No problem," was what Ed said out loud. "Of course, I'm going to repeat it," was what Ed said in his head.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



"Hey, Randy," Ed said when he saw her on Tuesday, "The scuttlebutt is Matt told you about Mason and the prost and then—"

"What the fuck, Ed? Don't you guys have anything to talk about other than my private business?"

"Well, yeah. Sometimes we talk about other people's private business." Ignoring her glare, he proceeded to tell her a story.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



Thursday, Miranda stopped by The Mason Jar after work.

"No, I'm sorry. He's already left. He comes in early and leaves once dinner is going," said Ellen.

"Ah, okay. Makes sense."

"Here's your coffee. Do you want that in a bag?"

"No, thanks."

"I'll let him know you stopped by."

Driving home, she wondered if she should call. She had given him a pretty definite brush-off signal — and that on top of turning him down for Memorial Day weekend, which hadn't been a brush-off at the time but would have looked like it after the fact. A phone call of, "Hey, how's it going?" would look like she was mentally unstable. A casual conversation would soothe the troubled waters a little better. Perhaps he'd call her once Ellen gave him the message.

He didn't.

She came for a late lunch on Sunday. She knew Richard often stopped by after the morning rush to take the receipts to the bank. However, even dragging out a second cup of coffee didn't yield an appearance.

"I guess I missed him again," she said to Ellen as she paid.

"Oh, he was here a bit ago. I saw him in the back. I guess he grabbed the deposits and scooted."

"Oh." Miranda signed the credit card slip and left.

Ellen had seen the little moment of disappointment in her eyes before she turned away. There was no one else waiting to pay, so she asked Maria, "Could you cover the register a second?" and stepped outside.

"Officer Patterson?"

Miranda turned back, surprised, "Yes?"

"I don't want to stick my nose where it's not wanted, but..." she trailed off, uncertain how to begin.

"Is there something you want to say to me, Ms. Bernhardt?"

Ellen still hesitated. There was so much awkwardness surrounding Richard for her and she knew he wouldn't appreciate this if he found out.

Miranda waited a second then continued coolly, "Yes, I think Richard is an attractive man and I am interested in him. Yes, I was hoping he'd be here today because — well, it doesn't matter why. No, I don't automatically have a problem with the ex-wife. That said, if you're out here to warn me off then I agree that your nose—"

Ellen cut her off. "No! Nothing like that! I'm actually glad that Richard is dating. I don't know you well enough to know if I think you're specifically the right one for him but that's absolutely his business, not mine."

Miranda's expression unbent a little at hearing that.

"Here's the thing," Ellen continued. "I can tell you that Richard is not going to come out of the back office for a cup of coffee with you. If you catch him out on the floor, he'll be polite and then he'll tell you he has something to do in the back and disappear. If you leave him a message that you stopped by, I wouldn't bet on a phone call."

Miranda's face fell. "Oh ... well ... okay, I see."

"No, you misunderstand." Ellen looked away, then dove in. "In for a penny, in for a pound," she thought.

"Richard has commitment issues. Not," she said hurriedly when Miranda reacted, "with his being able to commit! He's great at that. His issue is if the girl doesn't do the same. If she needs to be constantly chased once the ice is broken, then she's going to find it's a short courtship."

"Is he that unconfident, or is it laziness?" Miranda asked.

Ellen shook her head. "Look, Officer Patterson—"

"Miranda, please."

That brought a smile. "Miranda, it's neither of those things. He'll make the first move and then go what he thinks is half way or a little more in the relationship and then look around. If he doesn't see someone standing on the other side of that mark, he assumes she's not as interested as he wants, chalks it up to experience and moves on. He won't play the hard-to-get game ... actually, that's not quite right ... he doesn't even realize hard-to-get is a game.

"There's backstory that's not mine to tell and, unfortunately, I was the straw — make that the ten-ton weight — that broke the camel's back but, bottom line? He's not willing to invest too much and find out it's wasted. I've seen it a couple of times, with women that might have, eventually, been an okay fit but who wanted a no-strings arrangement."

"Has he been talking to you about us?"

"Not a word! He's said nothing but I know him pretty well and I haven't been blind the last few days; it seems like you're looking to run into him casually, right?" Ellen's tone was questioning.

Miranda shook her head. "My love life isn't anyone else's business, Ellen, no offense intended. But!" she held up a finger and smiled to forestall any irritation. "Thank you for talking to me. I sincerely mean that."

Ellen nodded and turned to go back inside, then she stopped and added, "I may be biased, but I don't think anyone willing to meet him in the middle will ever regret it. He goes all in for anyone who's all-in themselves."

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



It's trivial, if totally against regulations in personal matters, for a police officer to find out someone's home address. Miranda didn't care about the regulations. Richard came home Monday night to a balloon tied to his front door handle with a note.

I think, for whatever reason, I sent some signals that I didn't really want to send. If the offer still stands, dinner after work might actually be a GREAT way to unwind after an exhausting day. PLEASE call but, if you don't, it's my loss.

XO,

Randy

. . . . .

"Hi, Randy, it's Richard."

"I recognize your voice. Plus, we have this new invention called Caller ID." She laughed as she said it to take the sting out. "I'm glad you called."

"Well, you asked me to and, yes, the offer is still good."

"Great! When are you thinking?"

"Wednesday?"

"Oh, I can't. I have CPR quals that evening. Thursday?"

"I'm on closing that night. Friday?"

"Hey, I know we talked about after work some night, and you may have plans or something, but is Sunday dinner possible?"

"Oh!" His voice betrayed his surprise. "I guess I just assumed that was unavailable."

Miranda seemed a little flustered by his observation but explained, "I think I mentioned before that I might go to my parents' last weekend but it got moved to this weekend. I'm going over Friday night but could come home in the afternoon on Sunday. If you don't have plans, that is."

"No, I don't. That would be great. How about 6:00?"

"Perfect."

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



As they sat sipping their drinks that Sunday, the conversation turned more personal in a way that wasn't totally comfortable for Richard.

"So, have you seen a lot of women since Ellen?"

He got a wary look on his face. "Umm, why?"

"Just curious. You're a decent-looking guy, you're not shy, and you seem to be reasonably housebroken. Yet, I get the sense that there's been nothing serious since her. What's up? If you're carrying a torch for the ex, that's something a girl might like to know up front."
He looked very worried about this line of conversation. "Well..." he dragged it out, trying to think what to say. She waited patiently.

"For a few months after the divorce, I had no interest. Then I figured I needed to get on with my life, so I asked out some women I knew, but it was like, I don't know, rebound dates maybe? I'd go out once or twice and then not feel like calling them again. I mean, I didn't ghost them but I didn't ask them out anymore.

"It took about a year before I began to treat it seriously. I asked out this one woman I knew that I thought was really nice. And she was, and we saw each other for a couple of months. But I got the feeling she was looking for a husband rather than looking for me. Does that make any sense?" She nodded in complete understanding.

"So, we broke up, and then I was seeing another woman but she made it pretty clear that she wasn't looking for a husband, as in, 'This is fun but I'm young and not going to think about anything beyond that.' I wasn't looking for that either, so we broke up." Miranda nodded again.

"There was another in the same vein as that last one, with the same ending, which put me back in a bit of a funk. Then my buddy, Dave, hooked me up with his second cousin or something and it seemed to work for a while. We went out maybe four months. It was nice to have someone to come home to at night..." he broke off, looking embarrassed. She just smiled and made circles with her hand to say keep going.

"I started wondering if it might last. But, then, I started thinking about how it felt with Ellen and things with Debbie just weren't like that. They didn't feel as real. So, we started fighting and I decided to call it quits. She's seeing someone else now."

"So, based upon Debbie, you might be carrying a torch for Ellen after all?"

He shook his head. "No, definitely not. I'm carrying a torch for being as close to someone as I was with Ellen, or even closer, but Ellen and I are over."

She took a drink and said, "Fair enough."

They sat in silence for a moment, then he said, "Are you done making me uncomfortable?"

She grinned.

"Okay, Randy, what about you? How's a nice girl like you still in a place like this with a man like me?"

"I'll go out with anyone who asks who doesn't actually repulse me."

"Oh," he said, nonplussed. "I guess that shoots a hole in my ego then."

