Page 82 of Extreme Romancing in Idaho

At least, I thought this feeling of ‘I can’t live without her’ meant the big L-word. I’d sacrifice anything to guarantee her happiness. I’d never felt this way for a woman; hell, I never planned on ever feeling this way. It’d snuck up on me like a rattlesnake in the brush and bit me.

What the hell was I supposed to do now? Confess my undying love for her? That sounded so corny I almost vomited in my mouth. Instead, I’d rather do the most unromantic thing possible.

I climbed into the truck and shut my door. Starting the engine, I shifted into drive and followed Myles’s route out of here. “I heard about an event in town and kind of sort of signed us up.”

She shivered even though it was as hot as a billy goat in a pepper patch in my cab. “I don’t know if I’m feeling up for it.”

Her statement presented a conundrum. First option: listen to her and run into the possibility of dropping the L-bomb on her. Second option: proceed forward as if she hadn’t said she didn’t want to go and get her in a horn-tossing mood.

Arguing was much safer than being nice. Rather than teasing her about falling in the river, I’d give her a break now, seeing as how her eyes were already half-lidded.

Angie leaned her head against the seat and dozed while I drove the thirty minutes into town, to the high school soccer fields. I’d parked at the back of the full parking lot and slipped the white T-shirts I’d custom ordered in the over-sized pockets of my swim trunks. The entire town gathered in the bleachers, though I was too far away to spot anyone I knew.

“Where are we?” Angie stretched and yawned, dropping the towel to the seat. She looked around her as the distant crowd erupted in a cheer loud enough for us to hear over the still running air-conditioning. “What exactly does ‘I don’t feel up for it’ mean to you?”

“What?” I jiggled my earlobe and turned the key in the ignition. Sliding it out, I put it in the cup holder. “Got water in my ears. I can’t hear you.” I shoved my door open.

She huffed out a breath and let out a little growl—perfect. Hopping to the ground, I waited for her tirade to begin.

“How could you have water in your ears? You never went in the ri—”

I shut the door on her words, knowing this would drive her crazy enough to get out of the car and tell me exactly what a terrible human being I was. She didn’t disappoint. Quicker than a scalded cat, she came up next to me.

“First, you dump me in a river, then you ignore me and expect me to take part in this barbaric …”

Barbaric? Angie trailed on. I started walking toward the crowd of people. Everyone cheered on what was happening in the pen in the center of the field. A circle of feeder panels had been erected, and as I drew closer, it’d been filled with mud up to the edge of the slits … making the puddle about two feet deep.

I came to stand at the side of the bleachers, waving to Agnes, Joe, and Mitch, my friends from the farm store. They cheered on their coworkers, dressed in matching Country Store shirts, although the three in the ring were now completely brown. A timer ran on the clock while they dodged and dipped, falling face-first into the slop.

Chuck and Pedro called to me, surrounded by Pedro’s posse of kids. One kid hung on Pedro’s arm, and another sat on top of Chuck’s shoulders.

In a matter of a few months, I’d been accepted in this town. I had actual friends who knew nothing of my family or my fortune. I’d never experienced this phenomenon.

A squeal cut through the air as one of them caught hold of the animal’s back leg.

“… most low-down country thing we do. Pig wrestling? Seriously, Remi. You couldn’t have warned me?”

Pig wrestling. It qualified as the most unromantic thing possible. And I didn’t like how much the stub-nosed, curly tailed beasts scared me. Against my better judgment, I’d Googled the story of the pigs and old man Peterson. What I’d read could never be unread.

Today, I’d face my fear head-on.

“If I would have told you, you wouldn’t have done anything but mope around your house and work yourself past the point of exhaustion on your farm. It’s the fricking Fourth of July. Let’s celebrate.”

“By traumatizing a pig?” She put her hands on her hips. “No, thank you. And I thought pigs terrified you.”

“Angie!”

I was saved from answering by Blake’s little girl.

She came running down the bleachers and launched into Angie’s arms. “You’ve been busy. I missed you.”

“Hey, Maddie. Your mom here?” Angie turned her back to me and looped an arm around the girl, knocking the headphones on Maddie’s head askew.

“No. She’s at home with Daddy.” Maddie pointed into the stands to a woman with short, gray hair who looked like an older version of Lili. She lifted a hand at us, mid-conversation with Chuck and Pedro. “I’m here with Renee. The Bennies are making Mommy tired and sick.” She straightened her headphones and peeked up at me, then stiffened and leaned closer to Angie. “Who’s this human you’re always with? He comes over to my house sometimes.”

I laughed and walked to stand in front of them. I stuck out my hand. “Remington James the Third.”

Maddie eyed my hand, tilting her head back and forth, not budging from Angie’s side. “Do you like him?” She jutted a thumb in my direction. “This human.”

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