I slip my sunglasses to the top of my head and zero in on Pane. He’s positioned in the middle of the lumberyard wearing head-to-toe neon-orange safety gear, which includes leg chaps, a vest, a visor and helmet, and protective earmuffs that are pushed up above his ears, so they are literally offering no noise protection at the moment.
He’s got all this on, plus his tight popover shirt andpolished dress shoes.
Oh no. This looks so bad, like a-pretty-boy-city-slicker-attempting-to-mount-a-bull-at-a-rodeo bad.
In this moment, I sort of,almostforgive Pane for being such a jerk about the kiss—a kiss that he was into, by the way.
“What’s this all about?” I ask, trying to bite back the fear that has a stranglehold on my throat and is threatening to squeeze all the air from my lungs.
Ron nods. “Apparently, Coleman told that man— What’s his name?”
“Pane Maddox,” Clarice and I say at the same time.
I shoot her a dark look. “No one’s supposed to know he’s here, Clarice.”
She splays her arms and scans the audience. “Half the town’s here. There’s no keeping this secret any longer. He’s good-looking. Rich,too.” All four foot ten inches of Clarice Sinclair squints up at me. “You jumped him yet?”
About a dozen heads turn in our direction. I grit my teeth and grind out, “No, Clarice. For your information, there will be no jumping.”
“You’re missing out on a fine piece of ass.”
“He does have a good ass,” Ron concurs. “Not that I would jump it. I’m just saying—as one man admiring another’s physique, it’s nice.”
“Good grief, Ron. I know you’re married. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
On my other side, Clarice elbows me. “Scoot over, Rowe. I cain’t see.” I do as she says, and then she scans the street behind us. “And where is Cristina with my mocha?”
“Your mocha?”
“Yeah, I gotta have snacks for the show.”
I roll my eyes. “The show,” as she calls it, is gearing up. Pane makes his way over to a row of cedar logs. The branches have been sawed off, leaving only the long, straight trunks with their bull’s-eye-red centers.
My throat shrivels to the size of a pea. Does Pane know how to use a chain saw? What if he cuts his leg off?
“Be right back.”
I squeeze through the fence and speed walk toward him. Pane spots me and lowers the saw.
“Hey,” I say brightly.
A quick glance at the crowd confirms they are watching this exchange with rapt attention. All they need is popcorn and 3D glasses to complete the experience.
Pane shoots me a bored look. “Yes?”
I grin, trying to look like this is no big deal, that I’m not freaked out about this entire, potentially lethal situation.
“What are you doing?” I say, still grinning so that the crowd doesn’t suspect the peril.
He points to the logs. “About to use a chain saw.”
Still grinning. “Do you knowhowto use one?”
He pats the air and replies with the arrogance I’d expect, “I’ll be fine, Sunbeam. I’ve worked one of these before.”
My smile dims. “Do you maybe want some pointers?”
“From whom?”