She laughed, "Relax, partner. I'm serious, but...!" She held up a finger. "I'll go out once 'cause, hey, you never know. Getting a second date is a lot harder. I have to like you, not just control my gag reflex." He grinned as she continued, "And a third really narrows the field. There've only been a couple men in the last year or so who've gotten to number three."

"This is number four for us."

"Darn skippy it is," she said complacently.

After a moment, he said, "This open-door policy on dating..." He let the implication lie there.

She didn't pretend to misunderstand and it was her turn to find the conversation a bit uncomfortable. "If you're asking if I believe in open relationships, no, I do not. Not after a certain point."

"Are we at that point?"

"Richard, we just got over our first fight."

"What fight?"

"Trust me, we've had our first fight. It was my fault completely. If I didn't say sorry before, I mean it when I say I'm sorry now. For tonight, let's just enjoy the wine."

He sat there, mystified, trying to remember the fight that didn't happen.

. . . . .

It was late by the time he got her home and both of them were tired, but not so tired that he didn't put his arms around her and lean in for more than a quick kiss. She melted up against him.

"Good night. I'm really glad you called, Richard."

"Me, too." He leaned down again and pulled her tighter. His lips met hers again, making light contact while his tongue teased along the edges. His hand stroked her side, barely making contact with the side of her breast.

She laughed and pulled back, "Down boy! You're not coming in tonight."

He grinned, "Well, would you like to go out again?"

"Yes. Now good night!"

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



"Do you like dancing?" Richard asked her, the phone cradled on his shoulder as he counted out the cash drawer.

"Yes."

"Well, the Rotary dance is Friday and I'm going because I got roped into helping set up this year. Would you care to be my date?"

"Well," she said hesitantly. Richard got a bit nervous. The thought that maybe she blowing cold again disappeared when she continued, "I'd like to go but Friday's are tough because Ed is off and I don't know exactly when I'll get done. What time do you have to be there?"

"It starts at 7:00. But I have to be there at 6:00."

She thought for a moment. "Would you mind terribly if I met you there? I could shower at the office and be there as soon as I could."

"Sure."

"Sounds good then."

. . . . .

His arms felt good around her. She felt his face nuzzle into her hair and her smile became visible as he said, "You smell great!"

She snorted, "I probably smell a bit like sweaty girl. It's a million degrees in here."

Richard shook his head. "No, you just smell good."

"You're a charmer but can we go outside and get some air?"

They stood out on the deck, the only ones out there, sipping beers and letting the cool night air do its work. A couple more songs passed as they talked and then they heard the band's vocalist say, "Okay, folks, that's about it. Thank you for listening tonight. We've had a great time.

"Gals, a last dance with the one what brung ya. Guys, put down your bottles, rescue your sweetie from whoever is boring the hell out of her, and get out on the floor." The opening bars of "We're All Alone" drifted out.

"I love Boz Scaggs," Miranda said. "Come on, big boy, you heard the woman!"

He grinned. "Hey, I didn't bring you. You came in your own car."

She arched an eyebrow. "Really? That's the way you want to go here?" She pretended to be looking in through the window. "Hmm, there's got to be at least one single, reasonably sober guy in there."

He laughed and held out his arms and she stepped into them. It felt nice to both of them.

Richard felt the press of her left breast against his rib cage, a sensation he had found unbelievably sexy since the first time back at the eighth-grade dance when Mary Wilcox had snuggled in a bit before the chaperones had coughed an "Ahem" to remind them of the rules.

Miranda felt his arm pull her in a little more snugly and she smiled to herself as she felt a very slight twitch where her hip met his body. She took her right hand out of his left and put it up to join her other arm around his neck, laying her head down his shoulder.

The gentle weight of her against his body felt wonderful to Richard. He worried for a second with the age-old male's worry: not wanting things to get awkward with an inappropriate rise in the pants. Then he dismissed it. She wasn't grinding or rubbing on him, just dancing close, and he wasn't some teenage boy whose dick had an uncontrollable life of its own at the merest hint of a girl. So, maybe a little tightness but things wouldn't get embarrassing. Besides, a woman as fantastic as this had probably noticed an interested man or two in her life and could handle it with aplomb. She did feel wonderful, though!

Miranda felt his hand making little stroking motions against the small of her back. Then she felt one slide down over her rear very gently, not pulling her against him, just a caress.

"Umm, move your hand," she said quietly.

He chuckled and gave a squeeze, keeping it there. "It moved."

She pulled her head back to look at him sharply. "Richard, I'm dead serious. Take your hand off my ass right now or I'll do it for you."

He moved his hand quickly up to her back, muttering, "Sorry."

She nodded and leaned into his shoulder again for the rest of the song but the mood was broken. She could feel the tension in his shoulders and a quick glance up at his face showed his mind was elsewhere, evaluating what had happened.

When the song was over, he stepped back. "Would you like another beer before they close the bar?" he asked.

"No. It's late and we're both driving. Richard, would you walk me to my car, please? I have to work early tomorrow and it's time for me to get home." she asked.

She saw his face fall a bit. He nodded in acceptance, both of her answer and, she could tell, of how he thought things were. When they got to her car, she pulled her keys out of her pocket and turned to him. They both started talking at the same time.

"I'm sor—"

"Richard, I—"

They both stopped. He started again quickly. "Miranda, I really am sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I made a mistake."

She smiled. "Apology accepted."

He gave a jerky nod. "What did you want to say?"

"Well, a couple things," she replied.

"First, I wasn't irritated at what you did, just that you didn't stop when I asked. I'm kind of big on no means no. Okay?"

He nodded.

"Second, it wasn't that you decided to be a little more intimate; you didn't offend me with that. But, in this venue..." She paused for a second and then continued. "I know we seemed to be alone, but there are folks here I work with and even more folks that I deal with professionally. If it were my husband or someone known to be a steady boyfriend, people might smile if they saw a hand on my ass when we thought we were by ourselves. With someone that, from what they know, is a casual date ... well ... smiles are fine but smirks about Officer Patterson being no better than she should be are a problem when your job requires a certain moral authority. It may not make complete sense to you but it's something that women in a largely-male job have to think about. Can you understand that?"

"I'm not an idiot." His voice was a little testy.

She looked at him levelly. "I wasn't implying you were stupid. It was just a figure of speech."

"Okay," he said and looked away.

"Third..." She put her hand on his arm and waiting a few beats until he looked back and raised an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"Here's the way I've always felt things should work. When one person gets up the nerve to ask another person for a date, that second person has to play fair. That means giving a few signals to let the first person know how the date is going. Sound fair?"

"Yes."

"Good. So, seeing as how the evening may have ended a bit ambiguously for you..." She reached up and took a hold on his shirt collar, pulling his face down for a lingering kiss, her chest pressed against his, her tongue flicking between his lips for just a second before she let go. "I had a great time. I'm busy on Sunday but I'm off Monday and have absolutely no plans. Those are signals in case you really are stupid."

He smiled. "It's a date."

"Oh no!" she said, shaking her head. "It's a date when someone actually asks for a date and is accepted."

He cocked his head. "Really? That's the way you want to go here?" he said, teasing her with her own words.

"What way?"

"Hmmm, well, I guess I'll have to sit by the phone waiting for someone to call me then," he said, putting on a forlorn face.

"Jerk!" she laughed.

"What?" he said.

She opened her car door and then turned back, her face screwed up as if thinking. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me on Monday."

"Why sure, Randy," he said, chuckling. "What did you have in mind?"

"Do you like stuff outdoors?"

"Yes."

"Well, I thought we might hike up to Eagle Rock, take a swim, maybe bring a picnic for after?"

"I've never been there but sounds fun. It's a date."

He did wonder about Sunday though.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



Late Saturday afternoon he called her. It went to voicemail, so he left a message. "Hi Randy. Just calling to say hello and find out what the time is for Monday. I'm still at work but things are about to get hectic here — Saturday evenings you know — so I'll give you a buzz tomorrow and we can talk."

When he got home that night, his message light was blinking. "Hey, Richard, it's Randy. I didn't want to bother you at work since you said you'd be busy. Umm, I guess I'll try you again later." She sounded slightly off, like she was nervous about what she had to say.

"Uh oh," he thought.

