Reach For the Spy by Diane Henders

on a chair near the counter. Donna and
Blue Eddy stood beside him, all of them incongruously attired in
dark formalwear.
    I realized that while
we had been laughing and chatting, the Greenhorn’s tiny tables had
been draped in white linen, and sparkling plates and stemware had
been set out. Each table sported a single red rose in a tall vase.
Once again, Jeff and Donna had outdone themselves.
    “Welcome, everyone,”
Jeff declaimed. “We’re going to get this show on the road, so it’s
time to pair up the dates. And now for our first firefighter: Chief
Wally Nodell!”
    A grinning white-haired
man with a spectacular handlebar moustache strode to the front of
the room and turned to face the crowd, which promptly erupted in
cheers and shouts of friendly abuse.
    His western wear was of
the authentic variety, faded and scuffed from long hours of daily
use. He slapped his hands against his keg-like gut. “What lucky
lady wants some of this?” he bellowed good-naturedly. The crowd
roared and stomped its approval, and Jeff whistled again to get our
attention.
    “And Wally’s lucky date
is... Linda Burton!”
    Linda bounced up to the
front amid laughter and cheers, and Wally swept her a magnificent
bow. “I’d say it’s like dating my daughter, but you’re not quite
old enough,” he chuckled. The crowd whooped and applauded while
they proceeded arm in arm to their table.
    The next several
firefighters were introduced to somewhat more decorous applause,
but everyone was clearly there for fun. Laughter and friendly
insults abounded as each man was matched up with his date; or
mismatched, as was more frequently the case. Jeff hadn’t been
kidding. They really were all ages and shapes and sizes.
    “Tom Rossburn!”
    I scanned the crowd,
wondering who I’d be paired with. A tall, lean figure detached
itself from the wall and strode unhurriedly to the front. I caught
a glimpse of short brown hair and a blue denim shirt as he made his
way through the crowd. When he reached the front, he turned and
hooked his thumbs in his belt loops while he surveyed the room with
a crooked smile.
    I felt my eyebrows go
up at the realization that he was one of the better-looking men
there. Not killer handsome, but a lean, good-natured face with blue
eyes framed by the kind of wrinkles that only come from long hours
squinting into sun and wind. His shoulders were broad without being
bulky, and his rolled-up shirtsleeves showed tanned, sinewy
forearms. Working muscle, not gym muscle. His jeans and boots were
pleasantly faded and well-worn.
    “Aydan Kelly!”
    I started at the sound
of my name and tried for a pleasant expression while I made my way
up to the front. The crowd applauded politely as he stuck out his
hand with a smile. I took it and accepted a firm handshake, his
callused palm rasping against mine. He offered his arm, and we
paraded ceremoniously off to our table in the corner.
    “Nice to finally meet
you, Aydan,” he said as we settled ourselves in the chairs.
    “Nice to meet you, too,
Tom,” I replied. “Um... what do you mean, finally?”
    He leaned back
comfortably in his chair and smiled. “I think we’re
neighbours.”
    “Oh? Where do you
live?”
    “Six miles west and two
miles north of the stoplight.”
    Like small towns
everywhere, directions originated at the town’s single stoplight. I
did the math.
    “Oh, we are neighbours,
then. I’m three miles north.”
    “I thought so. I’ve
seen you sitting out on the edge of the field a few times. I
couldn’t see your face at that distance, but your hair’s easy to
spot. It streams out like a copper banner when the wind blows.”
    The poetic phrase was
incongruous with his down-home appearance, and I hesitated,
distracted, before I made the connection. “Oh, you ride your fence
line on horseback sometimes.”
    “That’s me. You just
moved in the spring, didn’t you? How do you like your new
place?”
    “Yes, I came in March.
And I absolutely love it. I lived