That Friday noon Erik was waiting for her at the bottom of the courthouse steps. Madeline commanded her foolish heart to cease its excited flutter. Hadn't she decided that he was hazardous to her emotional health?
"Are you going home for lunch?" He fell into step beside her.
"No, I'm meeting Amelia at the Bon Ton." She hoped she sounded purposeful and hurried. Surely he'd think her fast walk was the cause of her breathlessness.
"I'd like to see you, Madeline. Sometime when you're not too busy." The echo of her words sounded in his.
Had she remembered to bring the folder of committee work plans? She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and flipped though the stack of files she was carrying. Yes, there it was, but where was the...? Oh. There. She became aware that he was looming over her, waiting for a response. "That'll be sometime in July," she said. "After the Social." Wondering why she'd ever volunteered to co-chair the darn thing, she pulled the screen door of the Bon Ton Cafe open. "Why don't you give me a call then." She slipped inside, leaving him standing on the sidewalk.
There. She'd handled that situation. Short of telling him to take a hike, she didn't think she could have been any more clear about not wanting to spend time with him.
If only she could convince herself.
"Afternoon, Linnie." Lester's gravely basso came out of the dark hallway separating the Bon Ton from the Wooden Nickel as she slipped into the back booth. "Amelia'll be there in a shake. You want some coffee?"
"Iced tea, I think, Lester. D'you suppose summer's here to stay?" The sun hit her office around eleven this time of year, turning it into an oven despite the valiant efforts of a window air conditioner.
The young waitress set a lemon-trimmed mug before her just as Amelia came through the passage from the bar.
"I seem to have fallen behind on my bookkeeping," she said, setting a fat, untidy file folder on the table between them. "I thought perhaps you could check over these few invoices, since your children aren't home and all." She pushed the folder across the table, almost knocking Madeline's iced tea over in the process. "Just initial them, once you're sure they're correct, and drop them by the treasurer's on your way home."
"A few invoices!" From the looks of the folder, none of the expenses they'd incurred since starting to work on this year's Social had been paid. "Amelia, in case you haven't noticed, I do have a job. One that the County Commissioners," she said, with a pointed look across the table at one of said commissioners, "expect me to devote eight hours a day to."
"I know that, hon, but I just thought you could do these during your lunch hour or something."
It was time to take a stand. "Amelia, I will not donate my every waking minute to the Social. Since you don't have time to do what you volunteered to do, I suggest you find someone who will." She would let herself be taken advantage of to a point, but Amelia had long since passed that point.
"As a matter of fact, I'd had the same idea myself. I know you're overworked, and I thought I should find you an assistant. When I mentioned it last night at the Wooden Nickel, several people volunteered."
Madeline could just imagine who they were. She knew most of the habitués of the town's most popular tavern, and she didn't think any of them would make much of an assistant for her. "Uh, Amelia," she began, "I don't think...."
"He should be here any minute," the older woman said, looking at her watch. "I told him we'd be lunching together and he said he'd join us for dessert, so we could get our business out of the way first."
Madeline groaned. In the first place, their business usually consisted of Amelia issuing directives, making excuses for tasks not completed, or complaining about committee members who weren't doing their jobs to her liking. In the second place, Madeline needed an assistant like she needed a flat tire on her car.
"Afternoon, ladies," a deep, familiar voice said, just behind her. "Am I on time?"
"You are, Erik," Amelia said, "and welcome, too. Linnie was just saying how much she appreciated your volunteering to help her for the next few weeks."
Madeline felt her mouth drop open, and knew she was gaping like a fish out of water. Before she could say anything, Erik had slid into the booth beside her, trapping her between himself and the wall.
"My pleasure," he said, smiling at her. "I'm yours to command, so just tell me what you want from me."
Oh, God! If only his eyes didn't hold such promises. If only his voice didn't send shivers up her spine and raise the hairs at her nape. If only she could want just his help on the Social, instead of all of him. She wondered just how long her fine resolutions would stay intact.
She was through lying to herself. She wanted Erik with a deep and abiding hunger. And she wanted him forever.