There was a second message about an hour later. "Okay, umm, I called because I'll be hard to reach tomorrow but, umm, I was thinking about calling you anyway. I'm helping my mom in the morning and, well, the thing is I'm busy the rest of the day because I have a date. He asked me a while ago. He's a nice guy, and it sounded like a lot of fun, so I said I'd go, and so he bought tickets and ... well ... yeah. Anyway, I felt I should tell you that.

"Umm, anyway, if we're still on, I'll pick you up Monday at 11:00. Okay? See you then and I'm looking forward to it. I hope you are, too."

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



"What's bothering you, Richard?" Ellen asked over a cup of coffee when he dropped into the restaurant on Sunday to get the morning's receipts.

"Huh? Nothing."

She just looked at him.

He fiddled with his spoon, considered continuing to deny it, but seven years of marriage meant she could read him pretty well. So, he told her: about his interest in Miranda, their dates, the message the night before. When he was done, he tried to lighten the mood by joking, "I don't know why I'm telling you this. I feel like I'm admitting to cheating on you."

It was the closest he had come in three years to breaking the unwritten code of silence he had imposed on the topic. She smiled affectionately. "Don't be a dork!"

He laughed wryly.

She took another sip of coffee. "Okay. She's not dumping you if she's still planning on seeing you Monday, right?"

"I guess."

"One possibility is that she's a sadistic bitch who likes torturing some idiot who's stupid enough to have the hots for her."

"Hardly," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Okay. Have you considered the possibility that she's a major coke head and can't handle reality?"

Richard looked at Ellen as if she were mentally deficient. "What is wrong with you?"

"Richard, don't be an idiot. She doesn't want you to think she's going behind your back."

"I don't quite get that. I mean, we've barely gone out. If she wants to date someone else, that's her prerogative. Hell, I probably wouldn't even find out she did it, so how would I think anything?" He knew this was a bit dishonest since he had been wondering if she was seeing someone else for a while.

It must have shown on his face because Ellen picked up on it. "You've thought about it, haven't you?"

"Yeah."

She grimaced. "So, you think she's sending you a message?"

"Do you?"

Ellen thought for a moment. "Well, maybe she wants to establish some ground rules right from the beginning. She likes seeing you but is not looking for a committed relationship with just one guy."

"Yeah, maybe." The idea depressed him more than he would have thought.

"I know that's not your thing, Richard, and, if that's the case, I'm sorry. But ... have you considered that maybe she already said yes to the date and isn't the type of person to back out once she's done that but, at the same time, wants things to be clean with you?"

Richard shrugged. The first option sounded much more likely given how many Sundays she was busy and he had become a bit of a pessimist where women were concerned.

Ellen thought back to her parking lot talk and was more hopeful.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



Monday, she showed up right on time. He hopped in the car and they drove in silence for a few moments. He was happy to see her but felt a little inhibited.

He had spent the evening before being a little cranky with everything, unable to concentrate on a book or watch television. He had finally wandered down to the local watering hole for beer. As the evening got late, he found himself wondering if Mr. Sunday — he had no other name for him — was getting that same kiss at the end of the evening that he had gotten. In fact, once he had even wondered if the evening was the end of it, or if the goodbye kiss would come the next morning.

"How was your weekend?" she asked.

"Okay, I guess. Saturday's always a pain at The Jar. Sunday, I puttered around a bit, met some guys for a beer in the evening but called it a night early. I wasn't really in the mood for anything."

She nodded and they drove in silence for what seemed a while but was probably only fifteen or twenty seconds. He saw her glance sideways at him as if waiting, then she said sweetly, "And how was your weekend, Miranda?"

He looked over at her, "Uhh—," but she kept on talking, holding both sides of the conversation with herself.

"It wasn't the best, Richard. -Oh, why not, Miranda? -Well, Richard, Saturday I had a long day because of a big pileup out on Rt. 819 involving a tour bus, a flipped tanker truck and a lot of cars. Nobody seriously hurt but lots of ambulances and fire trucks and it backed up things all over. It was all hands on deck and everyone ended up putting in some overtime. -Oh, that's too bad, Miranda. -Yeah, I was beat when I finally got home."

He tried to interrupt again but she talked right over him.

"-Then, on Sunday, I went to a Pirates game in the city and then out to dinner. The game was fun, though I drank a little too much beer, and the dinner was great. But, I wasn't able to enjoy the day as much as I should have because I knew that at the end of the evening I was going to tell my date I had a wonderful time, give him a kiss because he had earned it and then tell him that I didn't think I could see him anymore because I had met someone that I might get serious about."

She turned and looked at him to see his reaction. He had been staring fixedly out of the windshield when she started to talk about her date, but now a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "On second thought," he said, "my Sunday ended much better than I realized."

She smiled to herself.

. . . . .

It took them about an hour to hike up the trail to Eagle Rock. Although the day was beautiful, it was a Monday and they saw no one else around on their hike. When they got up to the small pool at the top, Miranda asked, "You've got a suit, right?"

"Wearing it underneath." He touched the nylon shorts he was wearing. They stripped off their shoes and socks and he stuck a foot in the water, "Whoa! Pretty cold!"

"It's spring fed," Miranda said. "You chickening out?"

"Nope!"

She turned her back and peeled off her shorts. Richard admired the tiny yellow bikini bottom that faced him. She glanced over her shoulder, grinned, then jerked her sweatshirt off and leapt into the pool. Richard pulled off his shorts and t-shirt and was quick to follow her.

They paddled around for a bit, splashing each other occasionally, before the cold started to get to them and they pulled themselves back up on the shore. She pulled a large towel out of her backpack and spread it out as a table while Richard pulled cold fried chicken, coleslaw and some ice tea of out his.

Richard's eyes kept wandering. Her bikini top was fairly small — decent but definitely on the sexy side — and the cold had made her breasts stand at attention. She knew he was looking but pretended not to notice at first, a little embarrassed but also pleased by his obvious appreciation. Then, right when her peripheral vision told her his eyes had dropped down to her chest again, she turned. His eyes snapped up to hers. "I guess ice cold water is a guy's friend," she said with a quick flick of her eyes down toward her still-prominent nipples.
She paused a beat, then glanced at the front of his bathing suit, "Or is it?"

His expression was priceless.

"Relax, tiger! It was just a joke," and leaned over and kissed him.

Their lunchtime idyll was broken ten minutes later when they heard voices on the trail. Miranda quietly leaned over and pulled on her sweatshirt and they spent the rest of their meal talking with the six college students who pulled into view.

. . . . .

The ride home was quiet, but it was a more peaceful quiet than the start of the trip out. As they neared his house, he spoke up.

"Would you like to get some dinner?"

She shook her head. "I'm not really hungry yet."

"Okay. Would a beer taste good? I've got some in the fridge. If you get hungry later I could throw something on the grill."

She smiled. "Is this a subtle way of telling me that you'd like this date to go a bit longer?"

"I'm just sending appropriate feedback signals like you said."

She rolled her eyes as he smirked. "A cold beer with you would taste great. And I wouldn't even mind a little making out to go with that beer"—a chuckle broke out of him—"but, Richard, that's as far as I will go, in case you were hoping for more."

"Oh. That's fine."

She braked to a stop for a red light and put her right hand down on his forearm before looking him in the face. "Disappointed?"

"I'm good."

"Are you gonna start lying to me?"

He shrugged. "Okay, I wondered, maybe even hoped ... but I didn't have expectations."

"Do you feel that I led you on back there?"

He shook his head. "No."

She searched his eyes for a second then nodded.

The light turned green and she accelerated, pulling into the left lane to go around the slower car in front of them. When she was past she said, "I want to tell you a story.

"Once upon a time about eight years ago there was this young woman who met a handsome lawyer who seemed pretty cool. They dated for several weeks and eventually he asked her to spend the night, which she did. Now—"

He interrupted, "Randy, whatever kind of 'just looking to get in her pants' jerk he was, that's not my style."

"Hush! First, I know you're not like that. Second, he wasn't a jerk just looking to get into my pants. He actually was a very nice guy. Third, you don't know where this story is going.

"There's another character in our little story, the former boyfriend. He had gone into the service a year and a half before and, despite them hooking up on leaves a few times, the distance thing kinda put the kibosh on the relationship and they broke up.

