Page 56 of Mr. B

“I don’t know.”

“We still got it.”

“Apparently. Whatever it is.”

“Well, it was fun. Thank you for not holding back.”

“I couldn’t help myself.”

“You always were a bit competitive.”

“Nah.”

“The mud bowl?”

“Hmm. Other than that.”

“Do you still have the trophy?”

“Somewhere in a box.” She cocked her head. “Do you think I’d have it sitting out on my mantle? Or in a trophy case with all my other…oh wait. I don’t have any other trophies.”

“That’s why the mud bowl trophy is so important.”

“I think the scar on my thigh is enough to remind me of that day.”

“Yeah. Ouch.”

“I was damn near castrated.”

Cassandra laughed.

“It wasn’t funny.”

“I know. Not then. It’s a little funny now.”

“So, you’re going to look back on last night’s incident a few years from now and think it was funny?”

“No. Never. I nearly died.”

Wes held up his hands. “Death. Castration. I’d say that’s pretty even as far as traumatic incidents go.”

“Fortunately for you, you had an excellent nurse to get you back to optimal health.”

Wes took a deep breath. “I’m going to check the weather and make another call to the maintenance guys.”

“Okay.” He turned to leave, and she called after him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m peachy.” He went out the door, remembering, once outside, that he’d left his jacket and hat at the table. He ran across the grass to the cabin, getting soaked by the time he arrived.

He took off his shirt and grabbed a towel from the bathroom, then dried himself off. He was drying his hair when the door opened, and Cassandra came in with his jacket and hat.

She stopped walking and looked at the floor as she closed the door. “You left without your jacket.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

She looked up at him. “Damn, Wes.”

“What?”