I drove back into town to the Fortune Café. Some iced coffee would do nicely to clear my head. Or at least it would have, if I hadn’t run into Brando outside. His sleek black hair was in a ponytail, and his skin glowed bronze in the July sun. He wore a short-sleeved, button-down shirt in plaid, khaki shorts that skimmed his knees, and brown fisherman sandals.

“Hey, little bird! You look hot.”

I scowled. Did he mean hot as in good or hot as in sweaty? “I am hot.”

“Yeah, this weather is something else. Did you hear? The chipmunk statue is being delayed. It won’t be here until next week. Bad news.”

“Chipmunk? I thought it was a woodchuck.”

“Chipmunk, woodchuck,” he said, in a “tomato, tomahto” voice, as he sidled up next to me. “That means I won’t be here to see it installed. Wanna have a going-away party for me?”

I started to pull away from him, and then forced myself to stand still. If I was going to help Johnny, and I had decided I had no choice but to help Johnny as a friend, I needed to find out what was up with Brando and Dolly. “What did you have in mind?” I tried looking down submissively at his feet and then back into his eyes because I read somewhere that gesture is appealing to the primal hunter in every man, but I’m pretty sure I just looked like I had something in my eye.

“I’m staying at a cabin outside of town, but it’s really messy, and I have to be out of there by today, anyways. How about I come over to your place tonight?”

He tried to play with a tendril of my hair, but hesitated when he realized it was sweat soaked. I distracted him with my brightest smile. “That would be great! I’ll make us supper. What do you like to eat?”

Brando winked. “Eating is one of my favorite parts of slumber parties.”

Boy, was this guy transparent or what? “Great, I’ll grill some tofu and vegetables. You bring a couple bottles of wine.”

He raised his eyebrow. “I like a girl who’s not afraid to drink. Where do you live?”

I gave him directions and instead of entering the café, I bopped down to Larry’s to pick up some tofu. I decided to go home and marinate it and pick up the house, but first I made a run past the motel. Still no Dolly car.

I cruised home into the wagging tails and warm eyes of my animals. Actually, Tiger Pop only sniffed in my direction, but I could see the restrained welcome in his eyes. He was happy I was here. Luna, like most dogs, was a whore for love and jumped up on me like I was the last Krispy Kreme outside a Weight Watchers grand opening.

“You guys miss me? Hunh? You guys miss me?” I scratched them both behind their ears and didn’t let up on Tiger Pop until he purred, against his will. I scooped their food, poured them ice water, filled the bird feeders, and hosed out and refreshed the birdbath. I considered setting the sprinkler in the garden, but it was still 103 degrees, according to my thermometer, and the water would evaporate before it’d soak in. I made a mental note to put the sprinkler out after dark.

Tasks done, I went inside and set my Stun Gun to charge. Then, I sliced and marinated the tofu in Bragg’s and garlic chili paste and slipped it in the fridge. The chilled air from the refrigerator felt heavenly, though it smelled like old cilantro and dill pickles. I dusted, vacuumed, scooped out the litter box, and watered my plants before hopping in a cold shower. In less than two hours, the house and I were clean, but I still hadn’t decided what to wear. I wanted to be attractive to loosen his tongue, but I also didn’t want to provide easy access to any erogenous zones. I opted for a push-up bra under a button-front, short-sleeved white peasant shirt, open to the third button.

For my bottom half, I debated wearing underwear but couldn’t bring myself to do it no matter how badly I wanted the extra layer. It was too hot, and underwear under jeans or pants had always felt like wearing diapers to me. I compromised and slipped on cut-off, button-fly Levis. I slid a delicate silver chain around my left ankle, thin silver hoops in each ear, and dusted sandalwood perfume on my wrists and behind my knees. I twisted my hair into a loose bun at the base of my neck, artfully pulling tendrils down around my face. A little eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss, and I was as cute as I was going to get.

Just in time, too. I heard Luna bark as the red Hummer pulled up. I couldn’t believe I was letting a man who drove a Humvee into my home. The things a gal has to do for her friends.

Brando parked the red tank under the towering lilacs in the middle circle of the driveway and emerged, standing on his running board like the captain of the Titanic. He wore the same button-down shirt and khaki shorts he had been in earlier, but his hair was loose around his shoulders and so black it looked blue in the sun. “Beautiful place you have here.”

“Thank you.”

After he was sure I had a chance to admire him, top to bottom, astride his gas-guzzling, metal Viagra, he reached in for two bottles of wine and hopped down. “Hope you like Pinot Grigio.”

I liked it better than I liked him. “Is it cold?”

“Like ice.” He drew out the sibilance of the last word, like a snake.

“Come on in. I’ll get some glasses.”

