never really been able to explain it. Sometimes, I just think about it the way some people are afraid of bats, and other people don’t like loud noises, and some people have claustrophobia.” He shrugged. “I’m not a psychologist. But she’s just never liked sports players and especially football players. I really don’t know why.”
“Hmm. I wonder if I should be offended over this?”
“Probably. You could be offended for the entire pro football association, college players, high school players, and right down to peewee. Everyone should be offended. Because there’s no logic behind her aversion. I don’t think you need to take it personally though, because as a person, she’ll love you. She just prefers cowboys over ballplayers, I guess. Maybe I should explain she’s always been into horses, and she barrel raced for a while, but trick riding is where her passion is.”
“I take it her best friend must be a cowboy?”
Race grinned. “Good guess. He’s a rodeo guy. And they’re perfect for each other. They just don’t see it. I’m kind of hoping that’ll change if they enter the kissing contest together.”
“All right. I guess if she doesn’t back out, I can give her a peck on the cheek.”
“I like the way you think.”
Dante grinned but cowered a little inside. He’d kissed women he’d only known for an evening, blind dates, and women he’d asked out, barely knowing them. He’d done far more than just peck them on the cheek, so it wasn’t really a hardship exactly, except his thoughts along those lines had changed some since writing to The Healing Pen.
He had a feeling that kissing meant a little more to her than it ever had to him.
He kinda liked the idea of making it special.
He doubted he could get her to talk to him about her ideas on kissing though. How exactly would he be able to bring up that subject without being completely obvious?
He grinned at the thought.
Chapter 9
On the day before Mistletoe’s Christmas in July festival was supposed to start, Journee spent the morning with Darcy and Frank, helping her mother make two hundred gingerbread men for the decorating contest, setting up tables along the entire stretch of Main Street, and hanging up more red ribbons than she could count.
She didn’t have a chance to grab lunch until after three that afternoon. She took her sandwich and her current notebook and snuck up to the hayloft in the animal shed. The men were still working on getting the portable pens set up and unloading animals, but it would be quiet and she would be alone up in the loft.
She finished her sandwich and was deep into her book when her sister Blakely scurried up the ladder and intruded upon her solitude.
Crawling over, Blakely came to the end of the stack of hay bales that were probably there from last year and just about jumped out of her skin to see Journee sitting there.
“Holy smokes. You scared me to death.” Blakely sat back on her haunches and glared at her. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Journee said, closing the notebook, not wanting Blakely to be looking over her shoulder as she wrote. Not that she was writing anything to Computer Geek that wasn’t proper. It was just private.
“No?” Blakely said.
“What are you doing up here?” Journee asked, wanting to change the subject.
“I’m hiding from him.” Blakely jerked her chin in the direction of the guys. They were too far under the edge of the loft for Journee to see them, but their voices carried up clearly.
“You’re hiding from Martin?” Journee asked, her face scrunched up, and her head tilted.
“No, silly.” Although that was who had been speaking. “From the football player.”
Journee’s lips canted up, and she grinned knowingly. Blakely’s aversion to sports figures and ballplayers in particular was no secret in their town. She thought maybe it had to do with cowboys being the “real” sportspeople in Blakely’s eyes, although they’d never really talked about it.
Blakely rolled over to the edge of the loft, peering down. She lay there for a minute as though looking for something. Journee took that time to put her garbage in her bag and finish the sentence she’d been writing.
She’d barely gotten it done before Blakely scrambled back, dropping her head immediately, looking embarrassed.
“I take it from the way you’re acting that someone saw you,” Journee said, muted humor in her voice.
“Yeah. Martin was laughing at me, and the football player happened to look up. And there