Chapter 3

Two hours later, Erica Bradford felt much better about some things ... and much worse about others. She felt better, because he was saying things were possible. She felt worse, because she didn’t understand half of what he was saying.

Sitting with him and going over the set notes had revealed that she knew even less about building things than she’d thought. Luckily, the jock had a brain in his head that was bigger than the walnut size she had assumed.

First of all, he seemed to be able to understand the notes better than she did. It turned into something other than what she’d planned on, as they sat there and he explained things to her ... instead of her explaining things to him.

He started saying things like “I think we could do that.” Then he’d say something like “If we buttressed the primary studs with some ten gauge wire, it would be stable as long as no one climbed on it.” He used words like “miter” and “ten penny nail” and other words and phrases that left a big blank in Erica’s mind when she tried to visualize them. More and more he said he would need this or that thing, something he always named, and which she had no idea what actually was. It made her feel hopeful and ignorant at the same time.

They had been talking for more than an hour when she realized that she hadn’t seen him ogle her ... not once! She was sure he had, and began to watch him more closely as he continued to read and talk. He was smiling now, which puzzled her, because this sounded like an impossible amount of work for a hundred people to do, much less one jock and a few children.

He looked over at her frequently, telling her something, or asking if she understood something else. She always nodded, even though it sounded like he was speaking a foreign language sometimes. She wasn’t about to justify what she was sure his attitude about her was: that she was helpless.

As closely as she watched him, though, she never saw him look at her breasts.

She was having distinctly uncomfortable thoughts that maybe, as crazy as it seemed, this huge, muscular man with those astonishingly blue eyes, and that careless lock of black hair hanging on his forehead, might be ... homosexual ... when he turned those eyes on her one more time.

“You want to go get a bite to eat?” he asked.

She realized his knee was touching her thigh, and jerked, instantly on guard.

“Let’s get one thing straight right now, Mister Dalton. I am not available!” she said, almost harshly.

Bobby leaned back, and his eyebrows rose.

“I didn’t intend to ask you on a ... date,” he said softly. “I just thought you might be hungry.” His eyes narrowed as his eyebrows fell back to their original location. He looked at the papers spread out on the table in front of them. “We’re about three quarters finished, I’d guess. Maybe we should continue this later, when you aren’t so ... jumpy.”

“I’m not jumpy!” she yipped.

“Yes ... you are.” He moved away from her, scooting his chair a few inches. “I know you’re under a lot of stress, Mizz Bradford.” Again he emphasized the “Mizz.” “I’ll help you, but I have to tell you, I’m mostly doing this for Ted, because he asked me to help you. I’m not here to get into your panties, okay?”

She was astounded. No man had ever talked to her like that! No man had ever been that direct with her ... at least no man who wasn’t trying to “get into her panties” as he had so boldly put it. And those men were simply crass and rude. He had spoken rudely, but in a way that was more forthright ... than actually rude! He hadn’t said it snidely. Well that “Mizz” had been snide, but that was all, and she was used to that. But the rest of it had been said in a tone that was completely lacking sarcasm. It was like he was just doing what she had done ... getting things straight. He almost sounded like he was talking to ... an equal!

And he did sound like he knew what he was talking about, in terms of the sets.

“All right,” she said, somewhat stiffly. Then her mouth followed that with, “Thank you,” even though she didn’t intend to say it.

“No problem,” he said, back to his casual self.

He looked back at the set notes. She stared at him, not knowing what to think of him now. He didn’t quite fit the category she’d put him into. She was aware of that ... that she’d put him in a category ... and that she probably shouldn’t have. She felt a slight twinge of guilt about that.

“So,” he said, still looking at the notes. “You hungry or not?”

She couldn’t believe it. It was like he’d already forgotten their tense moment, and was ready to move on. She felt the tension in her shoulders, and relaxed those muscles intentionally.

“Do you really think we can do this?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“I think so,” he said, simply. “It will be a lot of work, and I’ll have some conditions ... but I think so.”

“What conditions?” she asked, on guard again.

“Are we going to finish this tonight?” he asked. “Cause whether you’re hungry or not, I am, and I think better when I’m not hungry.”

“What conditions?!” she insisted.

“Well,” he said, looking at her face. “The first one is that you and I have to build the first set together.”

She blinked.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I’m not necessarily always going to be able to be here,” he said, quite reasonably. “And when I’m not, you’ll have to supervise, so I want to be sure you’ll be able to do that. Like you said, we don’t want any teenage fingers rolling across the stage.”

“I don’t have time for that,” she said.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to make those poor kids rehearse all day Saturday,” he said, smiling.

“Of course not,” she said.

“Then Saturday we turn you into a carpenter,” he said, as if that were settled.

“But...”

“Now, I’m going to go get something to eat. I really think it would be a good idea to get this done,” he said, picking up the notes. “That will be one thing that you don’t have to worry about again. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

She was torn. No matter what he said, if she went with him, he might perceive it as a “date” and, if he did that, he might expect more. Still ... it would be nice to know that something was well in hand in this maddening project.

“What other conditions?” she asked, stubbornly.

“We’ll discuss that over the best chicken fried steak this side of the Mississippi,” he said.

She tried to resist. She tried to be assertive. She tried to adopt an attitude that said they’d do things by her rules, instead of his. Nonetheless, she somehow ended up being put into her car, and being told, “Just follow me. It’s not far.”

And, somewhat to her dismay, she did follow his car. He parked in front of a little hole-in-the-wall called “The Wagonwheel.” She’d seen it before, but had never been in. It looked like a greasy spoon. She didn’t eat out much. Eating out meant going into places alone, and men hit on her when she did that, unless it was in one of the national chains, which were singularly absent in Granger.

