"You don't need to do that." She picked up her purse as she slid out of the booth. It nearly slipped through her fingers and she gripped it tighter. "It's only across the highway. I'll be perfectly safe."

  His hand on her back burned through the light cotton of her blouse. "I know that. I'll walk you back because I want to be with you, Madeline, not because I'm worried about your safety."

  "'Afternoon, Linnie," Lester said as she sped past his seat behind the cash register. "Erik."

  "Lester," Erik acknowledged, but he didn't hesitate. "Madeline, will you slow down!"

  She walked even faster once she was on the sidewalk. Only a pickup coming down the road kept her from dashing across the street to the courthouse.

  By the time she was at the corner, she was nearly trotting, but she had to wait for a log truck to pass and Erik caught up with her.

  "What the hell?" He grabbed her wrist as she started to cross. "Are you running away from me?"

  "I'm trying to," she said, pulling as hard as she could, but his grip was unbreakable.

  He didn't resist as she pulled him across the street, but he didn't release her either. By the time they reached the courthouse steps, she felt like she was dragging a dead weight, because he was making no effort to catch up with her.

  "Way to go, Linnie," came a call from the open door of the cigar store. Two old men, regular occupants of the courthouse benches, watched with bright, interested eyes.

  She realized she appeared to be dragging Erik behind her, against his will. Jerking her arm once more, she finally was able to repossess her hand. "You...you stinker!" she muttered, seeing his smile and reading his amusement at the situation. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

  "Did what on purpose? Me?" His smile would have done one of Botticelli's cherubs justice.

  She glared at him. "Made a fool of me." Furious, but more at herself for falling into his trap than at him, she ran up the fifteen steps to the courthouse door.

  Safely in her office, she sank into her chair and breathed deeply. She was all but breathless, her legs were weak, and her heart was pounding.

  Darn that Amelia, anyway. If she hadn't intended to do her share of the chair's duties, why'd she volunteer, anyhow? Candy Lindholm had been willing, but Amelia had talked her out of taking on the responsibility for the second year in a row.

  Candy might have a mouth on her, but she always did what she said she'd do. And she was kind of fun, besides.

  How could Amelia have let the bills slide like that? She'd better just check them over, to see if there were any really late ones.

  Oh, no! In her panicked attempt to escape from Erik, she must have left them on the table in the cafe. With a sigh, more of frustration than of disgust, she reached for the phone. Surely one thing, just one little thing, could go right today.

  A few minutes later, she said, "You're sure he took it, Lester? It didn't fall onto the floor, or something?" Not even one thing.

  "Nope. I saw him carry it out myself, Linnie." His voice rumbled in her ear. "'Melia told me he's going to be your assistant, so why don't you just not worry about them bills until Tuesday?"

  Had he heard everything they'd said? She wouldn't be surprised. When she was small, it was gospel truth that Lester Wood heard anything anyone said, anywhere in Sunset County. And he did it all from behind the cash register in the hallway between the Wooden Nickel and the Bon Ton Cafe, where he sat for eighteen hours a day, except when he and Amelia snuck off on one of their supposedly secret assignations.

  "I think I will. Thanks, Lester." She hung up. If Erik was determined to be her assistant, let him worry about those bills.

  Or not. She was going to finish her Friday afternoon tasks and take off for the weekend. Between five o'clock today and Monday at eight, she wasn't going to give a single thought to the Fourth of July Social, the problems she was having with the consultants for the Styx Valley Mining Company, or those special reports Charlie Bittenbusch insisted he needed "to help make an informed decision on Wounded Bear Meadow."

  As if there was anything to decide. The National Wetlands Trust would either find the funds to purchase it or they would not. Either way, Charlie would have little to do with the final outcome.

  * * * *

  The old gate protested as Madeline squeezed through its meager opening Tuesday evening. She usually walked around the block instead of using the alley, but as late as she was running tonight, any shortcut was worthwhile. Thank heavens Erik had called to tell her he couldn't make their after-work meeting. She'd gotten a call from Boise at four and had to work overtime to put together the information the state highway people wanted first thing in the morning.

