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"If I can have everyone's attention," Ada Dover spoke from the pulpit, drawing Rob's gaze to the front of the room. "I'd like to welcome everyone to this month's social. Especially the first-timers in the back row." Stanley cringed while Rob and Kate sank a little lower in their chairs, but both were too tall to disappear completely.
"As everyone knows, this is poetry night. Quite a few of us have brought something to read. After everyone has a chance to share, we'll begin the social portion of the evening." She glanced down at her notes, then continued, "I'll be the first to share, followed by Regina Cladis."
As Ada launched into a long poem she'd written about her dog, Snicker, Kate's cool composure showed one more sign of cracking. It started with a slightly annoyed sway of her right foot, but after several minutes of Snicker, the little sway worked up to an agitated little kick.
"His eyes are brown," Ada waxed in the final stanza.
"He's the only dog in town
to come when I call Snicker.
His tongue is pink,
his fur is like mink,
and he's one bell of a licker!"
Kate's foot stopped, and Rob thought he heard her murmur something that sounded like, "God have mercy."
Stanley coughed behind his fist, and Rob was grateful that his mother wasn't the only bad poet in the room.
Regina was up next and read a poem about the library where she worked. After Regina, Iona Osborn plugged in a tape player, and the sound of a steady boom bop-bop boom filled the grange. Over the drumbeat Iona recited a poem entitled "If I Were Britney Spears." It was lighthearted and wasn't half as bad as Ada's dog poem. Kate's foot settled into an easy sway once more, then stopped as her long fingers worked the big buttons on her coat. Her shoulder bumped Rob's as she tried to pull her arms from the sleeves. Watching her was like watching someone try to get out of a straitjacket.
He leaned in and said close to her ear, "Lift your hair up."
She stopped her fidgeting and glanced up at him out of the corners of her eyes. She looked like she might argue. Like she might launch into another "I can take care of myself" speech. She opened her mouth, closed it, then ran one hand across the back of her neck, twisted her wrist, and gathered her hair. She scooped it up and Rob reached for her coat. He pulled the back of the collar down as she leaned forward. She drew one arm free and straightened, letting go of her hair. It fell in a gentle wave and brushed the back of Rob's hand. A thousand strands of red silk touching his skin and curling around his fingers. If he turned his palm up, he could gather it in his fist. It had been a long time since he'd felt the weight and texture of a woman's hair in his hands or across his chest and belly. Desire both unexpected and unwanted tugged at his lap.
She looked at him and smiled for the first time since the night they'd met in Sun Valley.
"Thank you," she said as she pulled her other arm free.
"You're welcome." He turned his attention to the podium and folded his arms across his chest. His life had become pathetic. Her hair had touched his hand, big deal. There'd been a time in his life when he probably wouldn't have even noticed. When his attention would have been focused on how to get her out of her bra, not on her hair.
He didn't know how he felt about Kate Hamilton. Other than her amazing body and dominatrix boots, he wasn't sure he even liked anything about her. There were a few men around town who were intimidated by Kate. Who thought she wanted their ball sack for a change purse. Rob wasn't so sure they were wrong. So why was he thinking about her in ways that put his ball sack in jeopardy?
He really didn't know, but perhaps it was because the Kate that everyone knew contrasted sharply with the woman in the Sun Valley bar. That night she'd been soft and warm and inviting. She'd been temptation all wrapped up in one fine package, but she'd been a temptation he'd resisted. A temptation he could still resist.
Is she worth dying for? asked the voice in his head. Is she worth your life? Kate was beautiful. No doubt about that, but as always, the answer was no. There was just no telling when a soft, warm, inviting woman would turn into a praying mantis.
Next up, Eden Hansen took the podium. She was dressed from head to toe-literally-in purple, and Rob concentrated on her purple hair and eyeshadow. If anything could scare thoughts of sex from his head, it was Eden. Her poem was entitled "Ten Ways to Kill a Mangy Rat" and was about her brother-in-law, Hayden Dean. She didn't mention Hayden by name, but anyone who knew her knew she was talking about her twin sister, Edie's, husband. When she was through, people didn't know whether to applaud or search her for hidden weapons.
From a few rows up, Rob watched his mother move toward the front. She set her poem on the podium and began,
"Getting old is a drag
you start to wrinkle and to sag
your behind hangs real low
and you begin to move so slow
that you fear someone might put you in a bag."
Rob placed his forearms on his knees and gazed down at his boots. His mother had obviously given her rhyming dictionary a workout.
"People half your age
earn a better wage
