Missionary Daddy by Linda Goodnight

hummed a little tune and behaved in such a suspicious manner, he asked, “What are you up to?”
    By now they were at the dunk tank. She stuck her hands in her back pockets and rocked back on her heels, laughing.
    “I’m the one paying to see you dunked.”

     
    Sam watched Eric climb into the dunk tank and take his place on the swing. She’d been a little nervous when she, Gina and Jeremy had cooked up the scheme, but Eric hadn’t disappointed them. Good sport that he was, he challenged them all to come and get him.
    Sam took a turn first, aiming the ball at a metal paddle that would release the swing and send Eric plunging into a pool of cold water. The first throw missed by a mile.
    “Come on, Sam. You throw like a girl,” Eric taunted.
    “Get him, Sam,” someone behind her called. A glance back told her they were drawing a crowd. Good. More money for kids.
    She wound up and tried again, coming woefully short. The catcalls from Eric increased. “I knew you couldn’t do it. Sissy girl.”
    “I still have one more throw.” With fierce determination, she blocked out his voice and aimed at the lever.
    “You can’t hit me. You can’t hit me,” Eric taunted just as she released the ball.
    Clang! The lever released. Startled, Eric threw his hands into the air and plunged into the pool.
    He came up sputtering. Sam didn’t know who laughed more, her or Eric. Making all kinds of nonsensical threats, he climbed back onto the seat, ready to go again.
    Sam accepted the back slaps and congratulations of the teenagers and a growing group of onlookers. She stepped aside to let the next person have a turn while she took over the ticket sales.
    After about an hour, the line thinned out. “Dunking me is getting boring,” Eric said as he stepped out of the tank and reached for a towel. “We need a new victim to recharge the crowd.” He shot Sam a knowing look.
    “Uh-uh,” she said. “Not me.”
    He grabbed her arm, holding on while he shook his head like a shaggy dog and sprinkled her with water. “Why not? Afraid you’ll melt?”
    Sam squealed. The cold water was startling in this August heat.
    “Come on, Sam,” Jeremy urged. “Think of those little kids in Africa. If anyone can draw a crowd, it’s you.” He jerked a pair of eyebrows at her. “What’s the matter? You chicken?”
    “Me? Chicken? Not on your life, buddy boy.” She poked at him with one finger, then slipped off her sandals, handed her bracelets to Gina and headed toward the enclosure.
    Eric, drying his hair with a towel, looked up, eyes wide with surprise. “Are you serious?”
    “As a heart attack.” And then before she could change her mind, she hopped onto the seat and thought about the kids in Africa.

     
    Later that evening, when the picnic ended and the cleanup crew swarmed the grounds, Eric’s body ached but his spirit was full. The long, exhausting day had been even more successful than he’d imagined. He glanced at his cochair. Somehow, Sam still looked beautiful, though she had to be as weary as anyone. When he’d helped her out of the dunk tank and draped a towel around her shoulders, he’d been close enough to see the fatigue behind the laughter.
    He still couldn’t believe she’d done it. Not only had she worked in the tank longer than anyone, she’d figured a way to wrangle more money out of the customers. He had to admit he was impressed. The beautiful model who was paid to look good hadn’t been a bit fazed as she took plunge after plunge into the cold pool and came up drenched.
    “Today was fun.” He clinked the lid closed on the stuffed cash box in preparation for turning the proceeds in to Andrew’s staff inside the house. “Exhausting but fun.”
    “It was, wasn’t it?” Her hair had dried by now and hung straight and flat against her head. She fluffed it with her fingertips. “I must look hideous.”
    “You look gorgeous,” he said easily.
    Cash box swinging between them, they fell in step toward the