"Well, if you two young people will excuse me, I have some errands to run. After all, I can't let Madeline do all the work for the Social, now can I?" Amelia picked up the check and slipped from her side of the booth. She waggled her fingers at them as she walked away. Again Madeline was speechless.
"Well, Madeline?" Erik said after watching Amelia leave with a broad grin on his face.
She turned to look at him. He seemed to be waiting for something. "Well what?"
"What would you like me to do for you?" His grin showed he understood every implication of his words.
"I...ah...I haven't got time to tell you now," she stammered. "I've got to get back to work."
"This evening, them." He shook his head. "No, that won't work. I'm speaking to the Odd Fellows. And tomorrow I'm catching a plane out of Boise at ten." He rubbed his nape. "How about Monday?"
Madeline shook her head. "I'm busy. Make it Tuesday."
"Then it'll have to be right after work. Unless you can take the afternoon off?"
Feeling backed against the wall, Madeline bit her lip. He couldn't come to her house. She wasn't ready to be alone with him again. "No. No, I can't do that." She heard the thready whisper of her voice and cleared her throat. "Tuesday afternoon, then. In my office. I'll have Lester send sandwiches over, and we can eat supper while we get organized."
"Fine." Standing, he tossed some bills on the table, a far larger tip than a local would have left. Madeline bet he was an extremely popular customer. "I'll walk you back."
"You don't need to do that." She picked up her purse as she slid out of the booth. It nearly slipped through her fingers and she gripped it tighter. "It's only across the highway. I'll be perfectly safe."
His hand on her back burned through the light cotton of her blouse. "I know that. I'll walk you back because I want to be with you, Madeline, not because I'm worried about your safety."
"'Afternoon, Linnie," Lester said as she sped past his seat behind the cash register. "Erik."
"Lester," Erik acknowledged, but he didn't hesitate. "Madeline, will you slow down!"
She walked even faster once she was on the sidewalk. Only a pickup coming down the road kept her from dashing across the street to the courthouse.
By the time she was at the corner, she was nearly trotting, but she had to wait for a log truck to pass and Erik caught up with her.
"What the hell?" He grabbed her wrist as she started to cross. "Are you running away from me?"
"I'm trying to," she said, pulling as hard as she could, but his grip was unbreakable.
He didn't resist as she pulled him across the street, but he didn't release her either. By the time they reached the courthouse steps, she felt like she was dragging a dead weight, because he was making no effort to catch up with her.
"Way to go, Linnie," came a call from the open door of the cigar store. Two old men, regular occupants of the courthouse benches, watched with bright, interested eyes.
She realized she appeared to be dragging Erik behind her, against his will. Jerking her arm once more, she finally was able to repossess her hand. "You...you stinker!" she muttered, seeing his smile and reading his amusement at the situation. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
"Did what on purpose? Me?" His smile would have done one of Botticelli's cherubs justice.
She glared at him. "Made a fool of me." Furious, but more at herself for falling into his trap than at him, she ran up the fifteen steps to the courthouse door.
Safely in her office, she sank into her chair and breathed deeply. She was all but breathless, her legs were weak, and her heart was pounding.
Darn that Amelia, anyway. If she hadn't intended to do her share of the chair's duties, why'd she volunteer, anyhow? Candy Lindholm had been willing, but Amelia had talked her out of taking on the responsibility for the second year in a row.
Candy might have a mouth on her, but she always did what she said she'd do. And she was kind of fun, besides.
How could Amelia have let the bills slide like that? She'd better just check them over, to see if there were any really late ones.
Oh, no! In her panicked attempt to escape from Erik, she must have left them on the table in the cafe. With a sigh, more of frustration than of disgust, she reached for the phone. Surely one thing, just one little thing, could go right today.
A few minutes later, she said, "You're sure he took it, Lester? It didn't fall onto the floor, or something?" Not even one thing.
"Nope. I saw him carry it out myself, Linnie." His voice rumbled in her ear. "'Melia told me he's going to be your assistant, so why don't you just not worry about them bills until Tuesday?"
Had he heard everything they'd said? She wouldn't be surprised. When she was small, it was gospel truth that Lester Wood heard anything anyone said, anywhere in Sunset County. And he did it all from behind the cash register in the hallway between the Wooden Nickel and the Bon Ton Cafe, where he sat for eighteen hours a day, except when he and Amelia snuck off on one of their supposedly secret assignations.
