Delores Fossen - Truly, Madly, Briefly - Truly, Madly, Briefly / Tried And True

No, but he might have to deal with a permanent state of arousal.

Heck.

Why did he have this reaction to Bobbie? Why couldn’t his brain figure out that an entanglement, any entanglement, with her would be too high-maintenance? For better or worse, she had her roots firmly planted, and firmly planted was the very thing Aidan planned to avoid.

“I just got my latest copy of Travel-or-Bust Monthly.” Bobbie grinned and held up the glossy magazine for him to see. She began to flip through the pages. “There’s an article about Boston, and they talk about the swan boats in the Public Gardens. Sounds like a blast.”

He smiled at her enthusiasm. “They are.”

“Listen to this,” she continued. She wiggled closer until their heads, shoulders and hips were pressed together. “‘Glide through an urban oasis and feel your troubles slip away. Although a short ride, this trip through a sun-dappled lagoon will carry you to another time. Another place. All you have to do is relax and let the sun and city caress you.’”

“Caress, huh?” Aidan repeated.

Not the best choice of words when his mind was on other types of caresses.

“Afternoon, Bobbie and Aidan,” Winston called out. He was dressed in an Old West getup and was carrying an enormous mackerel-shaped watermelon on his shoulder. Five women of varying ages were following him, apparently vying for his attention. One of the females was using a walker and was doing her best to keep up.

“The seed-spitting contest is about to start,” Winston added. “Don’t miss it.”

Bobbie gave her uncle a distracted wave and got back to the article. “It talks about the museums and the shops. You are so lucky to have been born there.”

“I guess. But a lot of people would think you were lucky to be born here in Liffey.”

Her gaze met his. She blinked. And paused. “Do you really think I’m lucky?”

“Well, Liffey’s not a big city, but it’s thriving. And it’s, uh, quaint in a non-touristy sort of way.” At that exact moment, her Uncle Quincy hurried past them. He had a ferret on a leash. A ferret wearing a pair of tiny raccoon-print boxers complete with a fake bushy tail. “Well, it’s quaint, or something.”

What was left of Bobbie’s smile evaporated. “Yeah. Or something.”

So, she had a point. Liffey wasn’t exactly a normal place with normal residents. He’d seen a lot of weird things, but never a leashed ferret wearing raccoon-print boxer shorts.

“Have you ever thought about taking a break from the factory so you can travel?” he asked.

She shrugged and turned her gaze back to the magazine. “My uncles have owned Boxers or Briefs for nearly thirty-five years. It’s a family business, and since my folks died, I’m the only family left around to run it. My cousin, Wes, isn’t a good candidate because he’ll eventually have to take over for Sheriff Cooper. And I can’t very well ask my uncles to come out of retirement just because I want to travel.”

Family duty. Yep, he understood that. It was what brought him home for holidays and an assortment of births, weddings and funerals—or as he liked to call them: hatch, match and dispatch events. But Aidan also understood that wistful, longing look in Bobbie’s eyes.

Definite wanderlust.

He hated to tell her that it was an itch that was awfully hard to satisfy by staying in one place. Especially a place like Liffey.

Because he had an overwhelming urge to touch her, Aidan picked a piece of grass off her knee. What he didn’t do was move his hand even after he’d tossed the grass aside. He just sat there, touching her bare knee while she turned the page to a glossy picture of Beacon Street.

“I talked with Sheriff Cooper about the missing underwear,” Aidan informed her. Maybe if he discussed business, his brain wouldn’t dwell on Bobbie’s body. “He thought maybe we should take a harder look at Rudy Tate, your floor manager.”

She paused and pursed her lips. “I guess it’s possible he was involved, but I can’t imagine why he’d do it.”

“Maybe he’s selling it?” Even though Aidan didn’t want to speculate about how someone would go about finding an illegal market for thongs.

“Miss Callahan?” a man called out.

Aidan braced himself for one of the uncles, but their visitor wasn’t a local Liffey-ite.

“Oh, God.” Bobbie put the magazine in front of her face and tried to hide. “That’s Mr. Eidelson, the maker of that awful Sensuous Musk Massage Oil that attracted the critters. I hope he doesn’t see me.”

“Too late. He’s headed right for you.”

She groaned and yanked down the magazine. “I’m not working today, Mr.—”

“This won’t take long,” Eidelson interrupted. With a toothy grin on his too-thin face, he set a bright orange gift bag next to her. “It’s a sample of my new and improved Sensuous Massage Oil. Let me know what you think of it.”

And the man practically sprinted away. Bobbie groaned again, but that was the only protest she had time to make. Before the dust had settled from Eidelson’s departure, more visitors sauntered their way.

“Well, well,” the woman purred.

It was the queen of kitty-rescue requests and excessively tight jeans—Maxine Varadore. And to make matters worse, she had Jasper with her. However, despite her accompanied status, she had a come-hither look in her eye. Aidan had no intention of taking her up on that hithering, though.

“Bobbie,” Jasper said crisply. But his voice got a whole lot crisper when he spoke to Aidan. “Good afternoon, Deputy O’Shea. I see you didn’t take my advice about staying away from my fiancée.”

“Nope. I didn’t,” Aidan informed him.

Realizing this could turn ugly, or just plain stupid, Aidan got to his feet. It was probably a fluke and not some bad omen that it thundered at exactly that same moment.

Jasper slipped his narrowed gaze to Bobbie. “And I can see you’re still playing hard to get.” He didn’t give her time to deny that absurd claim. “Well, two can play at that game, darling.”

And with that announcement, Jasper hooked his arm around Maxine and hauled her against him. The lovers’ embrace perhaps would have been far more effective if Maxine hadn’t winked at Aidan.

Bobbie got to her feet as well. “Is there a point to all of this, Jasper?”

“Yes!” Jasper gave Bobbie a heated look and blew her a kiss. “The point is that one way or another, I intend to win you back, darling. You will be mine, and we will go on that honeymoon to Paris.”

Another wink from Maxine. “Plus, Deputy, the lottery’s over tomorrow, and everything will get back to normal. Bobbie won’t have dibs on you anymore.”

That threat alone was enough to make Aidan want to extend the Twango-Drifter Plan indefinitely.

Bobbie took a step toward the winking, puckering couple. They looked as if they had nervous tic disorders. “You know, I’m a little tired of all this dibs talk.”

“Yeah?” Maxine challenged.

“Yeah,” Bobbie countered.

Uh-oh. Hoping to stave off disaster, Aidan reached for Bobbie. Too bad that reaching caused him to step the wrong way. His foot landed right on the gift bag that Mr. Eidelson had left on the ground.

Aidan heard the too-familiar sound of breaking glass mere seconds before he got his first whiff of new and improved Sensuous Massage Oil. Ohmigod. Like a deadly top-secret-weaponized chemical agent, the reeking aroma engulfed them.

“Ewwww.” Maxine clothes-pinned her nose. Jasper began to fan his hands around.

Aidan took full advantage of the distraction and turned to Bobbie. “Why don’t we skip the seed-spitting contest and get out of here?”

“Agreed.”

She latched onto him, and they headed away from the smelly toxic spill. “I don’t have my car here. I rode in with my uncles.”