"Now, to fully comprehend the next part of the story, you have to understand that our girl was as stupid as only a twenty-two-year-old living for the first time away from home and college can be. In fact, probably more so because she had always been the monogamous and long-term-boyfriend sort of girl.

"The final nail in that former relationship's coffin had happened a couple of months before. The ex-boyfriend had called from who-knows-where to tell her that he had been uncomfortable a bit and had finally gone to a doctor and — oopsie — turned out he had picked up a case of the clap somewhere.

"He said he was sure it wasn't her because symptoms come on pretty quickly and she'd have known by now, and he was guessing it was after the last time they had hooked up. However, to be safe, if she started getting any burning down there or leakage — that was the word he used, leakage—" she said with distaste, "then she should probably get checked."

Miranda took her eyes off the road to see how Richard was taking this. He was watching her but his face gave nothing away.

"Now, up to that point, we don't have real stupidity. She had no way of knowing he was cheating. Where the stupidity comes in is that she listened to what he said. Oh, she ripped him a new asshole, and told him to fuck off and die, and hoped that his whores gave him something that made his pecker fall off. But, bottom line, she listened to him! Literally. It had been months and everything was totally normal with her, so...

"But there was one little fact that she didn't know: 50% of all women are asymptomatic for gonorrhea. She didn't know that fact right up until Mr. Lawyer — remember him? — wondered why the hell it burned when he took a leak one morning.

"Fixing the problem was only mildly uncomfortable. At least it was fixable, which isn't always the case anymore. However, having the conversation with her new guy was humiliating and, after the yelling was done, the end of that relationship. It was mortifying.

"So, she decided that, no matter what it did to the ego of some future guy in her life, or how much it ruined the mood of the moment, or how hot to trot anyone was, she was never going to be in that position again. She'd be sure about a guy first. And she meant that in both the emotional and physical senses of the word.

"The end," she said.

The drove in silence for a bit until she said, "Say somethi—" just as he was saying, "I understand."

"What do you understand?"

"Why you're drawing the line about this evening."

She nodded. She was normally a relaxed driver but he noticed that her hands were tense on the wheel.

"And I'm sorry that happened to you."

She gave another short nod.

"And, hopefully, that boyfriend's dick did fall off," he said, trying to lighten things.

She didn't even respond to that one.

"Aaaanndd," this came out much more slowly, "there's something else you want me to say or talk about, but I don't have the foggiest idea what it is."

She was intently watching the absolutely minuscule amount of traffic around them as if a twenty-car pileup was imminent and only her vigilance would allow them to survive.

"Are you revolted or creeped out?" she asked finally.

He stared at her in disbelief. "What? God, of course not! It could have happened to anyone. I mean, if you told me you had it now, I might be nervous because I don't know much about it and we've been kissing. Now though? No! You didn't handle the news so brilliantly, but we all did stupid things at that age."

Her shoulders visibly relaxed back into the seat. She glanced in the rearview mirror and then abruptly turned the car over onto the shoulder, jerking to a stop.

He put his hands up in defense. "Hey! I'm not lying, Randy!"

She put her finger over his lips and shook her head to silence him. "Richard Mason, have you had sex recently, like the last two or three months?"

"Umm, no."

She watched his face and nodded. "Have you had STD tests since the last time you did have sex?"

"Also no."

"Then I propose that you take some time this week and run down to the clinic on Diamond Spring and get that done. Then, assuming it's all negative—"

"It will be," he interrupted.

"I sure it will." She looked at him seriously. "And Richard, just so you know where I stand: short of something like HIV, even a positive result isn't a deal breaker. It just delays things.

"Anyway, assuming it's all negative, you present yourself at my door a week from Saturday evening with whatever you need for a few days. Pajamas are entirely superfluous to requirements."

He smiled. "Yes, ma'am!"

She echoed his smile and pulled back onto the road.

They were arriving back in Underwood when he spoke up, "If I asked something similar of you, tests I mean, would you be offended?"

"Absolutely not. I got tested since the last time there was anyone but, if you want to verify, I'll go with you, no problem."

"No, that's okay." She could see a thought occur to him. He turned to look out the side window but she could see a grin reflected in the glass.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said nonchalantly.

"Seriously, what's so funny?"

"Nothing!"

"Richard!"

"Nothing!"

She gave him a look but turned back to the road.

There was no way was he going to tell her that what he heard in her answer was, "No, I haven't been sleeping with Mr. Sunday these last months."

Twelve days later, a dinner and a movie having occupied the intervening free days, she opened her door to a knock.

"Ms. Patterson? I'm Officer Mason with the Toontown PD." He held up a badge he had swiped from Charlie's toy box.

"What can I do for you, Officer?"

"Well, ma'am, I have here a search warrant," he plastered a typewritten piece of paper headed "Riverside Health Clinic" up against the glass of her storm door, "that allows me to enter the premises. Specifically, it allows access to the bedroom, the couch, the shower and perhaps the kitchen table."

"You're such an ass!" she laughed and opened the door.

. . . . .

"The lasagna was great," he said, pushing back his plate.

She dimpled with pleasure. She didn't pretend to be a great cook but she had made her mother's recipe which she thought was pretty good. "Praise from the chef is always appreciated."

For his part, he was nervous. He hadn't been celibate in the years since Ellen but it had been a while. Moreover, this was someone he cared about a lot more than most and the thought of later tonight was simultaneously exhilarating and a little bit intimidating.

However, as she gathered up their plates and took them to the sink, the movement of her body under the sun dress brought the exhilaration to the fore. Especially as he watched the gentle sway that made it clear she wasn't wearing a bra underneath.

She turned back and met his eyes, seeing the excitement there. She grinned as she said, "I was thinking the table." Before his brain could process what that meant, she reached up and slid the shoulder straps down, shrugged her shoulders and let the dress pool around her ankles.

Not just no bra ... no nothin'.

Richard stood to meet her as she sashayed over. He pulled her close up against him and lowered his mouth onto hers. They had kissed before, heavy make-out kisses. Now, however, the feel of bare skin under his arms and hands, the firm press of breasts against his chest and the thought that there were only a couple layers of cloth between his hips and those pressing into him dialed his arousal up to new levels.

Miranda wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him as tightly as he held her. She had spent the entire morning in a state of excitement. Once she was home, she had showered and shaved carefully, hoping that he wasn't one of those guys who wanted a woman bare down there, and then spent a half an hour choosing a dress that looked good and, more importantly, came off easily.

She felt his hand slide up from her waist to cup her breast. "You like them?" she asked.

"I love them!" he responded.

Never letting go of her, he turned her and pressed her legs back against the table.

"I was just kidding about the table! It won't hold us!"

"It doesn't have to hold us, just you," he said, as he gently pushed her chest backwards. Her hands went back to brace herself against the table and, moving quickly, he lifted upward on the back of her thighs, laying her flat. His foot snaked out and hooked the closest chair over and he dropped into it.

"What?"

"You know exactly what," he said with a grin as his hands gently but firmly forced her thighs apart.

He leaned forward and kissed her right leg, just above the knee, then he kissed the left. Alternating, he slowly worked his way up each thigh two or three inches at a time. Her breath was coming quicker with each passing second and he could feel her quiver each time his lips touched her. When his mouth reached the apex and he laid the last kiss right on her exposed clit, she sucked in a breath of air and held it before giving a slight moan and spreading her legs wider.

He brought his hand up her leg and coaxed a finger deep inside, surprised at how moist she was already. Turning his hand over, he began to stroke upward into her G-spot while running his tongue over the lips of her opening, ending each stroke with a light flick on her clit. Her moans began again as she rocked her hips lightly against him in time with his ministrations.

Her breathing came faster and, as he finished another flick of her button, she panted, "There, right there, please!" He focused his attention on her clit and pressed harder with his finger inside her. A muscle tremor began in her body and he felt her fingers curl into his hair.

He began to flutter his tongue against her and she began to shake. Her hips came up; her hand clenched in his hair, holding his head tightly against her; he felt her internal muscles begin to clamp down on him ... all as she gave a loud whimper of, "Oh, jeez," and surrendered herself to the orgasm.

Finally, her hand gently pushed his head back, "Stop, stop, I need a break, sensitive." He sat up and looked at her flushed face, grinning broadly. She grinned back, "You're a keeper."