"I think I will. Thanks, Lester." She hung up. If Erik was determined to be her assistant, let him worry about those bills.
Or not. She was going to finish her Friday afternoon tasks and take off for the weekend. Between five o'clock today and Monday at eight, she wasn't going to give a single thought to the Fourth of July Social, the problems she was having with the consultants for the Styx Valley Mining Company, or those special reports Charlie Bittenbusch insisted he needed "to help make an informed decision on Wounded Bear Meadow."
As if there was anything to decide. The National Wetlands Trust would either find the funds to purchase it or they would not. Either way, Charlie would have little to do with the final outcome.
* * * *
The old gate protested as Madeline squeezed through its meager opening Tuesday evening. She usually walked around the block instead of using the alley, but as late as she was running tonight, any shortcut was worthwhile. Thank heavens Erik had called to tell her he couldn't make their after-work meeting. She'd gotten a call from Boise at four and had to work overtime to put together the information the state highway people wanted first thing in the morning.
The club really ought to get a work party together and clean up this back garden. It would be years, if ever, before the library needed to expand again and they couldn't just let it go to weeds in the meantime. When the Wednesday Club voted to establish a County Library in the building they'd owned since the early 1900s, they hadn't included a budget for groundskeeping, nor had subsequent Boards of Directors. As a result, the small lawn in the front of the building was usually at the mercy of not-too-enthusiastic volunteers and the back yard was entirely ignored. Perhaps she ought to make that part of her platform, if she decided to run for president next year.
She slipped through the kitchen door, hearing a cacophony of women's voices from the assembly room. Good. The meeting hadn't started yet. It wouldn't do for the co-chair to be late. As soon as she stepped into sight, she was the center of a noisy crowd.
"Linnie, have you got that list of donations to the auction? I can't seem to find my copy."
"I need another five volunteers to work the ice cream booth, Linnie."
"Amelia called me. She'll be a little late."
"Wally says we're going to have to pay wages for extra security this year, Madeline. He's not going to ask his men to volunteer their time like they always have."
"Did we store the leftover carnival prizes at your place last year, Linnie?"
She could answer that. "No, Sandy, they're in Emaline's basement. I'll have her drop them off here tomorrow." She shouldered her way through the mass of demanding workers, waving her hands and smiling. Finally she was at the podium--where Amelia ought to be.
"Okay, people, let's get started. I'll try to deal with your problems later, after we've gone through current business, okay?"
Heads nodded, but there were a few frowns, as well. Most of the milling crowd gradually sank into seats. Those still standing--mostly men--slowly drifted toward the back of the room where they leaned as if it were their duty to hold the walls up.
Most of the committee chairs had things well in hand. Those who didn't offered no surprises. She'd worked with them all before.
"Charlie, I heard your people working as I left to come over here. How are the booths coming along?" She didn't like Charlie Bittenbusch, but she had to give him credit for doing everything he could to make the Social a success. He saw it as one way to bring in tourist dollars, something he was almost rabid about.
"Just fine, Linnie. Me and Erik, we'll have 'em all built well before Friday."
An older woman waved to catch her attention and Madeline groaned mentally. There were always a few who always had to complain about something and she was the worst. "You need to speak to the delivery people. When the driver unloaded the cartons, he refused--absolutely refused, and in such a nasty way--to carry them down into my basement. And you all know how careful I have to be about my back. I called that nice Erik and he came over and took it all downstairs for me."
Madeline didn't know why she couldn't have had Erik bring the paper products here, to the club rooms, but he could always do it later. If she gave him enough little tasks like that, perhaps he'd stay out of her hair. "Great. Okay, Candy, I know you're on top of everything for the parade. Can you deal with Wally about security patrols? He's being difficult again."
"You bet your butt, honey. I'll twist his arm a little, and if that don't do it, I'll sic Erik on him."
Madeline felt her mouth drop open for a moment. Erik seemed to be everyone's answer to problems this year. He'd been officially her assistant only a few days, but it sounded like he'd been doing his job.
