Chapter Six

Since I didn’t bring a pocketbook, I deferred holding onto the car keys.

He slipped them into his jeans pocket after locking the car.

Even remembering what the trunk held, I felt safe knowing there was no reason for him to search my locked trunk, and as long as we stuck together, I would know where the keys were.

The benefit concert was well-attended. We sat in a section reserved for MFPD to the right of the bandstand. When we took our seats, Dallas tossed off a few friendly greetings to cops he knew, and we both waved to Captain Billington a few rows behind.

Drummer Copeland was probably the equivalent of Ringo Starr, both of them from an era that predated both of us by decades. We discussed how bands of that era were enjoying a resurgence of popularity from old and new fans. Some of the vintage tour groups were still defying expiration. I could see a lot of gray heads in the audience, matching the color of Copeland’s cropped hair. The musician proved to be especially sardonic when introducing famous numbers and the history behind them.

The crowd was engaged and equally enthused, quenching a thirsty demand for Milwaukee beer. The night air steamed around us like the inside of a local brewery. Dallas warmed to the music…and to me with each successive cup of beer. By the end of the concert, he had an arm locked firmly over my shoulders. Beer also had another notorious effect; I hit the rest rooms—twice.

Though it was already July 22nd, the concert ended with ten minutes of spectacular fireworks competing with a medley of patriotic songs. “Do they have fireworks in Texas,” I asked during the grand finale.

“Of course. All rumors aside, we haven’t seceded from the union yet. In fact, we also have fireworks on Texas Independence Day in March, and even for Lyndon B. Johnson’s birthday in August.” He looked beyond me with a slow smile. “My daddy used to tease me into believing we were related to the former President, and though we were never invited to any of his parties, we always celebrated the day anyway with one of Mom’s pecan cakes and a jug of Daddy’s home-brew.”

“Very impressive.” I laughed. “I always heard Texas does things in a big way.” I playfully tapped his silver belt buckle with a fingernail.

“Won that in a rodeo,” he snickered. “Nine seconds on a bull that nearly broke my arm. My hand was caught in the grip.”

“Which hand?” I squeezed the one that held mine and took a deep breath when I felt his grip tighten. We threaded our way through a parking lot filled with cars idling toward the park exits. After locating my car, I noticed he had a little trouble getting the key in the door lock while still holding my hand. “You can let go of the grip, cowboy.” I chuckled.

He bowed gracefully as he held the passenger door open.

I slipped inside less gracefully, and leaned over to open his door.

Once inside, he grinned at me a few seconds before making his move. Throwing a leg over the console, he pulled me into an embrace and kissed me lightly. His mouth moved to my ear and he murmured, “Can we try that again, Peaches.”

I could smell the beer on his breath. His lips were warm, and my heart was tripping like a jackhammer. It had been—what? Maybe three years since I had been kissed by an eligible male—one without blue eyes to his credit. I let him in. His tongue was tentative and slow, testing my mouth with fireworks that slid down my throat and exploded somewhere near my navel. One of us moaned a little. My body melted into the bucket seat until my back hit the gear shift, and the moan hit a higher pitch.

“Sorry about that, Peaches. Your little car is as inconvenient as my cycle was tonight.”

“Maybe we both could use some coffee.” I finger-combed my hair and adjusted my dress. “I know a Quickmart that has coffee AND Snickerdoodles.”

“Sounds good.” He started the car and followed the directions I gave him, concentrating all his attention on the road.

“You know, I never kissed a cop…” Too late, I bit my lip and could feel the heat shimmy up my neck. I couldn’t believe I’d said that—out loud.

He laughed, still focusing on the road. “We are a similar species, you know—much like ordinary men with two arms, two legs, one head, one heart—always at the service of a peachy lady.” He flashed a lazy beer grin my way.

“Mmm, sure you got the right body part there?” I muttered to myself.

“What did you say?”

“Everybody has a heart.” Mine was certainly getting a jump start tonight.