She sat up and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her chest toward him and closing his mouth on one of her nipples, rolling it between his lips.

"No," she said, pulling him off her by the hair, "not until you're naked." She scooted her butt off the table, reaching down to grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it up over his head. She left him to disentangle his arms from the sleeves as she undid his belt buckle. He pulled her chin up and invaded her mouth with his lips and tongue while she continued blindly undoing the button and zipper on his shorts.

Pulling free, she said, "Drop 'em."

When he did, she stepped back toward him and wrapped her hand around his length. His moan of enjoyment was the mirror of hers earlier.

"Your turn," she said and started to drop to her knees.

"No. Please." She looked at him in surprise: what guy on the planet didn't want this? "It's been quite a while and I won't last the first time. I'd ... I'd rather be in you for our first time, please."

She smiled at him tenderly, "Absolutely," and gently turned him by her handhold until he dropped back into the chair. Straddling his legs, she put her hands on his shoulders and slowly lowered herself down, rocking to get herself aligned properly.

"Do we need a—"

"I'm on the pill." Then she dropped her weight downward and pulled his face into her breasts.

"Richard," she said, "just go for it this time! Don't wait for me. We have the rest of the weekend."

. . . . .

"Richard?" It was early Sunday evening and she was lying half-draped across his body.

"Hmmm?"

"I have a standing tennis game on Monday mornings. Three options. One, I can call around tonight and find a substitute. Two, you can hang out here while I play. Three, you can come and watch."

He rolled over on his side to look at her. "Since you brought it up at all, I'm guessing that option one wouldn't be your choice."

"Not first choice, no. We're a regular group and substitutes are little awkward. But I wouldn't be upset if that's what you wanted."

"What would your first choice be?"

"If it was entirely up to me, I'd choose option two: you stay here." She glanced up to see how he took that. "Part of me would be paying attention to you and it'd distract me."

"Okay." He rolled back onto the pillow but she reached up and turned his face toward her with her finger.

"Does it make any difference in your answer when I tell you that two of the four are guys and one of them is single and I've dated him?"

He looked at her speculatively for a second without answering.

"Two dates about a year and a half ago. I didn't sleep with him. By mutual agreement just friends now. His name's Jeff. As far as I'm concerned you and I are absolutely exclusive unless and until one of us tells the other it isn't working out."

"Then I guess it doesn't make any difference in my answer."

She smiled and put her head down on his chest. "Would you like to come and have lunch with us after?"

"You guys normally do lunch?"

She nodded.

"Nah then. Do your thing. I'll see you after."

She shook her head. "They don't need four to have lunch. If you don't want to, then I'm going to come home after the game. I wouldn't mind showing you off a little, though."

He chuckled. "Okay then."

. . . . .

A little while later, he said, "Will you tell me about Mr. Sunday?"

"Who?" she asked, puzzled. He just looked at her, his expression serious and intent. She understood after a few seconds and her face got equally serious as she thought about his request.

"His name is Greg. We dated for a couple of months, usually on a Sunday as you appear to have realized. I never slept with him but I won't try to pretend it was a platonic relationship. I'm..." she hesitated. "I'd rather not tell you any details. Not," she said quickly, "because there's anything I want to hide or am embarrassed about. It's more about respecting his privacy. Can you understand that? I'd do the same for you if we ever broke up."

"Yes."

"I was free that Sunday because I didn't say yes to any more dates with him, though I had already said yes to the baseball game. I ended it after the game, like I told you."

Richard lay there not speaking for a while. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable but she could tell something was on his mind.

Finally, "If I hadn't come along, would you still be with him?"

"He's not a threat to you."

"Well, I guess that answers the question."

"Richard!" she exclaimed, a little nervous about being forced down a conversational path that could turn bad quite quickly. "Okay, yes, I probably would still be with him. I'm a normal girl. Greg was a nice guy and I liked him. We'd been dating a while. I like sex. Put those together and there you have it. He wasn't The One but I never thought I had to be a nun until that person came along. So ... yeah."

"I thought you weren't sleeping with him."

"I wasn't. But, if you hadn't come along, it probably would have happened. Maybe Memorial Day. If not, then after the baseball game. I mean, since you seem to want full disclosure here, a month ago, when we were broken up, I was planning that day would be a weekend."

"Broken up? Last week you said we had a fight when we didn't. Now you say we were broken up, which is the first I'm hearing about it. What the hell are you talking about?"

So, she told him what she had heard and how she felt about it: the unwillingness to date a man who frequented prostitutes, the disappointment and hurt and, finally, the discovery that she was the one in the wrong and had made a serious mistake.

"I see. I guess Ed blabbed."

"No, Richard. Another cop was in the bar that night, knew you by sight, knew her by sight, and told me. Ed did blab, but it was later, to fix things. He's why I left you that note. I realized how unfair I had been not to hear your side of the story, even if it did seem like an open and shut case to me."

She paused for a moment, rubbing her hand up and down his chest. "Richard, I'm embarrassed to ask this and I don't want to insult you, but if you—"

"I didn't sleep with her, Randy," he cut her off. "When I said I hadn't had sex in months, I wasn't lying. If you talked to Ed then you know that all I did was buy her a drink."

She sighed, reassured inside. "Again, I'm really sorry I judged you so unfairly."

Richard said nothing; he was still trying to adjust to all that had been said.

Melinda knew she needed to corral this conversation. She rolled up onto her elbow to face him, the sheet falling back from her. His eyes went down as her breasts came into view.

"Eyes up here for one second, buster, then you can go back to ogling."

He looked back at her face.

"Richard, listen to me. I've had sexual partners before. If you hadn't come along then, yes, Greg might have been another one. But you did come along! And, even though I had already been seeing Greg for a while, seeing you caused me to hold back on taking things to the next level with him. By my second date with you I was already second-guessing where I had previously thought my relationship with him was headed! My subconscious knew long before I consciously realized it that you might be someone very special to me.
She stroked her hand along his jaw. "Honey, if you're worried I'm still shopping, then stop! I'm with you. Exclusively. Period. Not a single regret beyond my Memorial Day fuck up."

He digested this. "If I had come along a month later, would you have gone out with me?"

She thought about that. "Not like I did, so casually. Somehow, we'd have had to get to know each other pretty well outside of dating because I wouldn't have gone out with you without breaking up with Greg first. I would never go behind someone's back once things had gone to that next level. But, if I somehow did get to know you, the answer is yes."

"I guess I was lucky."

"I think we both were."

. . . . .

She came downstairs the next morning in tennis clothes to find Richard in his underwear and an apron, making an omelet.

"Nice view!" she said, smiling. "I'm glad you're still here."

He looked puzzled. "I don't work today."

Her expression turned more serious. "I know but I wasn't totally, completely, 100% sure after last night."

"Oh." He turned back to the eggs, then said quietly. "I can't say I'm happy about another guy walking around that you have the hots for but you didn't do anything that needs forgiveness. I'm not a fickle guy."

"No," she agreed, "I know you're not. And it's 'had' not 'have' ... past tense ... you jerk! You're the only one I want now. However, on that subject, my tennis game is in an hour."

"Yeah?"

"It's only takes me fifteen minutes to drive there..."

She was still five minutes late to the game.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



Everyone who worked in the diner, hell, everyone who knew him, started to notice that Richard had come more alive. He was relaxed and laughed more. Many who knew him also knew why and smiled to see the change.

The biggest change that Ellen noticed, however, was that he started to drop his guard around her and, even more surprisingly, around Mike. He talked easily with them and casual references to their triangle didn't cause him to shut down the conversation. Nonetheless, it startled her the first time he suggested they drop by for a barbecue, just the two of them without the whole group.

Mike, Ellen and Miranda were sitting under the patio umbrella; Richard was inside making some hamburger patties.

Mike looked over at Miranda and, with a slightly pompous air, said, "God, I love seeing him like this. I really want him to be happy but, for the last three years, he's only been half-hearted in realizing that there are other fish in the sea, including the right one for him."

Miranda looked over at him. "He should get his ass in gear and throw his line back in the water, so to speak?"

"Well, sorta, yeah." He laughed.

"You landed a great one with Ellen..."

"That I did!" he interjected.

"...and maybe I'm not a bad catch for him?"

"I've got to say, Miranda, you two seem great together."