She felt like she should resent his interference, but she couldn't. She needed all the help she could get.
Madeline had finished with the committee reports and was starting to deal with specific problems before Amelia arrived.
Amelia and Erik. They came through the back door, both laughing fit to be tied. All semblance of order ended as everyone turned to share the joke.
"We've got the most wonderful news, everyone!" Amelia announced. She was hanging on Erik's arm like a smitten adolescent. A twinge of irritation tightened Madeline's fingers on the edge of the podium. Why couldn't Amelia act her age? "Tell 'em Erik!"
"It's your surprise, Amelia," Erik said. His voice still had the capacity to send tingles down Madeline's spine.
Her hands clasped under her chin and her small body practically quivering in excitement, Amelia took a deep breath. "Well!" she said, "you'll never guess!" A cascade of giggles broke free as she beamed at Erik. "We're going to have a celebrity at our little Social."
A chorus of "Who? Who? Who?" made it sound like a herd of owls was loose in the hall.
"Erik was telling me," again the roguish glance at her companion, "about this fellow he went to school with who sometimes sings with the Grand Ol' Opry. He called him and he said he thought it was a great idea and he offered to pay his airfare but he said no, he'd do it for nothing as long as the profits went to saving the Meadow, and he'll be here Friday, sometime. Isn't that wonderful!" She looked around, waiting for applause.
"Amelia," Erik said into the expectant silence, "maybe you'd better tell them his name." His grin was almost as wide as Amelia's.
"Oh. Of course. Trace Pickett. That's who. He's coming here! With his band!" Amelia clapped her hands together like a happy child, but the sound was lost in the sudden outburst of exclamations.
Even Madeline, who paid as little attention as possible to Country Western music, knew who Trace Pickett was. His renditions of folk and traditional cowboy songs were haunting and memorable; his spectacular good looks made him popular with girls who otherwise would have been swooning over MTV stars.
Oh my. Getting Trace Pickett as the star attraction of their little Social was going to complicate everything immensely. Madeline remembered the year Jesse's brother, who'd built himself a fair reputation as a saloon guitarist, had come home for the Social. Attendance had nearly tripled.
She'd better speak to the food committee about ordering more paper products. And to the butcher about more meat for the barbecue. What if they ran out of ice cream...?
Madeline sank into the chair beside the podium, her mind working a mile a minute. With a little over a week until the Social, she wasn't sure she had time to do all the additional tasks she would have to do. The appearance of a famous singer would turn their small town Social into a major event, and the Wednesday Club wasn't really equipped to handle anything like that.
She almost wondered if Erik had done this to plague her.
Erik wanted to go to her and smooth the worry lines from her forehead. She'd looked harried this morning when he'd passed her office, but nothing like she looked now. According to her intern, the Styx Valley Mining consultants had been making nuisances of themselves, wanting old records pulled from dead storage, asking questions no one had answers to, and apparently unable to understand that the County's work couldn't come to a complete halt just so their demands could be satisfied.
Eddie had nothing good to say about consultants. Erik wondered if he'd ever made that kind of impression on local officials. He hoped not.
"Yessir, this oughta put Sunset County on the map," Charlie Bittenbusch said, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. "We need to get it in the paper first thing tomorrow. I'll call the Statesman, maybe the Salt Lake paper. Spokane, Portland...."
Erik tuned him out, although he knew he should remind Charlie that Amelia was handling publicity. Maybe it would keep Charlie out of Madeline's hair.
"Can I help?" He leaned over the table Madeline had her papers spread out upon.
Her sigh was heartfelt. "Can you ever! Have you any idea of what you've done?" She laid the pen beside the stack of file folders. "Erik, we rarely get more than five hundred people from outside Sunset County at the Social. Do you have any idea what a draw Trace Pickett's going to be?"
"I hadn't thought about that aspect," he admitted. "How many do you usually plan for?"
"Two thousand, tops." She leaned back and closed her eyes. "We'll probably get twice that many people to see Pickett's show. I've got to make sure we can handle them."
"We'll handle them. I'll help." He began stacking all the spread-out papers together. "But not now. It's too noisy in here and everyone's too excited."
