Fried Pickles and the Fuzz by Calico Daniels Page B

had done nothing but cause her pain. He mentally groaned and climbed the stairs of the gazebo. With any luck , he would be able to keep Heather from telling him to go suck eggs for just a couple more days. Her deadline with Gus was coming up fast , and he had a sinking suspicion that she wasn’t going to be able to pull a rabbit from her hat this time. Then if everything went right after that… well, everything might just work out the way he wanted.
    Beth Ann was right. He had it bad. Heather was never far from his thoughts. When he wasn’t with her , he was thinking about her. What was she doing? Was she busy or was the café hitting a lull for the day? He wanted to know everything. Their evening talks were always the highlight of his days , but lately, since he had been taking his meals at the station, he’d come to realize how much he really enjoyed talking with her. Watching her. Just being near her.
    After giving the go - ahead to Mrs. Bonam, Bronson stood quietly at the base of the gazebo steps and tried to focus on the auction. His attention, however, continued to wander to Heather, who had been approached by well over half the townsfolk since the auction started. Most , it appeared , were just being neighborly and saying hello , but he had seen a few linger , and one in particular had carried on a particularly lengthy conversation with more than one hand gesture in his direction.
    â€œThe next boxed lunch up for auction was made by Miss Heather.” Mildred Bonam held up the wicker picnic basket for the crowd to see then placed it on the small table by the podium where she was acting as auctioneer. She glanced at the paperwork before her and smiled. “The highest silent auction bid for Heather ’ s basket was eighty - seven dollars. Are there any other bidders?”
    Bronson held his breath and said a little prayer that no one would go above his silent auction bid. The last thing he wanted was to get into a bidding war right here in the middle of the town square with one of the local boys over who was going to get to have lunch with Heather. Under normal circumstances , he wouldn’t have worried about it , since usually he ate supper with her most nights. But since she banned him from T he Pickle and pert - near everyone in town seemed to think he had it coming to him, he needed to show her how sorry he was and that him locking Gus up wasn’t personal, but it was his job.
    Now, if only he could get her to believe it.
    â€œSold, to Sheriff Andrews for eighty - seven dollars.”
    In reality he’d known that when they sold the lunches they also announce d to the entire town in attendance who the winning bidder was , but for some strange reason , it had simply slipped his mind when he ’d penned the bid an hour ago. He tried to smile as one of the m atrons handed him his basket , but the butterflies in his stomach were suddenly a lot bigger and seemed to be trying to climb up his throat.
    Heather stepped up beside him, a bright quilt over one arm, and smiled at the clapping crowd. “We need to talk.”
    With a sigh of relief, Bronson nodded and followed her as she led the way to a shaded patch of grass on the far side of the square lawn behind the gazebo and away from the majority of the crowd. She spread the blanket near a flowerbed that was bursting with colorful blooms and sat. He placed the basket in the center and joined her.
    Neither spoke as she unpacked the lunch and laid it out between them. She withdrew a large bread knife and deftly sliced the loaf , the light yeasty aroma making his mouth water. After placing a slice of tomato on the bread , she layered on six crisp strips of bacon, topped it with bright green lettuce , and added the second slice of bread that she had liberally covered with mayonnaise. After adding a healthy portion of chips, she handed him the plate and set about making her own. Once her portion was made , she poured them each a glass