  The club really ought to get a work party together and clean up this back garden. It would be years, if ever, before the library needed to expand again and they couldn't just let it go to weeds in the meantime. When the Wednesday Club voted to establish a County Library in the building they'd owned since the early 1900s, they hadn't included a budget for groundskeeping, nor had subsequent Boards of Directors. As a result, the small lawn in the front of the building was usually at the mercy of not-too-enthusiastic volunteers and the back yard was entirely ignored. Perhaps she ought to make that part of her platform, if she decided to run for president next year.

  She slipped through the kitchen door, hearing a cacophony of women's voices from the assembly room. Good. The meeting hadn't started yet. It wouldn't do for the co-chair to be late. As soon as she stepped into sight, she was the center of a noisy crowd.

  "Linnie, have you got that list of donations to the auction? I can't seem to find my copy."

  "I need another five volunteers to work the ice cream booth, Linnie."

  "Amelia called me. She'll be a little late."

  "Wally says we're going to have to pay wages for extra security this year, Madeline. He's not going to ask his men to volunteer their time like they always have."

  "Did we store the leftover carnival prizes at your place last year, Linnie?"

  She could answer that. "No, Sandy, they're in Emaline's basement. I'll have her drop them off here tomorrow." She shouldered her way through the mass of demanding workers, waving her hands and smiling. Finally she was at the podium--where Amelia ought to be.

  "Okay, people, let's get started. I'll try to deal with your problems later, after we've gone through current business, okay?"

  Heads nodded, but there were a few frowns, as well. Most of the milling crowd gradually sank into seats. Those still standing--mostly men--slowly drifted toward the back of the room where they leaned as if it were their duty to hold the walls up.

  Most of the committee chairs had things well in hand. Those who didn't offered no surprises. She'd worked with them all before.

  "Charlie, I heard your people working as I left to come over here. How are the booths coming along?" She didn't like Charlie Bittenbusch, but she had to give him credit for doing everything he could to make the Social a success. He saw it as one way to bring in tourist dollars, something he was almost rabid about.

  "Just fine, Linnie. Me and Erik, we'll have 'em all built well before Friday."

  An older woman waved to catch her attention and Madeline groaned mentally. There were always a few who always had to complain about something and she was the worst. "You need to speak to the delivery people. When the driver unloaded the cartons, he refused--absolutely refused, and in such a nasty way--to carry them down into my basement. And you all know how careful I have to be about my back. I called that nice Erik and he came over and took it all downstairs for me."

  Madeline didn't know why she couldn't have had Erik bring the paper products here, to the club rooms, but he could always do it later. If she gave him enough little tasks like that, perhaps he'd stay out of her hair. "Great. Okay, Candy, I know you're on top of everything for the parade. Can you deal with Wally about security patrols? He's being difficult again."

  "You bet your butt, honey. I'll twist his arm a little, and if that don't do it, I'll sic Erik on him."

  Madeline felt her mouth drop open for a moment. Erik seemed to be everyone's answer to problems this year. He'd been officially her assistant only a few days, but it sounded like he'd been doing his job.

  She felt like she should resent his interference, but she couldn't. She needed all the help she could get.

  Madeline had finished with the committee reports and was starting to deal with specific problems before Amelia arrived.

  Amelia and Erik. They came through the back door, both laughing fit to be tied. All semblance of order ended as everyone turned to share the joke.

  "We've got the most wonderful news, everyone!" Amelia announced. She was hanging on Erik's arm like a smitten adolescent. A twinge of irritation tightened Madeline's fingers on the edge of the podium. Why couldn't Amelia act her age? "Tell 'em Erik!"

  "It's your surprise, Amelia," Erik said. His voice still had the capacity to send tingles down Madeline's spine.