I led the way into the house but was pulled up short by his low wolf whistle. “That is a beautiful view.”

Something told me he wasn’t talking about the lake on the other side of my garden, so I ignored the comment. I held the door for him so he had to enter the house in front of me. “Want to help me get the grill going?”

“Oooh, no can do. I’m a restaurant kind of man. Don’t know much about grilling. I can open wine, though.” He offered me a playful smile.

The effort it took not to roll my eyes almost made me lose my balance, but I managed. I tossed him a wine opener before I went out to light the charcoal. “Glasses are in the cupboard, above the sink.” I felt his eyes burn holes into my ass as I walked outside.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I hissed at Tiger Pop, as he criticized me from his sunspot on the back deck. “It’s not what you think.” He closed his eyes in half-lidded judgment. Luna just looked at me eagerly, if a little sadly, as if to say, “Us easy chicks need to stick together, right?” I sighed and turned on the gas grills, tossing a wooden match at it from a safe distance. I had lost my eyebrows lighting a gas stove as a child and had not gotten within three feet of fuel with flame since. Usually, by the twelfth or thirteenth air-lobbed match, I’d have the grill going, and tonight was no exception.

“Beautiful night,” Brando said as he opened the screen door with his hip, a glass of wine in each hand. “And beautiful company.”

I reached for the wine, downed half the glass, and smiled up at him. “How long do you plan to stay in Battle Lake?”

“Don’t you remember? Tonight is my going-away party.”

I pulled away from his seeking hand. “So you’re leaving tomorrow?”

“I have a little business to take care of,” he said vaguely. “When it’s done, I’ll be gone. Shouldn’t take more’n a day or two.”

“What kind of business? You made friends in town?”

He smirked. “I have friends everywhere. That grill ready? I’m a hungry man.”

I wondered at the change of subject as I strolled past him into the house. I threw back the rest of my wine, refilled my glass, and grabbed the marinated tofu and the vegetables I had skewered and piled them on a tray. Except for the mushrooms and red peppers, the vegetables were fresh from my garden—baby potatoes, new onions, miniature zucchini, and cherry tomatoes I had bought as nearly full-grown plants from Johnny at the greenhouse. I also grabbed the grilling tray that was meant for fish but that I used to keep the tofu from sticking to my grill when I turned it. I balanced the food and my wine glass on the tray on my right hand and opened the door with my left. “Coming through!”

“That looks delicious. You’re kind of a granola gal, aren’t you, what with all your fresh veggies and your long hair? I love au naturel girls.”

I put down the tray, slammed my second glass of wine as he strolled closer, and held my empty glass like a wall between the two of us. “Can you fill this? You might need to open a new bottle.”

He looked momentarily surprised, and then smiled brightly. “No problem.”

While he was in the house, I sprayed down the grill and set out the veggies and tofu. He returned shortly with a refreshed glass of wine for me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m really glad you invited me out here today, Myra.”

“It’s Mira, like, ‘you better stand clear-a.’”

“Mira. Of course. Battle Lake is a quirky little town, you know, and all you people have made me feel so welcome. I might just have to return some day real soon.” He set down his wine glass and stood behind me. I forced myself to stand still, like a deer who doesn’t want to run from the hunter too soon and expose herself, and I didn’t even flinch when he started to massage my shoulders. In fact, it soon began to feel tolerable, even good, cresting on the warm buzz of a wine high. “You like that, don’t you, Mira? You’re so tense, and you carry it all in your shoulders. I can feel it melting away now. Can’t you?”

I closed my eyes and let my head roll slightly. I really could feel the tension leaving and the warm buzz of wine filling in the cracks. What luck, that the guy with the Hummer has magic hands. The tofu popped, and so did my eyes. I turned the vegetables and tofu slabs, but with minimal movement on my part so as not to interrupt the massage. “I have been stressed lately,” I offered reluctantly, reaching to take a deep swallow from my third glass of wine. My head started to swim pleasantly.

“I’m sure,” he growled soothingly into my ear. “Running the library, writing for the newspaper, keeping the town safe. It’s a full-time job. You’re a real beauty, you know, Mira.” His hands trailed my spine to its base and went back up again, his fingers strong and seeking.

My eyes were half-lidded, which was all I needed to see that the food was done. I pulled it off the grill, disappointed but relieved that my massage was going to end. I needed to keep my head on straight if I wanted to come out of this interview on top, or at least with my clothes intact. “Do you want to eat inside or outside?”

