The Wyoming Kid

Last year Joy had been working the cotton candy machine. He’d hoped to have a conversation with her, but he hadn’t done it. For one thing, she’d been constantly busy, chatting with a crowd of people who all seemed to like her and have lots to say. For another, he’d felt uncharacteristically tongue-tied around her. He sure didn’t want a bunch of interested onlookers witnessing his stumbling, fumbling attempts at conversation.

When he’d finished talking to Charley and climbed into the cab of his pickup, Lonny noticed a flash of green outside the town’s biggest grocery store, situated across the street.

Lonny’s eyes locked on Joy Fuller’s green PT Cruiser. She pulled into the lot, parked and then headed into the store.

Groceries were on Lonny’s list of errands. Nothing much, just the basics. Unexpectedly, the same happy feeling he’d experienced while driving into town with the radio blasting came over him. A carefree, what-the-hell feeling…

Lonny parked and jumped out of his pickup. His steps were light as he entered the store and grabbed a cart. His first stop was the vegetable aisle. It was too soon to expect much produce from Letty’s garden. Last year, she’d seen to it that he got healthy portions of lettuce, green beans, fresh peas and zucchini. He was counting on her to do the same this summer. Until then, he had no choice but to buy a few vegetables himself.

Glancing around, he was disappointed not to see Joy. He tossed a bag of carrots in his cart, then threw in some lettuce and made his way to the meat department. She wasn’t there. So he wheeled his cart to the back of the store, to the dairy case. He’d heard that a lot of women ate yogurt. But Joy wasn’t in that section, either.

Then he heard her laugh.

Lonny smiled. The sound came from somewhere in the middle of the store. Turning his cart around, he trotted toward the frozen food. He should’ve known that was where he’d find her.

Here was proof that, unlike Letty, who cooked for her family, Joy didn’t take much time to prepare meals. Neither did he, come to think of it—breakfast was his one and only specialty—which was why dinner invitations from Letty were appreciated. Tom and Lonny mostly fended for themselves. A can of soup or chili, a sandwich or two, was about as fancy as either of them got.

Sure enough, the instant Lonny turned into the aisle, he saw Joy. Her back was to him, and the three Wilson kids were chatting with her, along with their mom, Della. Lonny had gone to school with Della Harrison; she’d married Bobby Wilson, a friend of his, and had three kids in quick succession. Lonny didn’t know whether to envy Bobby and Della or pity them.

He strolled up to the two women. “Hi, Della,” he said, trying to seem casual and nonchalant. He nodded politely in Joy’s direction and touched the brim of his Stetson.

The smile faded from Joy’s face. “Mr. Ellison,” she returned primly.

Lonny had trouble keeping his eyes off Joy. He had to admit she looked mighty fine in a pair of jeans. Both women gazed at him expectantly, and he didn’t have a clue what to say next. Judging by her expression, Joy would rather be just about anywhere else at that moment.

“Good to run into you, Lonny,” Della said pleasantly. “Bobby was saying the other day that we don’t see near enough of you.”

“Yeah, we’ll get together soon.” Lonny manufactured an anxious frown. “But I’ve been having problems with my truck. I had an accident recently and, well, it hasn’t run the same since.”

“Really?” Della asked.

“That’s right,” he said, wondering if he’d overdone the facade of wounded innocence.

“Miss Fuller is my teacher,” a sweet little girl announced proudly.

Della was looking suspiciously from him to Joy. Lonny decided that was his cue to move on, and he would have, except that he made the mistake of glancing into Joy’s grocery cart. It was just as he’d expected—frozen entrées. Only she’d picked the diet ones. She didn’t need to be on any diet. In fact, her figure was about as perfect as a woman’s could get. No wonder she’d snapped at him and been so irritable. The woman was starving herself.

“That’s what you intend to eat this week?” he asked, reaching for one of the entrées. He felt suddenly hopeful. If she was hungry, the way he suspected, then she might accept an invitation to dinner. They could talk everything out over enchiladas and maybe a Corona or two. Everything always seemed better on a full stomach.

“What’s wrong with that?” she demanded, yanking the frozen entrée out of his hand and tossing it back in her cart.

“You shouldn’t be on a diet,” he insisted. “If that’s what you’re having for dinner, it’s no wonder you’re so skinny—or so mad.”

“Lonny,” Della gasped.

Oh, boy, he’d done it again. That comment hadn’t come out quite as he’d intended. “I—you…I—” He tried to backtrack, but all he could manage was a bad imitation of a trout. As usual, his mouth had operated independently of his brain.

He turned to Della, but she glared at him with the same intensity as Joy. Instinct told him to hightail it out of the store before he made the situation worse than it already was.

“I didn’t mean that like it sounded,” he muttered. “You look fine for being underweight.” Again he glanced at Della for help, but none was forthcoming. “You’re a little on the thin side, that’s all. Not much, of course. In fact, you’re just about right.”

“It’s a male problem,” Della said, speaking to Joy. She scowled. “They don’t know when to keep their mouths shut.”

“Uh, it was nice seeing you both,” he said. He’d thought he was complimenting her, but to his utter astonishment, Joy’s eyes had filled with tears.

Lonny’s gut twisted. He couldn’t imagine what he’d said that was bad enough to make her cry. “Joy, I…”

Della looked at him with open contempt. He swallowed, not knowing how to fix this mess. He was aghast as Joy abruptly left the aisle, her grocery cart rattling.

“See what you’ve done?” Della hissed at him beneath her breath. “You idiot.”

“What’s wrong with Miss Fuller?” the little girl asked. “What did that man do?” She focused her blue eyes on him and had he been a lesser man, Lonny would’ve backed off. If looks could kill, his sister would be planning his burial service about now.

“I—I didn’t mean anything,” Lonny stammered, feeling as low as a man could get.

“You’re hopeless,” Della said, shaking her head.

The girl shook her head, too, eyes narrowed. The kid came by that evil look naturally, Lonny realized.

“I…I…”

“The least you can do is apologize.” Della’s fingers gripped the cart handle.

“I tried.” He motioned helplessly.

“You didn’t try hard enough.” With that Della sped away, her children in tow. The little girl marched to the end of the aisle, then turned back and stuck out her tongue at him.

A sick feeling attacked the pit of his stomach. He should’ve known better. He’d already decided not to pursue a relationship with Joy and then, next thing he knew, he was inviting her for dinner. A lot of good that had done him.

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