the bright light, squinted
up at him. The look on his face opened my eyes the rest of the way. Last night's news couldn't have traveled this fast. Could
it?
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning visit?" I asked. Somehow I didn't think it was to catch a peek at what
I looked like in the mornings when I first crawled out of bed. Frankly, most mornings it's hard to tell where the unmade bed
ends and I begin. "Was there a report of a confused crane or a pelican gone postal in the area? A raccoon requiring relocation?
Or are you out in our neck of the woods recruiting more stags for Brian's bachelor buck party?" I asked.
"I saw your uncle Frank at Hazel's this morning," he stated, folding his arms across his chest.
Nice.
I frowned. "How did you get in here again?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest for entirely different reasons. It was
chilly in the double-wide and Townsend's nearness always wreaks havoc with my nerve endings. The last thing I wanted right
now was perky, puckered nipples. I'm guessing that may be one of the few times you'll ever hear me say that.
"Your grandmother was on her way to your folks' house," he explained. "She let me in."
"Was she clothed?" I asked him. My gammy likes to sleep "as God intended"--well, except for heavy, wool socks, that is. I'm
thinking if God intended my gammy to sleep nekked, He needs a long vacation.
Townsend gave me a queer look. Queer as in strange or weird, you understand. Ranger Rick Townsend is definitely a manly man.
"Of course she was clothed. I get the feeling you're trying to distract me from the point of my visit," he said. "And it's
not going to work."
I walked past him and into the kitchen, pulling my T-shirt down over my butt to cover my panties as I walked away. "And what
was the point of your visit again?" I asked as I took a cup and poured myself a generous amount of coffee. I raised the cup
in Townsend's direction. "Coffee?"
He shook his head. "Damn it, Tressa," he said, covering the distance from the door to where I stood by the kitchen sink in
record time. He took the cup from me and set it down and grabbed my elbows. "What in God's name is wrong with you? Why in
the hell do you keep putting yourself at risk? Do you have a death wish or something?"
I stared at him. Ranger Rick had gotten upset with me in the past, primarily because I'd put his grandfather, Joltin' Joe
Townsend, in jeopardy. Quite by accident, I remind you. But I'd never seem him quite as upset as he was at this moment, his
tanned face flushed red and his neck a mass of bulging veins that looked about ready to pop. His outburst unnerved me. Confused
me.
"Answer me!" he said, and I felt his fingers dig into my arms.
"What was the question again?" I asked, finding myself oddly reluctant to find out exactly what was really behind his anger.
Townsend gave my arms one more squeeze, then let go and ran a hand through his hair.
"I don't know if I'm the man for the job here, Tressa," he said, and I blinked. I hadn't known I was hiring.
"What do you mean?" I asked. "What job?"
"Protecting you from yourself," he said.
He got my attention with that remark.
"That's a little over the top, don't you think?" I asked. "What's to say I need protection at all?"
"The mirrorless, dented side of Frank's Suburban, for one thing," he pointed out. "Your skinned knees for another."
I looked down at my scratched, scabbed-over knees.
"I can explain--" I began my mantra again.
Townsend waved a hand in my face. "Spare me. I've heard all about the Carson College crime wave, your journalism project,
your tanking grade, the tailing of a registered sex offender. It's always something with you, Tressa. A body in a trunk. A
psycho clown. A reclusive writer. A campus criminal. I feel powerless to protect you."
He made it sound as if I'd gone out and campaigned to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"I wasn't aware your duties with the Department of
up at him. The look on his face opened my eyes the rest of the way. Last night's news couldn't have traveled this fast. Could
it?
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning visit?" I asked. Somehow I didn't think it was to catch a peek at what
I looked like in the mornings when I first crawled out of bed. Frankly, most mornings it's hard to tell where the unmade bed
ends and I begin. "Was there a report of a confused crane or a pelican gone postal in the area? A raccoon requiring relocation?
Or are you out in our neck of the woods recruiting more stags for Brian's bachelor buck party?" I asked.
"I saw your uncle Frank at Hazel's this morning," he stated, folding his arms across his chest.
Nice.
I frowned. "How did you get in here again?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest for entirely different reasons. It was
chilly in the double-wide and Townsend's nearness always wreaks havoc with my nerve endings. The last thing I wanted right
now was perky, puckered nipples. I'm guessing that may be one of the few times you'll ever hear me say that.
"Your grandmother was on her way to your folks' house," he explained. "She let me in."
"Was she clothed?" I asked him. My gammy likes to sleep "as God intended"--well, except for heavy, wool socks, that is. I'm
thinking if God intended my gammy to sleep nekked, He needs a long vacation.
Townsend gave me a queer look. Queer as in strange or weird, you understand. Ranger Rick Townsend is definitely a manly man.
"Of course she was clothed. I get the feeling you're trying to distract me from the point of my visit," he said. "And it's
not going to work."
I walked past him and into the kitchen, pulling my T-shirt down over my butt to cover my panties as I walked away. "And what
was the point of your visit again?" I asked as I took a cup and poured myself a generous amount of coffee. I raised the cup
in Townsend's direction. "Coffee?"
He shook his head. "Damn it, Tressa," he said, covering the distance from the door to where I stood by the kitchen sink in
record time. He took the cup from me and set it down and grabbed my elbows. "What in God's name is wrong with you? Why in
the hell do you keep putting yourself at risk? Do you have a death wish or something?"
I stared at him. Ranger Rick had gotten upset with me in the past, primarily because I'd put his grandfather, Joltin' Joe
Townsend, in jeopardy. Quite by accident, I remind you. But I'd never seem him quite as upset as he was at this moment, his
tanned face flushed red and his neck a mass of bulging veins that looked about ready to pop. His outburst unnerved me. Confused
me.
"Answer me!" he said, and I felt his fingers dig into my arms.
"What was the question again?" I asked, finding myself oddly reluctant to find out exactly what was really behind his anger.
Townsend gave my arms one more squeeze, then let go and ran a hand through his hair.
"I don't know if I'm the man for the job here, Tressa," he said, and I blinked. I hadn't known I was hiring.
"What do you mean?" I asked. "What job?"
"Protecting you from yourself," he said.
He got my attention with that remark.
"That's a little over the top, don't you think?" I asked. "What's to say I need protection at all?"
"The mirrorless, dented side of Frank's Suburban, for one thing," he pointed out. "Your skinned knees for another."
I looked down at my scratched, scabbed-over knees.
"I can explain--" I began my mantra again.
Townsend waved a hand in my face. "Spare me. I've heard all about the Carson College crime wave, your journalism project,
your tanking grade, the tailing of a registered sex offender. It's always something with you, Tressa. A body in a trunk. A
psycho clown. A reclusive writer. A campus criminal. I feel powerless to protect you."
He made it sound as if I'd gone out and campaigned to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"I wasn't aware your duties with the Department of
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