I turned to him, holding the tray of food, and was surprised by the hooded intensity in his eyes. He took the tray out of my hands and set it down on the picnic table by the grill. Before I could object, he pulled my face to his and brushed his mouth against me. His lips were strong, and when I instinctively leaned my body into his, they softened and fit to mine perfectly. I could feel the taut length of him and a tremor passed through me. I tried to muster up indignation, outrage, or even disgust at how easy I was, but this guy was good. He seemed to have eight hands, in the best possible way. I wondered if he was like olives. You had to work really hard to like them, but once you did, you couldn’t get enough.

For a split second, common sense commandeered the steering wheel and I tried to pull away, but one hand at the small of my back and the other tangled in my hair tugged me back into him, hard. Our kissing was the real deal—no teeth scraping, no awkward tongue wrestling, no unintentional noises. I could taste the sweet flavor of wine on his lips and tongue. Research, I would call this. He would certainly be much more relaxed with me after we fooled around, and maybe I could get him to spill some secrets then. I hoped Johnny would appreciate what I was doing to set him free. Johnny. I stepped back, quickly, and looked into Brando’s surprisingly unfamiliar face. What the hell had I been doing? “Um, maybe we should eat.”

He cocked his head, like a bird, and studied me clinically. I suddenly felt very uneasy. “Sure. Let’s eat.” He ran his fingers through his hair, never taking his cold eyes off me.

I picked up the food but was sure to my bones that I did not want to turn my back on this man. I didn’t know what had triggered his sudden shift from passion to anger, but I could feel fury radiating from him like heat waves. I saw Luna stand up behind him, the hackles raised on her neck. “You first.”

It might have been a stand-off, if not for the bile-green Gremlin that grunted down my driveway. Both Brando and I watched it pull up and park behind the Humvee.

“Holy shit! What the fuck is that? Are we at war?” Brad snort-laughed as he stepped out of his rusty car and walked admiringly around the Humvee. No longer in a lab coat, he wore a tank top that highlighted his farmer’s tan and a pair of cut-offs. “These are some cherry wheels.”

I watched Brando out of the corner of my eye. Both his anger and his pants deflated slowly but steadily, as if by sheer force of will. By the time Brad reached us, Brando was his suave, good-looking self again. He offered his hand to Brad. “Those are my wheels, and thank you. Name’s Brando.”

“No shit? That’s a great name. I’m Brad.”

I could see the wheels turning in Brad’s head, or, more accurately, “wheel,” and I foresaw a name change in the near future for the leader of “Not with My Horse.” I was too grateful to see Brad to make fun of him, though. “Hey, Brad. You’re just in time. We were about to eat. You hungry?”

“You know I can always eat. As long as you guys don’t mind. We can celebrate my good news!”

“What’s your good news?”

“It looks like I found a job. When I was down at Bonnie & Clyde’s, I heard they’re hiring construction workers in Fergus Falls, or I could bartend at Stub’s, and some guy even told me there is a crazy professor in town paying good money for workers to tear down statues.”

Brando and I looked at each other. His face was unreadable, and I hoped mine was too. More likely, however, my right ear looked like a “D,” my right eye looked like an “O,” the furrowed lines between my brows looked like two “Ls,” and my left eyebrow looked like a “Y.”

Brando brushed his hand across his mouth and leaned in to kiss my forehead. I winced, whether from the leftover heat between us or fear, I wasn’t sure. “Thanks for inviting me out, Mira, but I better be getting back to town. I have some packing that I need to finish.”

“Sure, Brando. Maybe some other time.”

He gave Brad a curt nod, fired up the tank, and was out the driveway in a dramatic rumble.

“What the fuck is he driving, anyhow? A 1057 All-Desert 10-ton Dune Runner?”

“It’s a Humvee, Brad.” Now that Brando was gone, I wanted Brad gone, too. I had been through a lot the last couple days, and to top it all off, I could feel a thwarted-sex headache forming behind my eyes. “I appreciate you coming when you did, by the way. I’m really tired, though. Can I pack some food up for you to take with?”

Brad looked at me, seriously looked at me, for the first time since he had been in town. “You do look beat. Why don’t you go lay down? I’ll bring the food in and take what I need.”

His sudden kindness brought my guilt for making out with Brando to the surface. I took a stab at easing it by clearing up a bad mark from my past. “You know how I left Minneapolis without saying goodbye?”

Brad nodded, his mouth full of tofu.

“It was because I caught you cheating on me. With Ted’s dog-sitter.”

He swallowed and looked at me sheepishly. “I kinda figured. I’m sorry.”

“And I took the nuts off your bike, which is why you crashed it.”

Brad started laughing. “No shit? That hurt.”

I smiled back at him, relieved by his reaction. “Yeah, well, it was pretty childish, and I’m sorry I did it.”

“I deserved it,” he said, grabbing for another piece of tofu.

“Thanks, Brad.” I was in the house and asleep in my bed before he left.