Flirting with Fireworks

“I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt.” The truth in his statement surprised him. When exactly had he moved over to her side? No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t taking sides. He was keeping the peace.

“What happens when you don’t win the baby pool? You’re going to be seen as a fool. Worse, people are going to be reminded of the Swindle and they’re going to take their anger out on you.”

“That’s not a problem. I’m going to win the baby pool.”

He thought of his wedding ring, found under the nightstand on the right of his bed just as she’d said. Maybe she could win the pool. “Winning may be worse for you than losing. Then it’ll be another fortune-teller taking their money again. You can’t win.”

A teenager with an unfortunate case of acne brought over Jason’s burger. The boy scooped up Jason’s five.

“Keep the change, Johnny.”

The boy grinned and snapped the five taut. “Thanks, Mayor.”

Cherry waited until the boy left them alone before claiming, “I know what I’m doing.”

“Are you sure? Have you ever dealt with a mob? It’s not pretty.”

Totally calm, she responded, “That won’t happen.”

“You don’t know that.” He bit into his burger.

She simply gazed at him from those fabulous, knowing eyes. He gritted his teeth in frustration. He didn’t have to be psychic to know he wasn’t getting through to her.

“Where’s your grandmother? She usually travels with you doesn’t she?”

Surprise followed by wariness flashed across her fine-boned features. “She does, yes.”

He waited, but she didn’t elaborate. “Will she be joining you soon?”

“No.”

Again, nothing followed. “You know for a woman who makes her living talking with people, you aren’t very forthcoming.”

She leaned forward, her forearms bracketing the cooling plate of fries, her eyes intent. “Do you want your fortune told, Jason?”

Did she think to intimidate him? He leaned toward her, his arms framing hers. “Is that the only way you allow someone to get close? By reading them?”

She held her position, though he saw it cost her. “I don’t get close to those I read. It gets in the way of my sight.”

“So who do you get close to?” Now why did he ask that? Hadn’t he just lectured himself on the need for objectivity around this stunning gypsy? “You don’t have to answer that.”

She shrugged one nearly bare shoulder, then casually retreated back into her seat. “My friends are the carnies we travel with.”

It couldn’t be more clear where her loyalties lay. “So it’s all an act when you’re making nice and getting buddy-buddy with the townspeople? Just a means to the end? It all comes down to the money, doesn’t it? And you wonder why I don’t want you in the fair?”

“I don’t wonder at all.” She grabbed her book and purse and scooted to the edge of the bench seat. “It’s obvious you’ve made up your mind about me. Well, I won’t apologize for my profession. Yes, I take money, for a service. And people get their money’s worth.” She rose to stand next to the table.

“I’m not going to go away, Jason. And if you refuse to let me in the fair, you’d better be prepared for the consequences.”

She turned on her heel, but he reached out and caught her sleeve stopping her. “What’s that mean?”

“It means there’s a shop for rent on Main Street.” Pulling free, she wove her way to the door and disappeared into the darkness outside.

Oh Lord, he was in trouble. Not because she’d threatened to open up a business in his town, but because, God, he did admire gutsy women.

Chapter Three

Cherry discreetly checked her watch. Still plenty of time. She had an appointment with the realtor in thirty minutes. She’d left her motel early to stop by the BeeHive for breakfast, then walk through the park.

She’d won the baby pool yesterday, and what good was there in stirring up the waters if you weren’t out swirling them in the direction you wanted them to go?

“Ladies, thank you so much for your support. Make sure to tell Mayor Strong how you feel, and I’ll save you an appointment at the fair.” She waved her goodbyes to Mrs. White and Mrs. Davis and strolled for the corner that gave access to Cypress Street.

The pretty day added to her joy in the morning. Blue skies, the scent of fresh-cut grass on the air, and a breeze playful enough to lift the hem of her navy-and-turquoise paisley skirt made her think of home.

An odd reaction, when the only home she’d ever known had four wheels and an awning. Maybe she was enjoying these days in Blossom City a little too much. The place, the people, they were getting to her when she knew better than to let herself care.

“Missy. Yeah, Missy, over here.” An age-roughened voice hailed Cherry from a few feet away.

She followed the sound and found two elderly men in overalls and plaid shirts seated on a bench at the edge of the park. Both men had gray hair, though one had more than the other. But then he had more of a paunch, too. Each claimed an end of the bench with a two-foot space separating them. On the sidewalk exactly half way between them sat a tobacco-stained coffee can.

As she neared them, she saw the biggest similarity was the twin sparks of deviltry deep in their eyes. These two had seen a bit of trouble in their day. And caused a little, too.

“You’re the carnival gal, yeah?” The taller of the two waved her closer. “The fortune-teller? We want our fortunes told. I’m Dutch, that there’s Buster.”

Hands on her hips, she assessed the two characters. If she gave them half a chance, they’d have her running in circles. “Sure. I predict, a new coffee can in your future.”

“Huh. No news there.” Buster revealed his skepticism. “Bea over to the BeeHive gives us a new can once a week.”

“Now hold on. No way she knew that. Seems to me we got the real deal here.” Dutch rubbed his hands together. “Go on, do your thing.”

Cherry hid her amusement. “Gentlemen, exactly what do you want to know?”

Both men looked to the left, then to the right.

“There’s a conspiracy to get us moved off our bench. Damn Moral Misfits,” Dutch whispered loudly. “We’ve been sitting on this here bench longer than some of them been around. They got no call to be buttin’ their noses in where we sit.”

“No call.” Buster agreed.

“What we want, Madam Peacock, is for you to look into your crystal ball and tell us how to get the damn Crappy Committee off our backs.”

“Well now. I don’t have my crystal ball with me, but let’s see what I can do.” Ceremoniously, Cherry circled the bench three times.

“Yeah now, gal, you’re making me dizzy. You got something to tell us or what?”

Nothing special happened by circling except to give her a chance to think, to feel. Unfortunately, the two men had built up too many shields through the years for her to read them. Which meant falling back on body language, and good sense.

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