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A few months ago, if you'd told me I be relaxing in a bubble bath in Idaho reading a journal about cryptid hunting while preparing for a date with a hunky fireman, I would have bet against it though I'd have been hard pressed to tell you which part was the most unlikely. Between the journal we got after meeting the stipulations in Harry's will, the letter from Helen Kepler who had been Harry's girlfriend, and the journal I'd found taped under a table in the lab, we learned a lot. You had to think there would be more to learn in the other journals I found in both the lab and the apartment. By the time I stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around me, I made the decision that we needed to read through all of Harry's journals as soon as possible. We were planning another trip into the wilderness, and I wanted to have as much information as I could before we under took our next expedition.
I got about half way through one of the journals in my bath, so I laid it on the nightstand for later. I had just dropped my towel when my phone rang. Tom warned me that he could be called away at any point because of his work as a fireman and as the leader of the Wilkins' Gap Search and Rescue Team. I feared this was him letting me know our date was off.
"I'm standing in my bedroom naked. Please don't tell me you have to cancel," I said.
"Uhm. Hi, City girl," Chance said. "Thanks for the visual. Tom's a lucky guy. Did you plan on getting dressed before your date? Tom might be a little slow, but you don't want to scare him off." Chance had nicknamed me City Girl. I was pretty sure it was because his ex was a city girl who wouldn't give up the city to move to the remote town of Wilkins’ Gap. I didn't love the name, but it wasn't a battle with Chance I thought was worth fighting at the moment.
"You saying you'd be scared of me if I answered the door wearing only a smile?"
"City Girl, I'm always scared of you. Remember, I have the cast as a reminder."
"Did you want something, Chance?"
"I don't think this is the right time for that discussion. I just wanted to make sure you were still planning on painting the cafe tomorrow night."
"That's the plan, but if you have to take a pass because you have a date, I'm sure we can handle it without you."
"You're not getting rid of me that easily. See you tomorrow night. Have fun tonight, but take it easy on Tom, remember he's second string and may not be up to the challenge."
Before I could argue, he hung up. It pains me to admit that I'm usually not sufficiently armed to have a battle of words with Chance.
I promised myself that I was going to focus on Tom, but on my drive to his house, I thought of something I wanted to ask Chance. "Call Chance."
"Hi, City Girl. If you need a pep talk before your date, I may not be the best choice."
"Hi, Chance. Listen, I think we should make a concerted effort to read through all of Harry's journals as quickly as we can in case there's information in them that will help us on the next expedition."
"That's a good idea. Do you want to divide them up?"
I waved at Tom, who'd stepped out onto his porch and was waiting for me. "Maybe. Thinking about it made me wonder if your dad kept journals."
"Not that I know of, but I'll ask Mom if she knows. Aren't you running late for your date?"
"I'm at Tom's. I'll see you tomorrow night. I'll put together a box of Harry's journals for you. Bye."
I put my phone in my purse, hooked the strap over my shoulder, and pushed the car door open... right into Tom, knocking him down. "Fudge." I jumped out of the truck and knelt beside him. "Tom. Oh. My. God. Are you OK?"
"I came to see if everything was OK. Why were you sitting in the truck?"
"Sorry. I was on the phone with Chance. Are you sure you're OK? Oh, God." He had both hands covering his face and blood was pouring out over them.
"I think my nose is broken. Do you have a towel or shirt or something?"
I grabbed my Georgia bulldog sweatshirt from the back seat. "Here's my sweatshirt." I thrust it toward him. "What can I do?"
"Help me up," he said. His voice was muffled by the sweatshirt. I helped him into the house. I paced back and forth in front of the bathroom door until Tom emerged shirtless and with a clean towel pressed to his nose. "Sorry about this," he said in his nasal voice.
"Do I need to drive you to the clinic or the hospital?"
"No. I can take care of it. Can I have a raincheck on the activities we had planned?"
"Sure, Tom," I said, running my hand over his bicep. "I'm so sorry about this."
"Not as sorry as I am." He gave me a one-armed hug while holding the towel to his nose with his other hand. "You, Everly Mason, are a dangerous woman."