Miranda stared coolly at Mike, not saying another word. He looked at her quizzically, finally asking, "What?"

She shook her head slowly. "Nothing. Just trying to decide if you're an asshole or just plain stupid." You could have heard a pin drop. Ellen's eyes opened wide and Mike's draw literally dropped open.

"What do you mean?" he finally managed.

"Well, first a piece of advice: being compared to a fish isn't the most flattering of references for a woman. But, I'll assume it was just an awkward choice of metaphor.

"And, I guess I'm little surprised you feel qualified to pass judgment on his efforts at catching women given that he landed 100% of the women sitting here and you haven't, but that's also not a big thing.

"I'm a little more bothered by the fact that you also feel entitled to pass judgment on me. As far as I'm concerned, I'm about the best thing out there for Richard — no offense, Ellen."

"Absolutely none taken."

"But the thing that really gets me is that..." She paused, trying to gather words. "If I stick with your metaphor: from where I sit, Richard had thought his fishing days were over 'cause he thought he already had a good catch." She stopped and turned to Ellen. "Hon, I'm implying absolutely nothing about you by that. Based upon what I've heard, you did the right thing all the way. No offense?"

"Still none."

"It turned out he was mistaken and he had to regroup and get back in the fishing boat. Which he did and, as I pointed out, ended up with the best damn catch, for him, that there was.

"So, Mike, you can sit there and smugly allow as how it's great that Richard got off his ass and found himself a nice little woman, but here's my question for you: had the roles been reversed, what would we have seen about you, both then and now? I'm thinking Richard came out looking pretty damn good back then. And, quite frankly, he's still looking that way now as witness the fact that you two are sitting here drinking his liquor and eating his food. So, think about that and get back to me when you can."

She stared at him challengingly for a while. He sat there shocked.

Miranda shrugged and addressed Ellen. "I'm glad I've met you, Ellen, really I am. Not only because you're so important to Richard — and that matters to me — but also because I like you and, quite frankly, respect the hell out of you. So, if you want to chew into me here in defense of your guy, I won't blame you in the slightest."

Ellen shook her head again. "Nope. I think he needs to dig himself out of this one on his own. Why don't the two of us go help Richard get dinner ready?"

"Sounds good." They stood.

Mike blurted out, "Wait!" They turned to him.

"I'm not smug about it." Miranda waited, her face neutral. Mike shook his head. "I'm not.

"It's guilt. I couldn't help the way I felt or the way Ellen felt but he was my best friend and I took something of his. So, I talk shit sometimes to cover up how uncomfortable I am. I don't mean it that way; it just comes out because I don't know what else to say or how to say it."

Miranda took a sip of her beer. Finally, she nodded. "I can understand that." She took another sip while Mike waited. "But maybe you're looking at this the wrong way."

"What do you mean?"

"Way I see it, only peckerwoods take" — she emphasized the word — "a woman or think that she is his in the sense of ownership. I don't see you as part of some biker gang where women are property. Somethin' I don't know about you, Mike?"

"What? No, but ... wait ... what are you talking about?"

"Then maybe you need to consider that you didn't take anything from Richard. He saw his way clear to step aside because, in his eyes, it was the right thing to do. Mostly because he loved Ellen but, partly, because he cared about you, too. Nobody took nothing from no one as far as I'm concerned and I can damn well assure you Richard never thought so.

"Anyway, I need to pee."

As she walked up the steps to the back door, she turned back, "Just so you know. I'm leaning toward stupid, not asshole."

As they were leaving, Ellen grabbed Richard and said fiercely into his ear, "Richard Thomas Mason, you deserve that woman more than anyone I know." She leaned in unexpectedly to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and wrapped her arms around him briefly. Mike caught his eye and nodded with a slightly sheepish look on his face.

"What was that about, Randy?" Richard asked when they had left.

"I have no idea," she replied innocently. "Are you all right?

"Yeah, why?"

"You went stiff as a board when she hugged you."

"I guess I was a little embarrassed because she's my ex and you were standing right there."

She said, "It's cool. I own your ass now," and giggled.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



"Have you ever shot a pistol?" she asked over breakfast one Monday.

"No, some rifles and shotguns, but never a pistol," he answered. "Why?"

"I was thinking about going down to the range for a little practice. I have to do my annual qualification next week. I have a second pistol if you want to come along."

"Yeah! That would be fun."

. . . . .

The paper target travelled back on its wire and Miranda leaned into the port behind him to see.

"Hey, all in the black; even that one nicked it. Not bad for your first time out. I didn't do that well the first time I shot."

He grinned. "Thanks. I wonder if it's good enough to get me into the police academy?"

"What?" she asked in shock.

"Yeah, I was thinking maybe I could become a cop. You know, strong and silent, serve and protect, something you chicks might really dig."

She realized he was pulling her leg and punched him in the arm. "Dude! The only things keeping me around are your omelets. You need to keep practicing those."

He laughed and pulled her in for a quick kiss, eliciting a chuckle from another shooter walking by. She shook her head in exasperation and moved back to her position. She was about to settle her headphones over her ears when she heard the quiet voice, "I'll make you omelets any day. I love you."

She froze for a second, then settled the headphones and picked up her weapon. Without turning, she said in an equally quiet voice, "He tells me at a shooting range! Jeez, Randy, you sure know how to pick 'em. Why couldn't you have fallen hopelessly in love with a guy who learned something from watching romcoms?"

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



Richard's birthday later that summer fell on a Saturday. The family party had been postponed because Charlie's Boy Scout troop had picked that weekend for a hike along the C&O Canal and, as a new Tenderfoot, he was dying to go. Instead, Miranda was going to take some personal hours and leave work early. Mike, Frank, Dave and their spouses were going to come over in the late afternoon for drinks and dinner.

But she got called in on an abuse situation where they wanted a woman present.

"I'll be there as soon we get her settled," she said when she called, "probably just a couple of hours. The lieutenant understands the situation."

"That's fine, honey," he said flatly.

She grimaced to herself.

He had been uncharacteristically moody early in the week, halfway between depressed and irritable, mostly about a training seminar she had attended at the end of the week. She was smart enough to hear what wasn't being said and cursed the scheduling that pulled her away for three days at a time that might always remind Richard of a woman he loved leaving him.

She'd made no comment about it though and, as she was leaving early Wednesday morning, he had hugged and kissed her. "I'm sorry. I've had my head up my ass this week. I'm sure you wanted to tell me it was your job and I should just deal with it. It's just some stuff I'm going through and nothing to do with you. I'm sorry and I love you."

She had smiled and kissed him again. "I love you, too. I'll be back Friday and we'll have a great weekend."

And, so, the grimace. This really wasn't the day for a call that pulled her away. There was no helping it, however. A woman with two fractured ribs and a black eye took precedence, regardless of how much she wanted to be with Richard. "Try to have a good time and I'll be there as soon as I can."

So, he spent the afternoon with the other six quietly listening to their chatter, smiling vaguely when they tried to include him in the conversation. As it got nearer to dinner time, he made excuses to go inside and prep things.

He turned away all protestations that it was his birthday and he should just sit, "No, no, no. I'm fine. I like doing this. Go enjoy the conversation and leave the cooking to the professionals." They'd finally given in and gone back to the lounge chairs, but none of them failed to notice that there was no real sparkle in his eye when he said it.

When he came out with the stuff for the grill, he just waved at them and went over to where the grill was on the other side of the pool.

"What's he so glum about?" asked Carol quietly to the others. "Are he and Miranda fighting or something?"

Ellen shook her head. "No. He's always upset on his birthday."

"Well, that's odd. He's not old enough to hate them, yet."

Ellen and Mike looked at each other. She said quietly, "It was three years ago on this very day that Richard says he made the decision to let me go."

The patio went quiet. No one spoke but the air was pregnant with the questions no one wanted to ask.

"You probably know the gist of it. I don't know, maybe you know the whole thing." Heads were shaken, especially by the women.

"Mike and I never cheated on Richard, not once. I wasn't even going to leave him; I took that 'forever' part of my vows seriously.

"But, somehow, he found out how I felt, that I had fallen for Mike and Mike had fallen for me. I guess he found out shortly before his birthday. I don't know how. He was quiet that day but I just thought he was tired. You guys took him on that fishing trip early the next morning and I came downstairs to signed divorce papers and a letter telling me he loved me and wanted me to be happy."

