acquaintance.
Briefly, he considered asking her out, then remembered what a total fool he’d made of himself. She’d probably laugh in his face if he asked her for a date. Besides, his life was complicated enough these days.
She shook his hand purposefully. Then turned and walked toward a parking lot jammed with cars, her skirt swaying and drifting.
He glanced at his watch and cursed silently. He’d forgotten all about Brodie. Reluctantly, he turned toward the restaurant.
“Hey!” the female voice stopped him, and eagerly he swung around.
A hand shielded her eyes against the sun as she called, “Thanks for trying to rescue me.”
“I—” If it were this time last year he’d take a chance and ask her out, even if she did laugh in his face. But he had new responsibilities. Even if the lady was willing, he couldn’t get involved with a woman right now. Not with Emily to worry about.
The woman was standing not twenty feet away, waiting for him to finish what he had to say, a slight breeze teasing him as it molded the flimsy dress fabric to her body then puffed it away again. So strong was the urge to close the distance between them that he felt like he was a magnet and she was true north.
“I, uh… Drive safely.” He raised a hand in farewell then turned and walked the way he’d come. All the way to the restaurant where the bizarre situation had started.
And there was Brodie, sitting at a table, already halfway through a beer, his sunglasses reflecting the busy scene.
Beneath the reflective lenses, the mustache spread and tilted in a smile. “Did you get your man?” Brodie lifted the beer in Mark’s direction.
Mark chuckled. His old buddies on the force liked to tease him that he was like the cartoon Mountie who always saved the damsel in distress and always got his man. He was zero for two today. He hadn’t got his man, and he sure as hell hadn’t helped the damsel in distress. Good thing he’d handed in his badge last year. “Not today.”
“First time since I’ve known you, you’re late.”
Mark gestured to a waitress, who was unloading a tray at a nearby table, and sat across from his friend. He needed a beer.
“So,” Brodie pressed, “What’s up?”
Mark pulled the postcard out of his pocket and pushed it across the table.
Brodie leaned forward to read the card and then went absolutely still. He stared at the words for a few moments, then turned the postcard over and back again before glancing at Mark. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Mark blew out his breath in a big huff. “I just made a complete jackass of myself.” The waitress approached, and he ordered a beer.
“You ready for another one?” The perky redhead with the Australian accent gestured to Brodie’s half-empty glass.
“Yeah,” he replied, relaxing once more in his chair.
“Right.” She smiled at Brodie, and Mark knew his old buddy hadn’t wasted any time missing him. He’d been flirting with the waitress.
“Got her phone number yet?”
“I’m working on it.” He pointed to the postcard. “You gonna tell me what’s happening? Or do I read about it in tomorrow’s paper?”
Mark told him, reliving the entire incident as he did so.
The sun was gleaming off Brodie’s white teeth when Mark finished. He could see the physical effort it cost his old friend not to laugh aloud.
“Let it out, man,” he said testily.
Brodie laughed, long and rich, stopping once to wipe streaming eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry, Mark. I know how you must feel, but God, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week.”
“I just don’t get it. Why would a woman write a postcard to a friend and put help and life and death and stuff on it? Whatever happened to weather great, wish you were here?”
“When you figure out what women mean, you let me know. They got no perspective. They break a fingernail and it’s like the end of the world. Then they phone you and say, all casual, ‘Hi,
Briefly, he considered asking her out, then remembered what a total fool he’d made of himself. She’d probably laugh in his face if he asked her for a date. Besides, his life was complicated enough these days.
She shook his hand purposefully. Then turned and walked toward a parking lot jammed with cars, her skirt swaying and drifting.
He glanced at his watch and cursed silently. He’d forgotten all about Brodie. Reluctantly, he turned toward the restaurant.
“Hey!” the female voice stopped him, and eagerly he swung around.
A hand shielded her eyes against the sun as she called, “Thanks for trying to rescue me.”
“I—” If it were this time last year he’d take a chance and ask her out, even if she did laugh in his face. But he had new responsibilities. Even if the lady was willing, he couldn’t get involved with a woman right now. Not with Emily to worry about.
The woman was standing not twenty feet away, waiting for him to finish what he had to say, a slight breeze teasing him as it molded the flimsy dress fabric to her body then puffed it away again. So strong was the urge to close the distance between them that he felt like he was a magnet and she was true north.
“I, uh… Drive safely.” He raised a hand in farewell then turned and walked the way he’d come. All the way to the restaurant where the bizarre situation had started.
And there was Brodie, sitting at a table, already halfway through a beer, his sunglasses reflecting the busy scene.
Beneath the reflective lenses, the mustache spread and tilted in a smile. “Did you get your man?” Brodie lifted the beer in Mark’s direction.
Mark chuckled. His old buddies on the force liked to tease him that he was like the cartoon Mountie who always saved the damsel in distress and always got his man. He was zero for two today. He hadn’t got his man, and he sure as hell hadn’t helped the damsel in distress. Good thing he’d handed in his badge last year. “Not today.”
“First time since I’ve known you, you’re late.”
Mark gestured to a waitress, who was unloading a tray at a nearby table, and sat across from his friend. He needed a beer.
“So,” Brodie pressed, “What’s up?”
Mark pulled the postcard out of his pocket and pushed it across the table.
Brodie leaned forward to read the card and then went absolutely still. He stared at the words for a few moments, then turned the postcard over and back again before glancing at Mark. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Mark blew out his breath in a big huff. “I just made a complete jackass of myself.” The waitress approached, and he ordered a beer.
“You ready for another one?” The perky redhead with the Australian accent gestured to Brodie’s half-empty glass.
“Yeah,” he replied, relaxing once more in his chair.
“Right.” She smiled at Brodie, and Mark knew his old buddy hadn’t wasted any time missing him. He’d been flirting with the waitress.
“Got her phone number yet?”
“I’m working on it.” He pointed to the postcard. “You gonna tell me what’s happening? Or do I read about it in tomorrow’s paper?”
Mark told him, reliving the entire incident as he did so.
The sun was gleaming off Brodie’s white teeth when Mark finished. He could see the physical effort it cost his old friend not to laugh aloud.
“Let it out, man,” he said testily.
Brodie laughed, long and rich, stopping once to wipe streaming eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry, Mark. I know how you must feel, but God, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week.”
“I just don’t get it. Why would a woman write a postcard to a friend and put help and life and death and stuff on it? Whatever happened to weather great, wish you were here?”
“When you figure out what women mean, you let me know. They got no perspective. They break a fingernail and it’s like the end of the world. Then they phone you and say, all casual, ‘Hi,
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