become a full-fledged real estate broker. Carlie liked him. So did her father, who respected a parent’s rights but also felt sympathy for young people denied the right to love whom they pleased.
* * *
CARLIE WENT ONLINE and loaded the game, then looked for Robin, who played a shaman in the virtual world. His was a healing spec, so it went well with Carlie’s DK, who couldn’t heal.
I have a problem, he whispered to her, a form of typed private communication in-game.
She typed, How can I help?
He made a big smiley face. I need a date for the Valentine’s Day dance.
Should I ask why? she typed.
There was a smiley face. Lucy’s going to the dance with some rich rancher her father knows from out of town. If you’ll go with me, her dad won’t suspect anything and I can at least dance with her.
She shook her head. One day the two of them were going to have to decide if the sneaking around was less traumatic than just getting together and daring their parents to say anything. But she just typed, I’ll buy a dress.
There was a bigger smiley face. It’s so nice to have a friend like you, he replied.
That works both ways.
* * *
LATER, SHE TOLD her father she had a date. He asked who, and she explained.
“You’re both hiding, Carlie,” he said, surprising her. His eyes narrowed. “You need to think about finding someone you can have a good relationship with, someone to marry and have children with. And Robin and Lucy need to stand up and behave like adults.”
She smiled sadly. “Chance would be a fine thing,” she replied. “You might not have noticed, but men aren’t exactly beating a path to my door. And you know why.”
“Young men look at what’s outside,” he said wisely. “When they’re more mature, men look for what’s inside. You’re just at the wrong period of your life. That will change.”
She drew in a long breath. “You know, not everybody marries...”
He glared at her.
She held up both hands. “I’m not talking about moving in with somebody,” she said hastily. “I mean, not everybody gets married. Look at Old Man Barlow, he never did.”
“He never bathed,” he pointed out.
She glowered at him. “Beside the point. How about the Miller brothers? They never married. Their sister was widowed and moved back in with them, and they’re all single now. They seem perfectly happy.”
He looked down his nose at her. “Who spends half her time in department stores, ogling baby booties and little gowns?”
She flushed and averted her eyes.
“Just what I thought,” he added.
“Listen, there really aren’t many communities in Texas smaller than Comanche Wells, or even Jacobsville. Most of the men my age are either married or living with somebody.”
“I see your point.”
“The others are having so much fun partying that they don’t want to do either,” she continued. “Come on, Dad, I like my life. I really do. I enjoy working for the chief and having lunch at Barbara’s Café and playing my game at night and taking care of you.” She gave him a close scrutiny. “You know, you might think about marrying somebody.”
“Bite your tongue,” he said shortly. “There was your mother. I don’t want anybody else. Ever.”
She stared at him with consternation. “She’d want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” he insisted. “I’m married to my church, pumpkin. I love what I do now.” He smiled. “You know, in the sixteenth century, all priests were expected to be single. It wasn’t until Henry VIII changed the laws that they could even marry, and when his daughter Mary came to the throne, she threw out all the married priests. Then when her half sister Elizabeth became Queen, she permitted them to marry, but she didn’t want married ministers preaching before her. She didn’t approve of it, either.”
“This is the twenty-first century,” she pointed out. “And why are you hanging out with McKuen Kilraven?” she added, naming one of the federal agents who sometimes came to Jacobsville.
He laughed. “Does it show?”
“I don’t know of anybody else who can hold forth for an hour on sixteenth-century British politics and never tell the same story twice.”
“Guilty,” he replied. “He was in your boss’s office the last time I was there.”
“When was that? I didn’t see him.”
“You were at lunch.”
“Oh.”
He didn’t volunteer any more information.
“I need to go buy a new dress,” she said. “I think I’ll drive up to San Antonio after work, since it’s Saturday and I get off at 1 p.m.”
“Okay. I’ll let you borrow the Cobra.” He laughed at her astonished look. “I’m not sure your truck would make it even halfway to the city, pumpkin.”
She just shook her head.
* * *
IT WAS A CONCESSION of some magnitude. Her father loved that car. He washed and waxed it by hand, bought things for it. She was only allowed to drive it on very special occasions, and usually only when she went to the big city.
San Antonio wasn’t a huge city, but there was a lot to see. Carlie liked to stop by the Alamo and look at it, but El Mercado was her port of call. It had everything, including unique shops and music and restaurants. She usually spent half a day just walking around it. But today she was in a hurry.
She went from store to store, but she couldn’t find exactly what she was looking for. She was ready to give up when she pulled, on impulse, into a small strip mall where a sale sign was out in front of a small boutique.
She found a bargain dress, just her size, in green velvet. It was ankle length, with a discreet rounded neckline and long sleeves. It fit like a glove, but it wasn’t overly sensual. And it suited her. It was so beautiful that she carried it like a child as she walked to the counter to pay for it.
“That was the only size we got in this particular design,” the saleslady told her as she packaged it on its hangar. “I wish it was my size,” she added with a sigh. “You really are lucky.”
Carlie laughed. “It’s for a dance. I don’t go out much.”
“Me, either,” the saleslady said. “My husband sits and watches the Western Channel on satellite when he gets off work and then he goes to bed.” She shook her head. “Not what I thought marriage would be like. But he’s good to me and he doesn’t cheat. I guess I’m lucky.”
“I’d say you are.”
* * *
CARLIE WAS IN the Jacobs County limits on a long, deserted stretch of road. The Cobra growled as if it had been on the leash too long and wanted off. Badly.
With a big grin on her face, Carlie floored the accelerator. “Okay, Big Red,” she said, using her father’s affectionate nickname for the car, “let’s run!”
The engine cycled, seemed to hesitate, and then the car took off with a growl that would have done a hungry mountain lion proud.
“Woo-hoo!” she exclaimed.
She was going eighty, eighty-five, ninety, ninety-six and then one hundred. She felt an exhilaration she couldn’t remember ever feeling before. The