Chapter Eight
Copper Falls wasa tiny rural town that had one of just about whatever the locals needed.
One bar, one grocery store, one hardware store, one movie theater with one screen, one pharmacy, one package store, and one church. Methodist. Oh, and a feed store as well as an auto parts store. That was it. If you wanted anything that you couldn’t find at our little indie businesses you had to order it online or run into Jackson Hole.
Night was creeping up on the Tetons as I exited the package store with a bottle of pinot noir and a bottle of port tucked into my cloth grocery sack. I’d made a run to the Copper Falls Merry Mart looking for white chicory among several other fresh herbs. They didn’t have it so I’d now have to drive to Jackson Hole and see if the natural food store there had some. Not exactly my planned evening, but it would be worth it. Bishop would love the pan-fried duck breast with caramelized chicory I was going to make. Once I found some damn chicory. Devon used to prepare this dish for me for our anniversary every year. Why I was making it for Bishop after knowing the man for a few weeks was better left alone for now.
Heading down the sidewalk, American flags snapping on every pole outside every store on Main Street, I paused just outside the Copper Falls Hardware Emporium to see Shepherd McCrary leaving the red brick building that housed the sheriff’s department. I shuffled the bag from the drug store from one hand to the other as I mulled over what I’d just witnessed. Had Shep been visiting Mark to relay some information about the poached bones? I contemplated going to see the older lawman and ask but knew he’d toss me out on my ass. Mark Lucerne was not one who would or could be swayed. He was diligent as hell and upright to a fault. So while the urge was strong to be nosy, I knew it would get me nowhere. Instead of being a pester ass, I walked to my truck, tossed my bags of wine, food, and butt sex supplies—to quote Aaron Yellow Horse—into the cab, and made for Jackson Hole with Gordon’s “The Circle is Small” flowing out the open windows.
* * *
“Is this too much?”I pulled on the sleeves of a black western shirt that I’d worn the last time I’d been to Jackson Hole. I’d found a guy who was willing to do what the old cowboy had asked. If I closed my eyes, I could still smell urinal blocks and desperation. “Nope.” I unbuttoned the shirt and flung it into the hamper. Bane watched me with feline disinterest. Reaching into the closet, I pulled out a denim shirt, softly worn, and slid an arm into it. “How about this?”
The cat yawned then leaped down from the bed, obviously tired of me asking him for fashion advice. Glancing around at my room, I didn’t say I blamed him. Clothes were tossed all over the floor and bed. Right. This was insane. It was dinner. A simple dinner. Well, not simple exactly but just a dinner. With a man. A sexy young man who had invaded my waking thoughts. Sleeping thoughts too if I were being honest.
“Guess we’ll go with denim casual,” I muttered as I tucked in my shirt and searched for a belt on the belt rack. I only had four so that made the choice easier. I closed the closet door and gave my reflection a final inspection. Not too bad for an old coot. I cleaned up nice as they say. Giving the room a tidy because if all went well perhaps Bishop and I would end up here later tonight. God please let that happen.
Once the clothes were tidied and the wrinkles pressed out of the bedspread with my hand, I looked at the clock on the dresser. It was time to go get my date. My stomach fluttered with a heady mix of anticipation and nerves. Imagine a man my age being nervous about a first date. I hurried to put the pinot into the fridge to give it a blush of a chill.
“Fool,” I mumbled as I hustled out the front door, Bane streaking out before it shut to spend a few hours prowling the barns. My truck rolled over with ease, and Gordon flooded the cab. I hit the eject button and replaced that CD with a Harry Chapin one. I enjoyed Harry a great deal, and tonight felt like it warranted a different singer. Different songs, different voice, perhaps a different future? Time would tell.
The lake was calm as I passed it, the cabins setting back in the trees serene. Our turkey hunters had left when the season had ended a few days ago. They’d be back in September along with the deer, elk, bear, and moose hunters. Summer months didn’t see much hunting but we did have some fishermen coming in next week. Generally, the lodges sat empty until fall but this year we had paleontologists to fill them up and keep the rodents and raccoons from setting up house.
Bishop stepped out of his cabin as I pulled up. My heart did a flip-flop. Talk about cleaning up well. Damn the man was mouthwatering. He’d gone casual as well with skinny jeans, soft leather sandals, and a short-sleeved shirt with bright pink daisies. His hair was pulled up into that silly bun with a pink ribbon. He jogged to the truck and climbed in, the rich smell of coconut filling the cab and my senses.
“You have no idea how happy I was to see you pull up in a truck instead of on that horse of yours,” he said, leaning over to give me a fast kiss.
“You haven’t kissed him yet,” I reminded him, our gazes locked as Harry began singing “I Wanna Learn a Love Song” which now that I thought about it, yeah, so did I so I could sing it to Bishop.
He sat back with a self-satisfied smile. “So you’re saying this will be the last date we have unless I put my lips on your horse?”
I should have played along with it, but I couldn’t. “The only way this is the last date is if you say it is.”
He glanced up from buckling his seatbelt. “Oh, well, that was a sharp turn into serious.”
“Sorry. I uhm…tonight is…” He patted my thigh, his touch sending sparks right to my groin.
“Yeah, it is special.” He gave my leg a squeeze. “So, this dude singing isn’t your usual dude.”
I’d be forever grateful for how adroitly he could break an awkward silence.
“No, that’s a different folksy dude,” I replied. With him leading the way through idle chitchat, we talked about our taste in music until we were back inside my cabin. He padded along behind me, mouth running now about the newest surfboard he wanted to buy.
“Of course, now that I’m living in Wyoming, I’m not sure how many surfing opportunities I’ll have,” he reflected as he stood in the middle of the kitchen. “Can I help with anything?”
“Do you know how to caramelize chicory?”
“Dude, I don’t even know what chicory is,” he replied with candor. “What kind of fancy feast are you making?”
“Perhaps you can learn something then. Tonight, we’re having duck breasts with caramelized chicory, mashed potatoes, Brussel sprouts roasted in duck fat, and some burnt custards for dessert.”
His blue eyes grew as wide as the dinner plates we’d be eating off of tonight. “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you picked up some tricks from your ex. Did you want to be a chef deep down inside?”
“No, not really, but I do enjoy the art of creating a dish then serving it to someone I love,” I said, pausing in the removal of the thawed duck breasts, courtesy of some wildfowl hunters who stayed with us last fall. Our eyes met. He winked. I blushed. I could have stammered around that gaffe, but I just rode right over it. “I’ll start with pan-searing the duck breasts while you pour us some of the pinot noir. It should be just about right.”
He seemed eager to help, and so a few moments later, after a pop of a stubborn wine cork, we were sipping a lovely wine, cooking side-by-side, and talking about everything and nothing. Bishop was so easy going and lighthearted that my nerves disappeared completely. Perhaps a few glasses of wine over the meal helped. By the time I was transferring the ramekins full of custard from the fridge to the broiler, we had somehow made our way to discussing old lovers.
“…she was really out there. I mean, even for a Cali gal this chick was spacey. You ever date someone who you knew was a space cadet, but they were so hot you kind of overlooked it until you couldn’t overlook it anymore?”