Dakota Blues by Lynne Spreen

laughed. She thought she saw darkness behind his eyes when the laughter stopped, but it was probably her own need that made him look that way.
    Hunger. As in lust. What a lovely, unfamiliar feeling. Yes, she wore a ring, but now she wondered why she bothered.
    As she climbed a knoll toward the tee box, she bent down to stick the tee in the ground, aware of the fit of her clothing and the appeal of her long shapely legs. She knew that Curt was looking, and she liked it. She straightened up, took a practice swing and landed the ball right in the middle of the fairway, just as she had all day long.
    “Boring,” Patrick said, faking a yawn.
    Curt made some calculations on the scorecard and stuck it back on the wheel with an exaggerated sigh. “She’s beating us.”
    At the last green, Karen watched him line up his putt. In a few minutes they would finish the round, return to their cars and go their separate ways, a prospect that made her feel lonely and old, but she didn’t have the guts to ask for his phone number. Technically, she was married, and besides, she was supposed to be grieving, not stalking a man.
    His ball dropped into the cup. “Your turn,” he said, brushing past her.
    Karen shook herself out of a hormonal fog, picked up her marker and lined up her shot. When her putt went in, the round ended. As was the custom, the three of them shook hands, Curt’s grasp lingering as he pulled her forward and kissed her on the cheek. They returned the carts to the garage and walked slowly across the nearly-deserted parking lot.
    Karen knew she had to make a move, but she hadn’t asked a guy on a date since college. What was the protocol nowadays? What if he acted surprised, or worse, not interested?
    It wasn’t like she wanted to marry him. She wanted to–what? Talk to him? Have dinner? None of the above, she thought as she watched him lift his heavy golf bag into the truck.
    I want him naked.
    The thought made her smile, but then the logistics struck her. Only Steve and her doctor had seen her naked in the last thirty years.
    God, if it’s going to happen, it had better be dark.
    You can’t do this. You’re married.
    I’m separated. And anyway, that didn’t stop Steve.
    What if he says no?
    If I don’t ask, it’s like he already did.
    Curt straightened up, closed the door, and turned to her.
    “Some of my friends are coming by for a barbeque tomorrow night,” she lied. “Why don’t you join us?”
    Curt leaned against the bed of his truck, studying her a moment before answering. “Thanks, but I have another commitment.”
    “Okay, maybe another time.” She reached for the door of Pat’s car, sensing her future stretching out as empty as the North Dakota freeway, and cursed herself for taking a chance. Of course he would turn her down. He worked at a college surrounded by nubile young things, while she was a half a century old. Women her age didn’t date. They owned cats and went to the movies with girlfriends.
    “Hey.” She felt his hand on her arm and the deep rumble of his voice in her ear. He was right next to her, their bodies touching; she could feel his heat through her blouse. She turned, wanting to touch the dark stubble of his beard and suck up his lips with her own.
    He smiled down at her. “Did you happen to bring a dress?”

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    Chapter Twelve
    C urt’s hand warmed the small of her back as they joined the throng swarming up the granite steps of March Hall. As a student, Karen had dashed up these steps hundreds of times, rushing from one class to another, always with the thought that graduation would open the door to leaving. Now she was back on campus at the University of North Dakota.
    A line of vehicles advanced towards the grand portico where valets dashed from car to car. Doors flew open and divas-for-the-night emerged, taking the arms of their tuxedoed gentlemen. Last night at Lorraine’s, the girls had sipped wine and pawed through a collection of party dresses until they found