As if to confirm his words, Candy and several of her buddies broke free of the crowd around Amelia. "Linnie, we're going to have to get Wally involved in this. We're gonna have one hell of a parking problem. I figure we'll get five, six thousand people here for the show."
"And we don't have anywhere near enough plates and cups to feed that many. What'll we do?" Sandy wailed.
"I figure we can charge fifteen bucks a ticket," Charlie said, from behind Erik. "Besides the carnival profits and the food." His lips moved as he toted up profits.
It was time to calm things down. He whistled, a loud, shrill sound that cut through the voices. "Madeline and Amelia will want to meet with all of you again tomorrow night, after they've had a chance to assess the impacts of having Trace as a star attraction. Can you all be there?"
"Well, I guess I can drive back in," one woman said, sounding reluctant. Erik didn't blame her, since she lived nearly thirty graveled and twisting miles from town.
"I'll need a baby-sitter," another said.
"Bring 'em over. My girl can keep 'em," someone else responded.
"You all come to the Conestoga House for supper," Charlie said.
"On me," he added, into the dead silence that followed his words. "Well, it's the least I can do, if we're gonna have everything ready by next week," he said, sounding apologetic.
Erik gathered, from the sotto voce comments as the crowd was departing, that Charlie's invitation was a first for Garnet Falls.
"...wouldn't buy his own mother's supper if he didn't think he'd get something back," was the kindest comment.
Erik and Amelia went home with Madeline. She hadn't invited them, but they came anyhow. Before she knew it, Erik was in the kitchen, making coffee, and Amelia was on the phone.
"Well, you just get yourself over here to Linnie's right now, Wally, and I don't care if you are in your slippers. You don't need your fancy trooper boots to drive three blocks."
Madeline went in to the kitchen, thinking Erik might need her help finding things. But he didn't. Four mugs and spoons were on her fancy red lacquer tray. He was washing her china sugar and cream set--the one she didn't use from one year to the next.
"Got any cookies?" he asked.
Since the twins weren't here, she hadn't been baking. But she'd picked up some Oreos the other day and there should be enough left for four people. She poured the remainder of the package on a plate, set it beside the mugs.
The coffee maker spoke its I'm brewed set of gurgles. As she reached for it, Erik's hand caught hers.
"Wait," he said. "We need to talk, and now's a good time." He jerked his chin toward the kitchen door, through which they could hear the murmur of Amelia's voice. She was still on the telephone.
"Talk? What about?" They would probably be talking most of the night, just making sure they had all the bases covered. Candy's five or six thousand people was certainly an exaggeration, but they had better be prepared for twice their usual attendance.
"About what I've done. You're going to be really angry, and I want you to yell at me in private. Okay?"
"I wouldn't yell at you," she said, pulling her arm free of his clasp. Why was it that every time he touched her, some sort of bone-dissolving force flowed from him to her, making her want to melt against him? "You've done something wonderful for the Social and everyone in Sunset County will benefit from it."
"Trace's condition was that all profit from his concert would go to preservation of Wounded Bear Meadow," he reminded her.
"Oh, I understood that. But we usually make several thousand from the carnival....Oh, lord! That's something else I have to do. Get more prizes." She reached for the pad and pen beside the phone.
"Madeline, before you do anything, there's something you really need to know." Putting his hands on her shoulders, he guided her to the table and pushed her into a chair. Perching on the table, one leg swinging, he stared at her. His expression seemed troubled.
"Oh?" She wasn't sure she wanted to hear.
"Last year Trace did a concert for the Trust in North Dakota. Same kind of deal--there was a wetland we wanted to purchase and he donated the proceeds."
"That's very nice of him, but I don't see...."
He laid his fingers across her lips. It was all she could do to keep from kissing them.
"Madeline, that concert was more than a hundred miles from the nearest moderate sized city. There was no bus service into town, no train, not even a landing strip." He waved his hand in the general direction of the Garnet Falls airport. "How many people do you suppose came to the concert?"
How should she know? Taking the first figure that popped into her mind and doubling it, she said, "Four thousand?"
His expression was amused. "Try again."
"Darn it, Erik! How should I know? I've never been to a concert like that in my life. For all I know, we won't have any more people than we did last year." And last year had set an attendance record.