He got out and waited for her. She realized she was sitting in the middle of the street, and pulled into a parking space several down from his. With a great deal of ambivalence, she got out. She’d brought only a light jacket, having planned on going straight home after play practice. As she shrugged into it, she looked down. Her nipples were showing in the cool air. She’d learned a long time ago that there wasn’t a bra made that would disguise them in conditions like this. And she absolutely refused to put extra padding in the cups. Nobody was supposed to be looking at her anyway! She had a right to be a woman without being harrassed for it. She pulled her jacket over her chest and walked toward the man waiting for her.

It didn’t smell like a greasy spoon. In fact, the minute she stepped in, frowning because Bobby Dalton held the door for her, like she was helpless, her stomach growled. It smelled delicious.

A rather large balding man in a stained white apron looked over and his face lit up. Erica was in the process of classifying him as just another man who couldn’t keep his eyes off her chest when he called out: “Bobby!”

She looked at her companion, who was grinning at the cook.

“Hey, Sal, how they hangin’?”

“I owe you, my friend,” said Sal. “In fact, whatever you want is on the house tonight.”

“Wow,” said Bobby. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Jill told me what you said,” said the man. He seemed to blush. “About us, I mean.”

“I take it that things are working out?” Bobby grinned.

That kitchen was either very hot, or he was blushing harder.

“I can’t thank you enough, Bobby,” he said. “I mean that. You could have had her, but you let me...” He seemed to see Erica for the first time, and, if possible, turned even darker. “Damn, Bobby. Just thanks ... okay?”

Bobby laughed. “She never wanted me, Sal,” he said. “And you have nothing to thank me for. You’re just irresistible, that’s all.”

Erica watched in disbelief as the fat, balding cook in the stained apron seemed to almost inflate with what looked astonishingly like pride. She was distracted by a teenage girl in a waitress uniform.

“Hey, Bobby!” she chirped. “It’s always good to see my best tipper.”

“Hi Charlotte,” said Bobby. “We need a quiet table, and two of Sal’s best chicken fried steaks.”

Erica’s head snapped toward him. Now he was ordering for her?!

“Wait just a minute!” she said.

Bobby glanced at her. “Trust me,” he said. “You aren’t one of those vegetarian people are you?”

“No, but...”

“Well then just trust me. I won’t steer you wrong.”

Erica leaned back and groaned. She’d eaten too much. She never ate like that! But it had been so delicious, and when she was full there was only a little bit left, and they were almost finished discussing the set notes, so she just kept taking little impossibly luscious bites until, somehow, her plate was bare.

Of course maybe that’s because they were interrupted, which gave her time for things to settle. That was another thing that had left her slightly stunned. A very good looking woman had come into the diner. She had honey blond hair, and the kind of figure Erica wished she had, instead of her own top-heavy appearance. That woman had gone behind the counter and kissed the cook. And it hadn’t been just any old “hello” kiss either. The woman had put her heart into that kiss, and the poor cook had turned almost maroon again.

Bobby had seen her staring.

“That’s Jill,” he said. “They’re engaged, but I don’t know if he got her a ring yet. I haven’t talked to either of them recently.”

“You talked to him when we came in here!” objected Erica.

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t want to ask him if he’d bought her a ring ... you know ... in case he hadn’t.”

“She is going to marry him?“ Erica was astonished.

“Oh yeah,” said Bobby, smiling. “They’re nuts for each other.”

“Is that the woman he was talking about? When we came in, I mean?”

“Yup,” said Bobby. He went back to his meal.

“He said you could have had her...” Erica stopped. This was gossip. She didn’t do that. And it was none of her business anyway.

“We went out a few times,” said Bobby, trying to make it sound like it had been a normal, ordinary relationship. “But I wasn’t the man for her. She told me she was interested in Sal. I knew Sal was sweet on her, and I told her to grab him.”

That also made Erica’s head swim. This woman was beautiful! Men didn’t go around telling beautiful women to “grab” another man! That was insane! And Bobby didn’t sound hurt at all! He actually sounded like he cared what that woman felt ... cared more about what was good for her than for him.

She was also a little puzzled, because if this odd man she was with had been interested in that woman, that meant he was a normal man. Any normal man would be interested in Jill. And, logically, that meant that when they’d met, he’d have assessed her qualities too. Men always did. And yet, he had not only shown no interest ... he had actually told her he wasn’t interested.

She didn’t like the way that made her feel. It confused her. She was used to pushing men away ... not watching them pull back voluntarily.

Then Jill had come over, beaming at them both, and sat for a short while, asking that they forgive her for interrupting. She had held out her left hand, waving it in front of Bobby’s face, to show him that Sal had, indeed, asked her to marry him. And Bobby’s reaction to that had been pure joy, by everything Erica could see.

“Thank you,” said Jill, even though Bobby hadn’t said a word.

“I’m happy for you,” said Bobby.

Erica heard the words, and the tone of voice. It was obvious that he was happy for her. The world just didn’t work that way!

It only got worse.

“I know,” said Jill. “That’s why I’ll always love you.” Then she blinked and blushed and looked at Erica. “I’m so sorry!” she gushed. “I shouldn’t have said that!” She looked at Bobby. “I’m always doing things like that, it seems,” she sighed.

“It’s no problem,” said Bobby. “I should have introduced Erica sooner. She’s the drama teacher at the high school. I’m helping out with one of the productions.”

Erica wanted to correct him. She was the social studies teacher - not the drama teacher. But she was so shocked by what she’d witnessed that she couldn’t make her mouth work.

“Really?!” said Jill, no longer embarrassed. “We usually do the publicity shots for the school shows. I’m Jill. I work at Brown Photography. I hope you have us work with you too. We love doing those shots. The kids are always so much fun.”