  Her hands clasped under her chin and her small body practically quivering in excitement, Amelia took a deep breath. "Well!" she said, "you'll never guess!" A cascade of giggles broke free as she beamed at Erik. "We're going to have a celebrity at our little Social."

  A chorus of "Who? Who? Who?" made it sound like a herd of owls was loose in the hall.

  "Erik was telling me," again the roguish glance at her companion, "about this fellow he went to school with who sometimes sings with the Grand Ol' Opry. He called him and he said he thought it was a great idea and he offered to pay his airfare but he said no, he'd do it for nothing as long as the profits went to saving the Meadow, and he'll be here Friday, sometime. Isn't that wonderful!" She looked around, waiting for applause.

  "Amelia," Erik said into the expectant silence, "maybe you'd better tell them his name." His grin was almost as wide as Amelia's.

  "Oh. Of course. Trace Pickett. That's who. He's coming here! With his band!" Amelia clapped her hands together like a happy child, but the sound was lost in the sudden outburst of exclamations.

  Even Madeline, who paid as little attention as possible to Country Western music, knew who Trace Pickett was. His renditions of folk and traditional cowboy songs were haunting and memorable; his spectacular good looks made him popular with girls who otherwise would have been swooning over MTV stars.

  Oh my. Getting Trace Pickett as the star attraction of their little Social was going to complicate everything immensely. Madeline remembered the year Jesse's brother, who'd built himself a fair reputation as a saloon guitarist, had come home for the Social. Attendance had nearly tripled.

  She'd better speak to the food committee about ordering more paper products. And to the butcher about more meat for the barbecue. What if they ran out of ice cream...?

  Madeline sank into the chair beside the podium, her mind working a mile a minute. With a little over a week until the Social, she wasn't sure she had time to do all the additional tasks she would have to do. The appearance of a famous singer would turn their small town Social into a major event, and the Wednesday Club wasn't really equipped to handle anything like that.

  She almost wondered if Erik had done this to plague her.

  Erik wanted to go to her and smooth the worry lines from her forehead. She'd looked harried this morning when he'd passed her office, but nothing like she looked now. According to her intern, the Styx Valley Mining consultants had been making nuisances of themselves, wanting old records pulled from dead storage, asking questions no one had answers to, and apparently unable to understand that the County's work couldn't come to a complete halt just so their demands could be satisfied.

  Eddie had nothing good to say about consultants. Erik wondered if he'd ever made that kind of impression on local officials. He hoped not.

  "Yessir, this oughta put Sunset County on the map," Charlie Bittenbusch said, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. "We need to get it in the paper first thing tomorrow. I'll call the Statesman, maybe the Salt Lake paper. Spokane, Portland...."

  Erik tuned him out, although he knew he should remind Charlie that Amelia was handling publicity. Maybe it would keep Charlie out of Madeline's hair.

  "Can I help?" He leaned over the table Madeline had her papers spread out upon.

  Her sigh was heartfelt. "Can you ever! Have you any idea of what you've done?" She laid the pen beside the stack of file folders. "Erik, we rarely get more than five hundred people from outside Sunset County at the Social. Do you have any idea what a draw Trace Pickett's going to be?"

  "I hadn't thought about that aspect," he admitted. "How many do you usually plan for?"

  "Two thousand, tops." She leaned back and closed her eyes. "We'll probably get twice that many people to see Pickett's show. I've got to make sure we can handle them."

  "We'll handle them. I'll help." He began stacking all the spread-out papers together. "But not now. It's too noisy in here and everyone's too excited."

  As if to confirm his words, Candy and several of her buddies broke free of the crowd around Amelia. "Linnie, we're going to have to get Wally involved in this. We're gonna have one hell of a parking problem. I figure we'll get five, six thousand people here for the show."

  "And we don't have anywhere near enough plates and cups to feed that many. What'll we do?" Sandy wailed.

  "I figure we can charge fifteen bucks a ticket," Charlie said, from behind Erik. "Besides the carnival profits and the food." His lips moved as he toted up profits.