"There were nine thousand four hundred thirty-two paid admissions, Madeline."
She stared. "You're kidding me," she finally said, after assimilating the meaning of his words.
"Nope." His grin spread. "We managed to buy the wetland and put some extra into our permanent acquisition fund."
"We won't have that many here," she said, "will we?" What would little Garnet Falls, Idaho, do with an influx of nearly ten thousand people? Where would they all park?
"We'll probably have more. That's why Amelia called Wally, and why she's talking to the State Police right now."
The doorbell pealed. Erik's hand stopped her from jumping to her feet. "Just remember, Madeline. I'm here to help you. And I've been involved with an event like this before, so don't be afraid to ask for my help."
What she'd like to do was dump the whole problem in his lap. Ten thousand people! How much food would ten thousand people eat? Could the women of Sunset County make enough ice cream to feed them all? And if they could, was there enough home freezer space in Garnet Falls to store it? In the county?
Maybe it was time to take her vacation. She could go to Hawaii until the fifth of July, maybe. Mexico, hot as it would be, sounded more tempting than staying here for the next ten days.
The doorbell pealed again and she heard Amelia call, "Keep your britches on, Wally. We're comin'!"
Wally proved the easiest of her problems to solve. Where the Wednesday Club would never have paid public officials for doing their regular job of policing the park and school fields, both Madeline and Amelia recognized that the expected crowd would far exceed the capability of Garnet Falls' five-person sheriff's force to patrol. Wally agreed to cooperate with the State Police on traffic control and to contract for the necessary personnel from a private security firm in Boise, as long as the Wednesday Club guaranteed their fee.
But the time Amelia and Erik left, about eleven-thirty, Madeline actually believed everything was going to work.
* * * *
Erik hoped she was dressed. He didn't need any more frustrations this morning. Of course, wanting to mash someone's nose across his face was a far cry from fighting his body's mindless response to a woman who made it plainer every day that she wasn't the slightest bit interested in being more than a friend.
His finger was about to press the doorbell again when the door opened. Even through the screen, he could smell warm, just bathed woman, redolent with the lingering scents of shampoo, soap, and toothpaste. His whole body clenched. Damn! She was still in her bathrobe.
"Erik! What on earth?"
He jerked the screen door open and forced his way inside as she backed away from him. "Kiss me!"
"What?"
Taking one more step forward, he clasped her around the waist. "Kiss me, I said. Now!"
Before she could do more than think about arguing, he possessed her mouth, slipping his tongue into its minty depths. She was soft and yielding, her breasts flattening against his chest, her bottom round and lush, filling his hands.
Her relaxation was gradual, and Erik gloried in every bit of it. First her arms slid up and around his neck, pulling him even tighter against her. Then her tongue came to meet and play with his. Finally, her feet left the ground as her legs, one at a time, wrapped around his. She moaned as he lifted her higher, until only the thickness of his jeans and her light robe kept them apart. She was hot against his arousal, hot and ready.
He lost himself in her, finding renewal and an end to anger in her mouth, her sweet response. He wanted more. He wanted all of her.
Some small vestige of sanity remained, and he ended the kiss, loosened his clasp on her buttocks. She clung to him with a little whimper of protest, but her legs dropped to the floor and took her weight. He stroked her back until her breathing calmed, letting his own slow, his heartbeat return to normal at the same time.
"I can't believe I did that," she said, her face buried in the angle of his shoulder. Her whole body had gradually stiffened, but he prevented it when she tried to remove herself from his embrace.
"I can't either," he acknowledged, "but I'm not sorry I did. At least something's gone right this morning." He released her, but kept one arm around her waist so she wouldn't run away. "Have you got any milk? That stuff they call coffee at the Conestoga House is enough to dissolve carbon steel."
He followed her into the kitchen and nodded his thanks when she poured him a glass of milk. "Don't let me delay you," he said, as she looked indecisively at the toaster. Two slices of dark bread sat waiting in its slots. "I thought I'd walk you to work and catch you up on the latest developments. I didn't mean to interrupt your morning routine."
