"This is a special occasion."
Their eyes met and locked for a moment before he showed her where his business stationery was stored and how to operate the new typewriter. "You can start on these letters," he said, passing her a folder. "I've roughed them out in longhand, which I hope you can read. Gertie managed to."
"The friend with the crooked S?" Jenny asked innocently.
He yanked on a strand of her hair. "Right." He left shortly thereafter, saying he was going out to the Parsons ranch.
"How does it look?"
"The samples look great. If we don't strike oil, I'm an archangel." He put on his sunglasses and reached for the doorknob. "'Bye."
"'Bye."
He paused, staring at her for a long moment. "Goda'mighty, you look good sitting there."
Then he was gone.
* * *
He came back a few minutes before noon, carrying a large sack. "Lunchtime!" he yelled as he barged through the door. Jenny waved her hand, motioning for him to be quiet. She was on the telephone, jotting down notes as the other party talked. "Yes, I have it and I'll give the information to Mr. Hendren when he comes in. Thank you." She hung up and proudly passed him the message.
He read it and thumped the paper. "Terrific. I've been waiting for permission to have a look-see at this property. You've brought me luck." He grinned and set the sack on the edge of the desk. "And I've brought you lunch."
"Can I expect this kind of treatment every day?" She stood up to peer into the sack.
"Absolutely not. But as I said earlier, today is a special occasion."
"I really should go home and check on Sarah and Bob."
"They'll be fine. Call them later if you must."
His lighthearted mood was infectious and she caught it as they unloaded the lunch he had carried out from the town's only delicatessen. "To top it all off…" He disappeared into the closet and came back carrying a bottle of champagne. "Ta-da!"
"Where'd you get that?"
"I've had it cooling in the refrigerator."
"There's a refrigerator in there?"
"A tiny one. Haven't you looked?"
"No. I've been busy." She pointed toward the stack of letters that were waiting for his signature.
"Then you deserve a glass of champagne," he said, working the cork free. The effervescent wine popped but didn't foam over. Cage poured her a paper cup full.
She took it, too overwhelmed not to. "I really shouldn't, Cage."
"How come?"
"You might find this hard to believe, but we don't usually serve champagne with lunch at the parsonage," she said sarcastically. "I'm not used to it."
"Good. Maybe you'll get drunk, strip off all your clothes, and dance naked on top of the desk."
He passed a speculative glance down her body that clearly intimated he wondered
what such a sight would be like. Embarrassed, she watched him pour himself a cup of champagne. "Do you do this sort of thing often?"
"Drink champagne in the middle of the day? No."