Project Produce(18)

I sat on the edge, flopped on my back, then whipped my feet up, but the hammock tilted sharply to the left. I overcorrected by surging to the right.

And the race was on.

Left, right, twist, turn, grunt, groan, wrestle, wrestle, wrestle. I felt like I was competing in Cutesville’s annual rodeo, racing against the clock, wrestling a steer. Or in this case a crazed hammock.

“Dinner’s ready,” Hot Britches called from the dining room.

Of course it was. Then the hammock decided to pitch and roll three times, wrapping me tightly in its net.

“Callie? Everything’s ready. Care to join me in...” Dylan’s voice trailed off, and he came to a stop at my head. All I could see were his snakeskin boots, since I lay face down about a foot off the floor.

“Comfy?” he croaked.

My lips poked out of one of the hammock’s holes. “Wewy, wunny.”

“I didn’t quite catch that, Elmer Fudd.” He knelt down and dipped his head to the side so he could see my face. A loud laugh burst out of him, and he fell off his haunches onto his hind end.

“If you’we done waughing, get me out of hewe!”

“Sure thing, it’s just... sorry, Mac, I can’t resist.” He sprang to his feet and ran away.

Where was he going? I didn’t have to wonder long.

He returned and slid beneath me. “Sorry, Elmer, but this is too priceless to pass up.” He gave me a devilish grin and bit the insides of his cheeks, puckering his own lips, then pressed them briefly to mine. When my eyes sprang wide, he whipped out a camera and snapped off a shot quick as lightning. “Kissing a fish was worth that expression.”

I blinked, seeing white spots from the flash. Fish kiss? If I could feel my lips, I’d have bitten his pucker off. What a rotten sneaky trick to pull. “You’we dead meat, mistew.”

He winked at me, rolled to his feet, and then proceeded to untangle me from the hammock’s relentless hold. When my boots hit the floor, I shook my hands, stomped my feet, and twisted my lips until the circulation returned.

“One of the supports is loose, and I haven’t had a chance to fix it yet. It can be a bit tricky.”

“Ya think?” I smirked.

“Sorry.” He grinned. “Follow me.”

“Dinner had better be worth it after all this.”

“No one’s complained about my cooking before. My furniture, maybe, but my cooking, no way. Come on. I’ll get you another glass of wine.”

“Better bring the bottle,” I muttered and followed him to the dining room. Something told me even the whole bottle wouldn’t be enough to get me through this evening.





CHAPTER FOUR





Detective Cabrizzi pulled out my chair and then scooted it in as I sat. “So, what’s up with that statue, anyway?” I asked, needing to start up a conversation.

He laughed, heading to the kitchen and returning with the whole bottle of wine, bless the man. “My sister gave it to me.”

“Why would she do that?” It seemed like an odd gift from a sister.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He winked.

This guy was way too cute for his own good. I cleared my throat and tried to stay focused. This could be one way to find out how his Mr. Winkie affected his personality. “Obvious how?”

“Supposedly, I’m the perfect male specimen. Vain, and in love with my own body.” He shook his head. “And I just can’t help it if women throw themselves at me, so my sister says.”

“Your sister sounds interesting.”

“She’s something, all right. That statue doesn’t look anything like me.” He poured us both a glass of merlot.

I took a sip. “Really?” Glancing in the other room, I studied the statue. He couldn’t have handed me a more perfect introduction into my paper if he tried. My heart started beating furiously as I plunged in, head first. “So, you’re saying you’re not lacking in certain areas?”

His eyes followed mine. “I haven’t been castrated, if that’s what you mean.”

Good God! I fell into a coughing fit. When he looked back at me with an arched brow, I croaked, “I’m fine. Continue.”

“I was just saying poor guy. I hope you didn’t enjoy that. Imagine what that would do to his ego if he were real.”

I snapped my fingers, trying to keep the ball rolling. “Now, there’s a thought. Let’s do that.”

Dylan blinked at me. “Do what?”

Watch me stumble my way through this insane conversation. I took a sip of my wine for courage and said, “Let’s pretend you’re him before his little accident. What exactly would it do to your ego if you... oh, I don’t know, let’s say had a pickle for a Mr. Winkie.”