Shelly ignored her son while she rubbed Paul’s back with her good hand. “Do you need a beer, baby?”
“I think I need some Ben-Gay,” Paul answered as he studied his new knife.
“I’ll take Wally,” Hope volunteered, secretly envious of the carnival toys he held in his hands. She’d spent most of the day chasing Wally from one booth to the next. While he had a rubber snake, a plastic tomahawk with fake hair hanging off it, and a crooked pencil, Hope had nothing to show for the appalling amount of money she’d handed over to the carnies. Not even a cheap ashtray. She’d been a failure at all the games she’d played, and after she’d accidentally beamed a young cowboy on the side of the head with a sinker, they’d banned her for life at the Fly Casting Booth. “We’ll meet you two later,” she told Shelly and headed out with Wally.
They waited in line to have a football painted on Wally’s cheek, and after some coaxing, Hope agreed to have a dagger painted on her shoulder. She’d never spent all day hanging out with a seven-year-old boy before, and she was surprised that she didn’t get bored. She supposed it had something to do with her sudden desire to be around people again. She found that the longer she lived in Gospel, the less she liked to spend time alone.
She’d turned in her second article on aliens and was working on her third. Her first alien article had come out that morning, and she’d rushed to the M & S to buy a copy of the newspaper. She’d been given the center spread, knocking Clive’s cow mutilation out of the prime space.
Lately, she’d spent quite a bit of time across the road with Shelly. She helped her neighbor clean house, do laundry, and deadhead the petunias in the window boxes. They talked a lot, about a lot of different things, but Hope still hadn’t been able to tell her new friend about the really bad times in her life. She wanted to, but she couldn’t.
They talked about Hiram Donnelly and the FBI report that had arrived the day before. Some of the text had been blacked out, and she was no closer to understanding than before. After Hope returned home tonight, she planned to go over the information again.
They talked about Dylan, too. No one had heard from him since he’d taken Adam to the airport. That had been four days ago, yet no one seemed worried. Even though Hope knew better than to expect him, she sometimes found herself walking to her front window, looking for the white-and-brown sheriff’s Blazer. Or when she went into town, her gaze would wander, searching for a certain straw cowboy hat or a faded pair of jeans. Of course she never did see him and hated the disappointment that settled on her shoulders and pulled her down.
The last time she’d seen him was that day in Hansen’s Emporium when his gaze had burned her everywhere it touched. She hadn’t imagined that his voice got a little deeper, and a bit huskier, when he talked to her. She hadn’t imagined all that sexual desire directed right at her.
Then again, maybe she had imagined it. If he’d really wanted to spend time with her, he certainly knew where she lived. Yet he hadn’t made an effort to contact her, and now, as she and Wally walked toward the game booths, she wondered if whatever she’d felt between herself and Dylan had been all in her head.
Or perhaps he was one of those guys who played with women’s emotions. Maybe the thrill for him was in the chase, and God knew she hadn’t run very fast. Okay, she hadn’t run at all. In fact, she’d stood perfectly still while he’d pulled up her shirt. She’d even moved his hands to cover her breasts.
She and Wally tried their luck at a few games, and Hope finally won a pink plastic ruler after tossing rings on pop bottles. She put her prize in her fanny pack, and by the time she found Paul and Shelly eating hot dogs and drinking beer, the sun hung low in the sky. The carnival lights kicked in and the food booths lit up. Hope’s stomach growled, and she and Wally grabbed two corn dogs with extra mustard before joining the small group that had gathered amongst the picnic tables set up behind the food stands. Wally abandoned her to eat with the other children and Shelly introduced Hope to her friends. They all seemed very nice, and while she ate her corn dog, the owner of the Buckhorn filled her in on his secrets to tossing a good toilet.
“It takes pure muscle to toss a toilet that far,” Burley said as laughter a short distance away drew her attention over his left shoulder. Like a magnet, her gaze settled on a tall, lean cowboy in a battered straw hat.
Dylan Taber leaned one shoulder against the Pound of Fries trailer, his arms folded across his chest, absorbed in conversation with several women standing in front of him. His sudden appearance at the fair was as unexpected as the warm flush spreading across Hope’s abdomen and up her chest. Her crazy heart pounded in her ears, and she pretended to listen to Burley, but in reality she didn’t hear a word.
Dylan lifted his gaze and his eyes locked with Hope’s. He looked at her across the distance, his head cocked to one side as he listened to the women speaking to him. At the sight of him, hot pleasure settled low in Hope’s stomach, and she couldn’t stop the smile that curved her lips. She waited, but Dylan didn’t acknowledge her in any way. She couldn’t tell by his expression if he felt the same pleasure or warm flush, or if he felt anything at all. He simply looked at her, his handsome face unreadable. Then he looked away.
“Stanley told me you’re writing a magazine article about Hiram Donnelly.”
She returned her attention to the man standing in front of her. “Yes, I am,” she said, her thoughts scattered, her emotions chaotic.
“Hiram and I were third cousins,” Burley told her. “When he was little, his daddy ran over him with a tractor. So we all pretty much figured he was damaged from an early age, only it took years for it to surface.”
Oh, geez, not again. A few days ago she’d been cornered at the post office by a group of Minnie’s friends. They’d wanted to assure her that Minnie had been a God-fearing Christian who would never do anything illegal. When Hope had informed them that kinky sex wasn’t necessarily illegal, and that even Christian women enjoyed a bit of kink once in a while, they’d looked at her as if she were speaking the Devil’s tongue.
“Anyway, his family would appreciate it if you’d mention that the rest of us are normal,” said the toilet-tossing champion. He sniffed and crossed his big arms over his barrel chest. “And none of us believe in spanking of any kind.”
“I’ll remember that,” Hope assured him and she excused herself. She moved to a trash can to throw away her corn-dog stick. Around her, people talked and joked, filling the tent with the kind of ease and laughter that came from knowing one another all of their lives.
Someone lobbed an empty cup into the trash, and she strolled through the crowd toward Shelly. She felt very alone, but it certainly wasn’t the first time in her life she’d felt alone while standing in a crowd of people.
A big, warm hand grabbed her from behind, and she looked at the strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm. She turned and glanced up into Dylan’s face. He still didn’t appear very happy to see her.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said.
“I didn’t expect to come.” He dropped his hand and cool air replaced the warmth of his palm. “I haven’t been in town on the Fourth for several years.”
“Did you get called into work?” she asked and watched his lips form the w
ord “no.”
Like most everyone else at the fair, he’d gone completely native in a blue-and-white striped shirt that snapped down the front and at the cuffs. Instead of his usual Levi’s, he wore dark blue Wranglers. His belt was made of tooled leather, and the sliver buckle had two T’s in the center and must have weighed five pounds. “Then what brought you to town? Do you have an uncontrollable desire for a corn dog?”
“I have an uncontrollable desire, but not for a corn dog,” he said, then gave her an all-over perusal, starting at her feet. Slowly his gaze traveled up her legs and thighs and rested on the front of her black tank top where the logo bebe was written in white. Then his eyes did meet hers, instantly heating her. No longer indifferent, he looked like he would eat her up right where she stood.
He pointed to her shoulder. “Nice tattoo.”