Her Last Best Fling

Lights flashed across her bedroom window. “Oh, man, he’s here early. Darn those marines and their punctuality.”

Macy stared down at the melee of clothing on her bed and picked up the frilly black blouse on top.

“Put down the black, and choose the red. Men love red.”

“That was scary. Fine. Red it is. I love you and I wish you’d come see me. It’s a nice town but—I still feel very outsiderish.”

“Oh, girl, don’t you worry. They’ll love you as much as I do. Just give them some time and the chance to get to know you. Charm the pants off that marine. That will be a great start.”

The doorbell rang and Harley barked twice.

The big dog had settled in just fine. Macy had even bought the dog her own couch for the family room. The fence had been finished that afternoon, and they’d reinforced the gate with two different kinds of locks.

She turned off the phone.

Harley sat patiently at the door waiting for their guest.

Shoving her curls out of her face, Macy took a deep breath and turned the knob.

Oh, shoot, the man is beautiful.

Dressed in dark jeans, cowboy boots and a dark blue button-down under a leather jacket, he was way beyond scorching.

Her normally agile mind couldn’t think of the word, but she knew there was one.

This is work. This is work. This is work.

He cocked his head and stared down at Harley.

“Did she run away again?”

“What?” Macy forced her hand to stay still even though she wanted to wave it in front of her own face, which was suddenly too warm even though the temperature outside was in the low fifties.

“Harley? You know the dog?”

He smiled at her as if he were humoring her.

“Uh, sorry. I’d been on the phone and I’m a little—uh—” Hot for you. No, that wasn’t right. “Out of sorts. Please come in. And Harley lives with me now. She would have been in here days ago, but the rain kept the ground too wet for them to finish putting the fence in.”

He handed her a colorful bouquet of chrysanthemums in a vase. “These are a present for your new home.” In his other hand he held a large paper bag. “I didn’t know what you were cooking so I brought a couple bottles of wine, some dark beer and, er...green tea.”

She took the flowers and led him to the kitchen. “Thank you, these are beautiful, but you didn’t have to bring anything.”

He shrugged and sat the bag down on her quartz countertop. “It’s the south, if you don’t bring a housewarming gift on the first occasion you visit, or to any party you’re invited to, they’ll talk about you for years.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” she said. Not that she’d been invited to anything, but maybe some day.

“I probably should have mentioned my kitchen skills are somewhat limited. But I make a mean beef stew. I put it on earlier today, so it should be ready in a few minutes. And I have bread and salad.”

“Sounds good to me. In general, I like food, so it doesn’t matter too much what it is. After C-Rats, I can, and have, digested everything from guinea pig in Machu Picchu to some weird toad in Africa. I’m not sure that last one didn’t lead to a night of hallucinations.”

She laughed. “I’m pretty adventurous when it comes to food, but I’ve never eaten either of those.”

“You get to a point where just about everything really does taste like chicken.” He smiled and her heart did a double thump.

Oh, heck, I’m in trouble.

She forced a smile.

“Now I feel like maybe I should have tried for something more exotic.” She examined the wine bottles he’d brought. He’d surprised her with his choices. She didn’t know much about wine, but neither bottle was cheap. “Do you have a preference?”

“Whatever you want is fine with me. I’ll be drinking the tea.”

At her quizzical look, he explained. “The docs are weaning me off the painkillers for my leg. It’s best if I don’t drink as it can create an allergic reaction. Although, me and my buddies at the hospital suspected they only told us that so we don’t find out how the painkillers are with alcohol. They deal with a lot of addicted vets there.”

“We can’t have that. Tea it is. The last thing I need is alcohol. It tends to loosen my tongue, and I’m not the one who needs to do the talking tonight.”

She caught the tightening of his lips before he turned away. “I don’t mind,” he said. “If you want a glass of wine. It won’t bother me.”

“No,” she said lightly. “I’ve grown fond of tea since moving here. Cracks me up that they drink it iced even in the dead of winter.”

“Staple of the South,” he said, pulling a large plastic pitcher with a lid out of the bag. “Usually it’s black tea. I have this friend from China who told me that green tea has healing properties. It also clears away some of the fogginess from the drugs.”

“I’ve heard that, too.” She’d forgotten about his injuries. Except for a small limp, he didn’t seem to be in much pain. But she’d met plenty of marines and she knew how tough they were. If he had to take drugs, the injuries were severe. The journalist in her wanted to know specifics, but it would wait.

“Before we eat, would you like to see the house? Actually, most of it is my uncle Todd’s taste. But I have a few touches here and there.”

“I like the stonework on the outside mixed with the pale brick. It blends into the rocky hills behind the house.”

“Yes, that was one of his ideas—for it to blend into the landscape. Though, I think it’s kind of fun that he added a Gothic touch with some of the windows and the roof alignment.

“Did you know my uncle? I mean, you’ve been gone awhile, but before?”

“I didn’t know him. I probably heard his name around town, but I wasn’t much interested in the newspaper when I was a kid. And some might say I was a little self-absorbed back then. I like to say, I was a teenager.”

They laughed.

She took him through the family area where Harley plopped down on her sofa. The television was on Animal Planet, which seemed to be the dog’s favorite along with anything on PBS.

He smiled. “She’s made herself at home there.”

“Oh, that couch is hers. I even had them put extra down in it and then had that wrapped in plastic and an outdoor fabric. Great Danes have joint and bone aches most of their lives. I wanted Harley to have a soft place to rest. Just a minute, I need to change the channel for her.”

Picking up the remote, she set it on one of the PBS Nova specials. Harley grunted her agreement.

She’d learned about the dog’s television preferences earlier in the day when she’d sat with her at her former home. If Macy tried to watch a channel Harley didn’t like, the dog would voice her displeasure.

Not that she was spoiled or anything.