"Holy shit!" Cathy breathed.

"Yeah," Ellen said ruefully. "And every year I guess he's reminded of it and just gets this way. It makes me feel so guilty that what's supposed to be his day is one of the worst of the year for him because of me. It doesn't help that he didn't get to see Charlie and that Miranda isn't here."

"Well then," said Carol, "we'll just have to do something about this. Hey, you three lunkheads are supposed to be his best friends. How 'bout you step up to the plate here?"

"Yeah, David," Cathy chimed in. "Get in there."

"Uh, I don't perform well under pressure," he said.

"That's what she said," Frank muttered sotto voce. David punched him in the arm. Frank punched him back. Richard looked across the patio and smiled wanly at the horseplay.

"Okay, wiseass," David said, "If you're such a funny guy, you do it."

Frank looked over at his friend standing by the grill. "Well..."

"Frank, if you could just get him to laugh, really laugh," Ellen said, "I would be so happy I could ... well, I don't know ... but, please, would you try?"

"Well," he said again, hesitantly, "It looks like a pretty tall order."

"Please? You get him to laugh and I'll give you a kiss that will knock your socks off!"

"Wow!" He wiggled his eyebrows. Carol smacked him but she was laughing as she did it.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Mike said indignantly, but he was smiling, too.

"Why does he get all the incentive?" Dave broke in. "What if I make him laugh?"

"Okay, the first one that makes him laugh!"

"Deal!" said Frank and Dave together.

Mike put on a pouty face. "Don't I get a vote in who she's smooching?"

"No," Carol said. "Put on your big boy pants and take one for the team. If you don't want her to kiss one of these idiots, then make sure you win."

Mike just shook his head, but everyone knew he wasn't upset at his friends.

They tried hard. They really did. But jokes only got a smile or a groan. Humorous gossip about people around town only caused him to shake his head. Finally, they were trying too hard and it became obvious.

"What's going on guys?" Richard asked.

"You just seem a little down." Frank answered.

"Nah! Relax. I'm just a feeling a little quiet. Nothing's wrong. Wish I'd seen Charlie but I'm good." Glances flickered back and forth between the other six. Nobody believed a word he said but it seemed that they had to accept the situation. Talk went back to being quiet.

Frank took one last stab at it. "Damn, dude, it's your birthday and, I don't care what you say, you're way too serious." He lowered his voice to a loud stage whisper. "Wanna blow this popcorn stand, hit a titty bar, and get hammered?"

Dave and Mike grinned. Carol rolled her eyes. The other two women chuckled.

Richard snorted. "Somehow, I'm thinking that being dragged drunk out of the clutches of a stripper by Miranda, as in Police Officer Patterson, as in Police Officer Patterson Who Carries A Gun And Knows How To Use It, might not be a smart move on my part."

"Hey, who's taking my name in vain here?" Miranda popped open the fence gate and walked out onto the patio.

"Hi, hon." Richard stood up and gave her a quick kiss.

Miranda looked at Frank. "So, from what I heard when I came up to the gate, it sounds like there's a suggestion to move this shindig to a locale characterized by women of a more, shall we say, interestingly-clad nature. Is there something wrong with this party?"

"Only that Mr. Mason here is quite the Gloomy Gus and the whole party has become way too serious to be considered a birthday bash."

"He is? He's ruining things?" she said. Turning to Richard, she put a scowl on her face and shook her finger under his nose. "Bad boy! Bad!" she scolded. "No nookie for you!"

Richard stared at her for a moment and then burst into laughter, followed by everyone there.

Wiping his eyes, Frank broke into more laughter. "But, Ellen, you said the first person..." He trailed off, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

Ellen looked startled and then turned red.

"What does that mean?" asked Richard quizzically.

Frank couldn't stop laughing. The redder Ellen got, the more he had to hold his sides. Dave started chuckling, too, and the others were fighting grins. Finally, Frank choked out, "Ellen said she'd kiss — a knock-your-socks-off kiss I might add — the first person to make Richard laugh."

"Hey!" Richard said.

Miranda looked around at everyone and back to Richard. Then she turned and faced Ellen. "And now she's welching on the deal?" She grinned challengingly at Ellen and then gave a quick wink.

Ellen stared, nonplussed, for a second and then stood up. "I've never welched on anything in my life." She stepped up to Miranda and put her arms around her neck, cupping the back of her head. Pulling her gently forward, Ellen lowered her lips onto Miranda's.

Miranda's arms went around Ellen's waist and the two women's bodies melted into each other. For about five seconds the other six watched in astonishment as the prize was paid off. There were a few tentative touches of lips and then mouths closed on each other and tongues were very clearly involved.

Finally, Miranda stepped back and said, "Whoo! I wish I smoked. I think maybe I need a cigarette now."

"Jesus Christ on a skateboard!" said Frank.

Ellen was still blushing a deep red but she turned to the others and said gamely, "Feel free to close your mouths now. The show's over." She flopped down in her chair and hefted her beer bottle, scowling at how empty it was. "Someone get me a beer." She paused a moment when no one moved. "God damn it! NOW!" she yelled.

The spell broke and everyone started laughing. Mike asked, "Who else needs another?"

"Happy Birthday, honey," Miranda, putting her arm around Richard's waist and giving him a hug. She swiped his beer and gave him a push, "Go put on some better music and make me a steak. I'm starved!" He turned to go, a grin plastered across his face.

Ellen watched Richard walk away and then looked over and met Miranda's eyes. The women smiled at each other and raised their bottles in a toast.

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



Miranda and Richard were lying in bed one evening in late August. "The Police and Fireman's barbecue is in two weeks," she said. "Wanna go?"

"Sure. What's it like?"

"Well, a beer tent, a pig roast, a beer tent, a burger and hot dog stand, a beer tent, pizza, a beer ... you get the idea."

He laughed.

"There are some games, mostly for the kids, a couple for adults. I'm in for the Clay Shoot every year."

"What's that like?"

"It's teams of three people. It's like a relay. You shoot until you miss and then the next person on your team steps up. Once all three have missed, you're out. Last team standing wins. A lot of us join in and have a blast."
"Anyone can join, or just police and fire fighters?"

"Anyone over eighteen."

"That sounds like fun."

"Yeah. I'm determined to get second place some year, or at least third."

"Second?"

"Well, first place always goes to this one team, they're just too good, but we got fourth last year. Ed tells me I'm dreaming. I want to make him eat those words! I don't know, though. We got a little lucky last year and I may have let my trash talking get out of hand. I ended up betting him about this year."

"What's the bet?"

"A bottle of Scotch. If we do better than fourth, I win. If we do worse, he wins. If we take fourth again, we drink it together."

"Ooh. Tasty!"

She laughed. "Mostly I just want to see the trophy at the station. I don't know why; it's just become a thing."

. . . . .

One of her fellow officers walked up to her at the barbecue. "Hey, they're calling the start of the shoot, Miranda."

"Thanks, Jake."

"Hey, hon," she said, walking over to where Richard was chatting with Ed, "the Clay Shoot is starting soon."

"Oh, cool. Let me go get my shotgun."

"What? Oh," she looked anxious.

"What?"

"Uh, Richard. We already have three. Oh God, I'm sorry! I didn't realize you wanted to do this," she said.

"Oh. When you said a bunch of people joined in, I thought ... well, I thought it would be fun."

She was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Look, let's find some other people and make another team. Ed, how about you take my place with Jake and Paul, and I'll go with Richard?"

Before Ed could answer, Richard spoke up. "No, hon, you already agreed to be on their team. They're counting on you, right?" She nodded uncertainly. "Okay then. Don't sweat it. It's no big deal."

She still looked uncertain but he was smiling. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and a quiet, "Thanks," before going to get ready. She turned back, "Ready to hand me that bottle of Balvenie, Ed?" Ed just waved her off good naturedly.

After a moment, Ed looked at Richard and said, "If you really want to do it, I can probably borrow a gun and we find someone else to do the same."

"You don't mind?"

"Nope. Let's go get your gun and then see who hasn't had too much beer."

They walked over to Richard's car. He unlocked the trunk and pulled out a gun sleeve.

"What is it?" Ed asked.

