Page 103 of Small Town Hunter

FIFTEEN

TRINA

One year later…

“Whiteleaf!”

I poke my head out the window and scream back, “Coming!”

Laughing, I hurry to the mirror and give my hair one last fluffing out. Since I cut it to my shoulders it can’t be contained, and to be real, I kind of like it like that.

I snap up a tube of lipgloss– clear, modest– and give it a swipe over my lips. Should I wear those shoes? No; they make me look like a tree stump. A hat? No. Hell no. I put about three different pairs of earrings to my newly-pierced ears before I decide on some tiny, pretty pearls.

Then I slide my feet into something with a heel, just a small one.

Shawl? I don’t need a shawl. I do need the gum. Yes, some gum…can’t have hot breath in church. Also, if a certain somebody is talking close to me…Not like it should matter, since we are friends now. Just friends. But of course I want to look good and smell good when he’s around. As a friend. That’s perfectly normal.

I peek out the window.

“Coming!” I call again, biting my lip with excitement.

“Perfection is the enemy of progress,” his melodic drawl calls back.

I can see him down there looking at the robins’ nest in the pine tree by the driveway. Those little birds built the nest with all the random stuff you could think of: bits of pine, string, hair (not mine) and apparently sheep’s wool from the farm over the hill. They’re long gone, but the nest is still there and to Crash this is the most fascinating thing in the world.

After that owl messed him up I fully expected he would never want to hear a bird so much as tweet in his direction again. But if anything he just became more obsessed, and started writing this paper on the Ivory Barn Owl– or so he told me, ‘cause he refuses to let me read it.

When he’s not looking after Ruby or at his regular job (not bounty hunting), he’s attending Southwestern Virginia Ornithologist Association meetings down the mountain. I barely see him during the week, but I can’t say he’s avoiding me because he agreed to take me to church every weekend, rain or shine, and here he is today just like he promised.

For just a little while, I have him all to myself.

One last mirror check. I shake out my curls again, knowing how much he loves them, grab my Hermes purse and quickly lock the door.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Sarita,” I call to my neighbor.

“Goodbye, Sugar,” my neighbor calls back. “Tell that nice man he better marry you already.”

“I will,” I cringe, hoping Crash didn’t hear that. I nearly fall over myself getting down the stairs but when I get to the bottom I’m dignified, composed, cool.

We agreed to stay friends. It makes sense. We barely knew each other when we were messing around in Oklahoma. Nowour lives have gone in different directions. Like they always would. He’s got Virginia, his daughter, his job. I’m living in California and have already sent my applications to Loyola Marymount, USC and UCLA.

This is just a short trip to see an old friend.

It just makes sense. This isn’t forever, and it can’t be.

Crash, waiting on the porch, turns when he hears me coming and opens the screen door. His face splits in a wide grin.

Lord…

When I first saw him at the airport I nearly tripped over my bags. Crash had put on twenty pounds since I last saw him. I mean, twenty pounds ofmuscle. He had a crazy tan, and his dark curls had grown back over his head injuries. And he was dressed.

Dressed for me.

Like right now.

“Hey,” he says.

I break my stare and step through. “Hi. S-sorry I kept you waiting.”

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