  It was time to calm things down. He whistled, a loud, shrill sound that cut through the voices. "Madeline and Amelia will want to meet with all of you again tomorrow night, after they've had a chance to assess the impacts of having Trace as a star attraction. Can you all be there?"

  "Well, I guess I can drive back in," one woman said, sounding reluctant. Erik didn't blame her, since she lived nearly thirty graveled and twisting miles from town.

  "I'll need a baby-sitter," another said.

  "Bring 'em over. My girl can keep 'em," someone else responded.

  "You all come to the Conestoga House for supper," Charlie said.

  "On me," he added, into the dead silence that followed his words. "Well, it's the least I can do, if we're gonna have everything ready by next week," he said, sounding apologetic.

  Erik gathered, from the sotto voce comments as the crowd was departing, that Charlie's invitation was a first for Garnet Falls.

  "...wouldn't buy his own mother's supper if he didn't think he'd get something back," was the kindest comment.

  Erik and Amelia went home with Madeline. She hadn't invited them, but they came anyhow. Before she knew it, Erik was in the kitchen, making coffee, and Amelia was on the phone.

  "Well, you just get yourself over here to Linnie's right now, Wally, and I don't care if you are in your slippers. You don't need your fancy trooper boots to drive three blocks."

  Madeline went in to the kitchen, thinking Erik might need her help finding things. But he didn't. Four mugs and spoons were on her fancy red lacquer tray. He was washing her china sugar and cream set--the one she didn't use from one year to the next.

  "Got any cookies?" he asked.

  Since the twins weren't here, she hadn't been baking. But she'd picked up some Oreos the other day and there should be enough left for four people. She poured the remainder of the package on a plate, set it beside the mugs.

  The coffee maker spoke its I'm brewed set of gurgles. As she reached for it, Erik's hand caught hers.

  "Wait," he said. "We need to talk, and now's a good time." He jerked his chin toward the kitchen door, through which they could hear the murmur of Amelia's voice. She was still on the telephone.

  "Talk? What about?" They would probably be talking most of the night, just making sure they had all the bases covered. Candy's five or six thousand people was certainly an exaggeration, but they had better be prepared for twice their usual attendance.

  "About what I've done. You're going to be really angry, and I want you to yell at me in private. Okay?"

  "I wouldn't yell at you," she said, pulling her arm free of his clasp. Why was it that every time he touched her, some sort of bone-dissolving force flowed from him to her, making her want to melt against him? "You've done something wonderful for the Social and everyone in Sunset County will benefit from it."

  "Trace's condition was that all profit from his concert would go to preservation of Wounded Bear Meadow," he reminded her.

  "Oh, I understood that. But we usually make several thousand from the carnival....Oh, lord! That's something else I have to do. Get more prizes." She reached for the pad and pen beside the phone.

  "Madeline, before you do anything, there's something you really need to know." Putting his hands on her shoulders, he guided her to the table and pushed her into a chair. Perching on the table, one leg swinging, he stared at her. His expression seemed troubled.

  "Oh?" She wasn't sure she wanted to hear.

  "Last year Trace did a concert for the Trust in North Dakota. Same kind of deal--there was a wetland we wanted to purchase and he donated the proceeds."

  "That's very nice of him, but I don't see...."

  He laid his fingers across her lips. It was all she could do to keep from kissing them.

  "Madeline, that concert was more than a hundred miles from the nearest moderate sized city. There was no bus service into town, no train, not even a landing strip." He waved his hand in the general direction of the Garnet Falls airport. "How many people do you suppose came to the concert?"

  How should she know? Taking the first figure that popped into her mind and doubling it, she said, "Four thousand?"

  His expression was amused. "Try again."

  "Darn it, Erik! How should I know? I've never been to a concert like that in my life. For all I know, we won't have any more people than we did last year." And last year had set an attendance record.

  "There were nine thousand four hundred thirty-two paid admissions, Madeline."

  She stared. "You're kidding me," she finally said, after assimilating the meaning of his words.

 

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