“So what do you think?” I asked as we started back to the Jeep, Ryder stopping to swing the cart into the corral on the way past.
“I think I just met a real live Sasquatch. Who likes to rhyme.”
“The rhyming thing is how English makes the most sense to him. But do you think he’s telling the truth?”
“I wouldn’t even know how to read his body language.”
I glanced over at Ryder. Even in the rain, even in the dark and wind, his smile was bright.
“You liked him, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“So you don’t think he stole the traffic light?”
“He didn’t look guilty to me. But you know him better. What do you think?”
We’d made it to the Jeep, and both got in as quickly as possible.
I started the engine to warm the vehicle but shivered anyway. Oregon storms hit to the bone even through layers of waterproofing and wool.
“I think I want dinner and a hot shower. And not necessarily in that order.”
“I like the sound of that. Are you off the clock for the night, or do you have reports to file?”
I did have reports to file. Being a police officer meant the paperwork never ended. But the dash clock said it was 5:30. With the windstorm building, and a power transfer happening bright and early tomorrow morning, my best chance for food, downtime, and maybe even sleep was opting out of my habitual overtime.
“I am so done for the night,” I said. “How about you? Any extra work waiting for you at the construction site?”
“Nope. That’s buttoned down. Next project starts up in three weeks.”
The reminder was there. Maybe he didn’t mean it to be, but he would be slammed with business soon. Then we would be working the festivals, working our jobs, and dealing with everything else that happened in a town like ours. The window of time for our vacation—any one we picked—was swiftly closing.
This weekend was pretty much it.
I didn’t bring it up again. Not while I was dripping wet and hungry.
“It appears we may have synchronized evenings off, Mr. Bailey,” I teased instead.
“It appears we do. Any suggestions for how to fill our time, Ms. Reed?”
“Dinner?” I asked hopefully. “Shower?”
Ryder fiddled with the vents and held his hands over the one nearest him. “Someone might have left chicken marinating and fresh homemade bread cooling.”
I groaned and my stomach rumbled at his words. “You are the best fiancé in the world.”
He leaned toward me and gave me a quick, firm kiss. “That goes without saying. Now drive. I’m starving.”
So I drove.
Chapter Seven
The storm was still raging,but Ryder had started the fire, and his dog, Spud, was over there snoring. The dragon pig was using the dog’s butt for a pillow.
“New placemats?” I asked, tapping one of the half-dozen laminated mats on the kitchen island. It was a beautiful brochure touting all the fun things to do in Sedona. Next to that was Chicago, the Olympic rainforest, and a spelunking map.
Ryder straightened as he removed the food from the oven. “I had a little time on my hands.”
