Page 72 of Extreme Romancing in Idaho

“You bale that hay like it’s never been baled before. Give that field hell.” My attempted banter came out of left field. Awkward and gangly. It didn’t fit with the tense emotions I kept in check.

Still, Angie rewarded me with a grin. I returned her smile, then headed back toward the kitchen and my half-assed attempt at plumbing.

“Um, Remi?”

I stopped midstride and faced her again, my hopes rising slightly. Why? I didn’t know. I’d already gone over the reasons why getting involved with Angie was the worst idea ever. “Yeah?”

“I was wondering …” She tucked the loose strand of her wavy hair behind her ear.

My hope ballooned.

“What’s a burble? Dan mentioned when he was talking about a sky-dive he went on. He also said whirlie. I couldn’t remember either from the vocab sheet you gave me.”

Insert pin to inflated hopes. “Whirlie is a newbie climber.”

“Oh. Huh.” Her brows furrowed together, and her mouth puckered and tucked to one side.

If only I could decipher the look on her face. Was it good or bad? Had Smoot insulted her? “Burble is essentially dead air,” I continued. “It happens when you fly directly over another skydiver. You become unstable and sometimes drop.”

This was exactly how she’d made me feel. Unstable like I’d freefallen over twenty feet. She took the rules I’d established from childhood, almost infancy, and jumbled them until I couldn’t decipher the code I lived by.

Marriage to one woman. Kids. White picket fence. Maybe a cow or two. Mae even fit in the picture I painted in my mind of life with Angie. But it wouldn’t last. Just like paint faded and cracked, inevitably we’d grow bored of each other and end up divorced or like my parents, glorified roommates living two separate lives.

I couldn’t marry Angie, but I still wanted to revel in the nirvana I’d gotten a taste of in the mountains. Blake’s warning came back to me. ‘Get your feelings solidly in the “I love you zone” before you make a move on her …’

Well, shucks, I hadn’t listened to him. Love. Such an overinflated term that got in the way of good times. A feeling which took a rational woman and turned her into a she-cat.

I didn’t have any interest in it.

“Thanks, Remi.” She offered me a half-hearted wave, already focused on her phone as she texted her way out the door.

I nearly ran over Nora when I turned the corner into the kitchen.

“Oh, my stars. Sorry.” She fiddled with her apron. “I was just … uhh … straightening this picture.”

Bullshit. She’d been caught listening to our conversation. I didn’t openly call her out on it. Instead, I reached over and tapped the indicated picture until it was level, smiling at her the whole time.

“Okay. Fine. My ears are as hot as a chili pepper. You caught me.” She walked to Tony’s side.

He’d also moved more toward the entrance to the living room, where our voices would have easily echoed to them.

“Look.” Tony grimaced up at me. “Angie’s been real cagey with us lately. She’s usually not too good at lying to us, but …” He straightened. “You’ve been taking her on some sort of dangerous adventures, haven’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say dangerous …”

“She had a cut on her eye. And bruises on her arms.” Nora pointed her finger at me.

“The cut was from her hitting it on the bathroom counter. I—”

“You keepin’ our girl safe?” Tony grilled me.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then carry-on doing whatever you’re doing,” he continued.

“We’ve never seen Angie more alive. After Tony’s cancer came back, she kind of withdrew from life. Until you came along.”

“We want to thank you. And …” Tony wheeled himself back to his stack of papers. “I want you to take me whitewater rafting before I die.”

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