Her hands sliding slowly down her face, he could see her valiant effort not to burst out laughing. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Next time,” he bent to scoop the fallen bag, “aim for the board, ma’am. I’m not regulation.”
That cost her the laugh she’d desperately tried to withhold. Nearly doubled over with laughter, she finally straightened. “Touché.”
It took two long strides to reach her, and return the bag.
Her gaze darted from the bag, to him, to the finished boards across the way. “Are you a betting man?”
He shook his head. “Only on sure things, then it’s not gambling.”
“Agreed.” She nodded and turned on her heel, moved to where the dried boards rested, then spun about to face him. “How about a little friendly competition?”
“Friendly?” The word might mean easygoing and casual, but the glint in her eyes read killer instincts.
Smiling sweetly, too sweetly, she hefted one shoulder in a lazy shrug and then lifted the sack of beanbags out of the box. “Unless you’re… chicken?”
“Them’s fighting words.” He couldn’t believe he’d just said that to his boss. “I mean…”
“You’re on.”
“Excuse me?”
“One match.” He lifted the flag board and turned toward the doorway. What was he doing?
Outside, he set the boards up. Walked the distance between the board and where they should stand.
“You’ve played?” Her one brow arched high over her eye.
“Some.”
“Some. Hmm, not sure I like the sound of that.” Lining up, she turned to face him. “Want to flip for who goes first?”
He shook his head. “Ladies first.” Her entire stance shifted. Concentration ruled. Her one arm swung forward then back, testing, measuring, stalling, he had no idea which was on the mark.
Bobbing her head, it almost looked like she was communicating with the wooden slab. Her arm lifted, swung back and the bag flew in a perfect arch, landing on the rim of the hole. She tilted sideways, like Don Quixote with the windmills, willing the bag to tip into the hole. When it rested in place, she heaved a sigh and took a step back. “Your turn.”
For a short minute, he considered taking it easy on his boss, but that idea disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. Taking a fraction of the time she had, he closed one eye, focused on the board, and then tossed the beanbag with a gentle shove. As Ms. Alice’s bag had done, his flew in a perfect arch before sinking in the hole. If it had been a basketball, he would have heard the swoosh. Spinning around, expecting to find his employer annoyed at the ease with which he’d played his turn, he was surprised to see her leaning against the barn, arms and ankles crossed, with sparkling eyes and wide smile.
“You’re a ringer. Do my sisters know how good you are? Does anyone?”
All he could do was shake his head. Though he went into town when necessary, a man with his history found that keeping a low profile was best for everyone. “No, ma’am.”
She pushed away from the exterior wall and marched with determination to the sack of bags. He’d seen that look before. Alice Sweet was a walking poster child for ‘where there’s a will there’s a way.’ Squinting at the board, she dipped her chin, grabbed a bag, and aiming carefully, tossed it across. Again, close but no cigar. “I think what I need is motivation.”
Not sure what to say, again, he merely nodded.
Fisting her hands on her hips, she glanced around, pressed her lips tightly together and scanned her surroundings once again. This time her gaze fell toward the back of the house and a sly smile bloomed. “If I win, you have to help clean out that vegetable garden that hasn’t been touched since… well, for a couple of years now.”
“And if I win?”
She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “I’ll put in those new fence posts we’re needing on that back pasture.”
There was no way he was going to let this woman deal with the auger to drill holes for fence posts. That wasn’t the best of jobs for one man, never mind one woman. No matter how strong and competent. “I don’t…”
He didn’t get more than those two words before she held her hand up to him, palm out. “Those are my terms.”
His mother would tan his hide if he said yes. On the other hand, he wouldn’t put it past Mrs. Sweet to do the same if he said no, or for that matter, if he threw the match. Dang, life really could throw the strangest challenges at a man. “All right.” He moved forward and tossed his bags with a little less focus. Even so, three of the four were a hole in one.