"I usually dress while the coffee's perking," she said, sounding uncertain, shy. "But it got done while we...while I was answering...Would you like some toast?" Her chin came up with her question, as if she had decided to ignore the kiss.
As if she could. Her desire had been as strong as his, and he had a hunch she was as uncomfortable with that little fact as he was.
"Go," he commanded. "Get yourself dressed. I'll make myself at home."
She hesitated, but she went.
Erik didn't really want toast, not with his mouth still feeling sticky from the overly sweet, doughy cinnamon roll he'd eaten at the Conestoga House. But an egg, some protein to overwhelm the effects of all that sugary icing, would taste just right. He delved into the refrigerator.
When Madeline returned, wearing a full-skirted dress the colors of summer flowers, he had poached eggs and toast waiting for her. He'd even placed a daisy in a water glass, to center the table.
She stopped when she saw the table. "Oh, Erik, how thoughtful!" Her smile brightened his day considerably. It was unfortunate he was going to have to tell her the bad news.
"All right," she said, pouring them both more coffee, "what are these latest developments you came to tell me?" She looked so happy this morning, so fresh and eager for the day's surprises.
"Charlie Bittenbusch got me out of bed at five-thirty. He wanted a breakfast meeting about the Social."
She frowned. "I wonder why he didn't call Amelia, or me."
Erik gritted his teeth. "He's planning on seeing you at the Commissioners' meeting this morning."
"What? What Commissioners' meeting? There isn't one sched-- Oh. I see. He's calling one, isn't he?"
"Can he do that?"
"If he can get a majority to agree, he can. But I don't understand. Why?"
"Oh, he's got a grand agenda, Charlie has," Erik said, his anger growing again. He'd met some self-serving bastards in his time, but Charlie Bittenbusch was about tops. He glanced at the clock. Quarter to eight. "I'll fill you in while we walk downtown. Just so you won't get too many nasty surprises all at once."
As they walked, he told her about Charlie's plans to capitalize on Trace's visit to Garnet Falls. The singer would be the Grand Marshall of the parade, instead of Erik--not that Erik cared, because he'd only reluctantly accepted the honor in the first place. There would be a formal reception at the Conestoga House on Thursday night--Erik had made the mistake of telling Charlie when the band would arrive--and Charlie thought he might be able to get the Governor to attend. He'd only grudgingly given in on leaving Trace's schedule open Friday because Erik said his famous friend already had plans.
"He's got something else up his sleeve, I think, but I don't know what it is." Their swinging arms brushed, and Erik caught Madeline's hand in his. It felt as if it belonged there.
"With Charlie, there's just no telling. Whatever he proposed--and he'll say it's for the county's benefit--you can be sure Charlie's going to make a profit on it."
Had she squeezed his hand? Erik couldn't be sure, but he responded, just in case. "That sounds like a conflict of interest." They were nearing the corner of Oregon Street and Sunset Highway, entering what passed for downtown Garnet Falls. He wondered if she would make him release her hand now.
They were in front of the Baptist Church before she wriggled her fingers free. "Madeline, I didn't mean to come on to you quite so...so forcefully this morning. I was frustrated and mad, listening to Charlie's ideas about how Trace is going to put Sunset County on the map. He doesn't seem to understand that the concert is all in benefit of the Trust."
"I'm the one who should apologize," she said. "I practically climbed all over you."
He sensed her moving away, both physically and emotionally. "We've got to talk about all this, Madeline. We can't keep working together and tiptoeing around how we feel about each other." Catching her hand again, he pulled her to a stop, just before the stone bench at the end of the Courthouse steps. "I don't understand it, but I can't get within ten feet of you and not want you." He touched her cheek, marveling at its soft texture, its warmth.
"I don't think talking about it is gong to do any good, Erik. We'll just have to show a little maturity, instead of groping each other like a couple of randy adolescents." She stepped back, almost bumping the bench. "I really can't get involved with you. Not now. Especially not now." She spun around and practically ran up the Courthouse steps.
That was all right. He'd see her in an hour, unless he missed his guess about Charlie's ability to convince two other commissioners to approve the meeting.
The trouble was, he wasn't sure he wanted to be at that meeting. He had this awful, gut-deep feeling that everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.