"A Trap Grade Winchester Model 12. It was my dad's."

"Nice. Nothing fancy but there's a reason they sold millions of them."

Richard grabbed a satchel full of shells. Ed reached in a scooped one out. He looked at it and said, "Reloads."

"Yep, cheaper that way. An ounce and an eighth of #7½ shot," Richard said absently. Then he looked up at Ed, "That's okay, isn't it? I figured that was a pretty standard load. It's what I use in trap."

Ed looked back, "Sure. No rules on loads. Just has to be 12 gauge. You shoot trap?"

"Yeah, it used to be my Sunday activity before I met Randy."

"Every Sunday?"

"Well, I miss a week here and there, of course. But I'd get in at least a case most weeks except when it was freezing outside."

Ed's mouth quirked in a smile. "500 a week? Almost every week? I'm thinking we might have a bit of a ringer situation here."

"Wait! I never claimed not to know how to—"

"Easy, easy," Ed tossed the shell back in the bag and put up his hands. "I'm not saying you did. But I'm also thinking that, from the way Randy talked, you never mentioned that you did know how to shoot, either. Right?"

"Well, it didn't come up."

"And you don't anticipate a lot of problem here, do you?"

"Hey, I'm no superman at this." Ed looked skeptical, and Richard flushed. "Well, they're throwing from right beside the shooter instead of a trap house. That's sixteen yards closer than I'm used to, which makes this a lot easier. But everyone will have that advantage."

Ed laughed. "You might not realize this but — everyone here? — this is the only time they do this. Other than being comfortable around guns in general, they suck! Handguns? Sure. No problem at all. Shotguns at tiny moving targets? Not so much. In fact, for most folks here this is the only time they fire them other than qualifying every couple of years, and the firemen don't even do that. Youngstown is the only team that has a real shooter and there's just one of him. Oh, I am so going to enjoy this! Bud, promise, not a word to anyone, especially Randy, before the shooting starts. Promise?"

There were two rounds to accommodate the number of teams. Miranda's team was in the first group and made it almost to the end, but not quite far enough to have a chance at placing. She walked up to them and sighed, "Oh well, another bum year for Underwood. Youngstown is in the lead, of course. Might be New Kensington in second, depending on how the second group does."

She noticed the shotgun lying on the picnic table next to Richard.

"Ed and Stu here said they'd give it a try with me," he answered her unspoken question.

"Hey, Stu," Miranda nodded at the other man sitting with them. She turned back to Richard. "I'm so sorry, hon. I wish I had known that you really wanted to try this."

"Don't worry about it. We're fine."

"Yeah," Ed added, "we'll just have a bit of fun till we get knocked out and then call it a day."

. . . . .

Crack! Just as it had for the last half hour, the crowd watched the little orange disk vanish into a puff of dust.

Pretty much everyone had gathered around to watch and the cheering was loud. The announcer's voice cut through the noise. "Alrighty, folks. That's 100 straight. Rules say that, if we're still tied at this point, we switch to doubles and it's sudden death."

"What rules are those, Pete?" someone yelled.

"The rules I just made up. This could go on forever and I want to eat," Pete yelled back smiling.

Miranda's mouth was still hanging open figuratively as she watched the two orange targets go flying from the machine. Less than second later the first disappeared simultaneously with the crack of the gun and she saw Richard's shoulders pivot smoothly while his left arm racked the slide, steady and track for a split second, then the second target vanished.

Ten minutes later it was over. Ed patted the trophy and said, "Yep, first place." He looked over at Miranda and grinned slyly. "Mmm, Balvenie! Us guys are sure gonna enjoy it!"

"What? It's not yours. First place is better than fourth place, you moron."

"Oh no you don't! The bet was if Underwood won. Stu and I never even stepped up to the line. Underwood PD had nothing to do with this win. You lose, Miss Fifth Or Sixth Place, and I don't want to hear any weasel words."

"Hey, Ed," Richard interjected, laughing, "seeing as how I'm okay with the trophy going in the station waiting room, maybe you could let her have a taste?" He added in a conspiratorial whisper that everyone could hear, "Please, man, I have to ride home with her."

She stood there with her hands on her hips, trying to glare at Richard but failing rather miserably. "You have some 'splaining to do, Mister!"

"Me?"

She continued to fight her smile.

Richard's opponent walked up. "Nice shooting, Richard."

"Thanks, Carl. You too."

"See you around the club?"

"You bet."

Richard looked back to Miranda, "Well, I may not have mentioned that I've been shooting trap since I was a kid."

"Yeah," Ed chimed in, "and you did tell us he was decent with a gun, Miranda. I just didn't realize that wasn't a euphemism."

She whirled on him in outrage and everyone burst into laughter.

. . . . .

"You're in the dog house, Mister!" she said, putting her nose up in the air snootily, an effect somewhat spoiled by the grin twitching the corners of her mouth.

"Dog house! You specifically told me you were dying to have that trophy. Like any dutiful boyfriend, I went out and laid what you wanted at your feet."

"You didn't lay it at my feet because Ed wouldn't let it go. Still," she reflected, "you did give me what I want, which is good."

"The path to any woman's heart is giving them exactly what they want as fast as possible," he said with a straight face.

"You just love treading on thin ice, don't you? That crack's gonna cost you. Let's see," she pretended to think, then flashed a dirty grin, "I think you're going to be living on your knees tonight."

He grinned back.

"I planned on it."

"What?"

"You said I'd be on my knees tonight. I planned on it."

. . . . .

"Oh my God! Yes. Yes, of course I will!"

⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄ ⋄



Ellen looked out across the sea of expectant faces.

"It's not very customary for a bridesmaid to stand up to make a toast. That's the job of the best man and the maid of honor. Our usual job is to look gorgeous and to dance with the groomsmen, if you can call what they do dancing." The audience smiled.

"However, it's probably pretty unusual that a bridesmaid has made out with the bride, had a child with the groom, and is sleeping with the best man, so this is a special circumstance." The room erupted in laughter and she waited for it to die down.

"Seriously though..." she paused to look around the room at all their friends gathered together.

"Miranda, I've been watching you with intent interest, almost stalker-like interest—"

The room laughed and one of Miranda's friends yelled out, "Restraining order!"

"—for the last year. You see, for twelve years your husband has been one of my very best friends, even in moments when he didn't realize it. He always will be. I love him dearly to this day and, I confess, I care so much about what happens to him that I can't stop feeling a little protective even though he doesn't need it.

"Or want it!" she added with a smile as Richard made a face at her.

"I wanted something for him, something very simple: a person who was the kind of woman that he was a man. She didn't have to be intelligent or nice or thoughtful or independent or loving or pretty."

She paused while people looked puzzled.

"She had to be intelligent and nice and thoughtful and independent and loving and pretty.

"I wasn't certain when she would come along, but I had faith. There were moments of worry where I wondered if he would settle for less than he deserved, but I kept my mouth shut because it wasn't my business and, besides, I had faith in him.

"And then he met you and, right from the beginning, it seemed like the real thing for him. And so, I watched you: all those Sunday visits to the restaurant for brunch; the times Richard disappeared into his office for a phone call and how he looked when he came out. I very carefully watched how much Charlie liked you. More recently, the get togethers we've had and how our friends thought of you.

"All I can say is, thank God he met you; thank God you said yes when he asked you out; and thank God that, when a bump in the road happened, you stayed on course.

"You've left no doubt that everything, and everyone, including me, that came before were just amateur warm-up acts for the real deal, which was you."

She turned. "Richard, it's only recently that I feel I can say what has been in my heart for years. Thank you. Not only for friendship, and happiness, and Charlie, and..." her voice caught for a second, "...and for Mike, but because you have treated me with more dignity, more courtesy and ... yes ... more love than I ever had any right to expect.

"A year ago, I was facing a man with a gun pointed at me, thinking it was one of the worst days of my life. Little did I realize that, when all was said and done, it would have been one of the best days of my life because it brought you two together. Because of it, you have a woman who deserves you and whom you deserve.

"I love you both dearly and I know you'll be very happy."

Amid the applause and cheers, Richard leaned over to Miranda and whispered, "This is perfect."

She whispered back, "Wait until this shindig is over and I'll show you perfect."

He laughed, "I hope you're not starting to lie to me now."

THE END
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