A Way With Women. Jule Mcbride

shot her a level glance. “What do you want, Harper? A blow-by-blow analysis? A report?”

      “No,” she said, coloring, “but—”

      “If I think of anything to say, I’ll send you a postcard,” he assured dryly. “Somehow, I’ll bet you’re one of the people around this town who still gets her own mail.” Turning, Macon pushed through the screen, casually walking across the porch and into the sunshine. When he was halfway across the yard, he lifted the hat, waving it once as a parting taunt sounded over his shoulder. “I mean it. Real good to see you, Harper.”

      She glared at his back, her eyes narrowing. Mustering her gamest tone, she offered her own sugary Texas drawl. “So glad to oblige, Macon.”

      A throaty chuckle floated back.

      Pressing her fingertips to the wire mesh, she stared at him through the screen, shaking her head. She’d repay him for this. She didn’t know how yet, but she’d think of something. And when Cordy got home, they were going to have a serious talk about his working on the ranch. For now, she simply watched Macon. Just as when he arrived, he was circling the lilac, forsythia and snowball bushes, then he got into his truck and slammed the door.

      Torn apart by mixed emotions, she whispered, “It’s like watching a rewinding movie.” Except a lot had happened between the past and the present, and during Macon’s short but rather eventful visit. As he’d ambled through her yard, his open shirttails had blown in the breeze as if to announce to the neighborhood that he’d recently had little use for clothes. And as he backed his truck from under the willow, he had the nerve to toot his horn as if to say he’d definitely be back for some more of the same.

      Staring at the last glimpse of his red truck winking through the trees, Harper softly, solemnly vowed, “Never again, Macon McCann. I mean it this time. Never again.”