Larkspur Dreams - By Anita Higman Page 0,22

have got to stop this. Your home is so nice and woodsy.” Lark continued to murmur soft assurances as she lured him into the backyard. “It’s full of your favorite treats. Isn’t that right?” She reached inside the backdoor and flipped on all the backyard lights.

Picasso looked back at her with a darling expression. Ducks are so cute. She was such a sucker. But Picasso knew the fun ride was over. “Yes, sweetie. Time to go home.” She closed the gate and secured it with extra heavy wire. There. Mission accomplished.

But somewhere in leading Picasso to the backyard, she’d forgotten to keep the flowing silk of her skirt draped over her arm. She hesitated, but knew she’d have to make an assessment. Slowly she moved her gaze downward. Some of the trim of her gown was splattered with muddy snow and white gooey duck drippings. “Picasso! You scalawag! You have ruined my first, and now probably my last, date with Everett.”

As if knowing his guilt, Picasso began quacking anxiously around in his home.

“It’s okay,” Lark said. “Well, no, it isn’t.” She lowered her head, wondering how things could have gone so wrong so quickly.

The wind had picked up, and as always she had no coat on. She shivered as she trudged back toward the house. She could always put on another gown and shoes. But it wouldn’t match her jewelry and eye shadow. Get a grip, Lark. You’ve never cared about that sort of thing in your life. Guess I need to call Calli and have her slap me around to knock some sense into me. It’s what friends are for after all.

Okay. Focus. Another gown? What time is it? With lightning speed, she hurried into the kitchen and looked at the clock. Six twenty-nine. She had sixty seconds. Oh dear.

The doorbell rang. She popped in the powder room to look in the mirror. Yikes. She winced. Her hair looked like she’d been riding on the back of Jeremy’s motorbike. For hours. She slogged to the door, opened it, and waited to hear how many creative excuses Everett could come up with as to why their date should be postponed. . .forever.

Eleven

Everett tried hard not to stare. But Lark stood there with her hair departing in several directions, none of which seemed to be the right ones. And her dress appeared soiled. A lone tear rolled down her cheek. He couldn’t stand her distress a moment longer.

Within an instant, Everett came through the doorway and stood in front of her. He was close enough to feel Lark’s breath on his face. I barely know her. Would she want me to comfort her? She didn’t seem to object to his nearness, so he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped away her tears. Her skin felt so soft and her expression so appealing and feminine, he wanted to kiss her. But he didn’t want to ruin the moment. “You must really love your duck,” Everett said.

“You saw that?” Lark took a step back.

Everett slowly nodded.

“So what did you see, exactly?”

“Only what happened in your backyard. I heard you yell, ‘Picasso! You scalawag!’ And then something about him ruining your date with me.’”

Lark let out a tiny moan. “You could hear that?”

“Well, I was in my office, and I looked down when I heard a commotion.” He smiled.

“Oh, well.” Lark shrugged. “What can I say?”

“I would have come to your aid, but you already had him secured in his pen,” Everett said. “Hey, you know, I thought I heard a megaphone earlier, too. Did you actually use one of those things to call him in?”

Lark nodded.

“I guess it worked.” Everett noticed her blush again. He wouldn’t want to take advantage of her in such a fragile moment, so he stepped back. “Would you still like to go to the party?”

Lark blew her nose into his handkerchief, sounding like a dainty foghorn. “If you don’t mind me cleaning up and changing.”

“Everyone’s always late to these things.” Everett hoped to make her feel at ease.

Lark sniffled. “I guess we could come in fashionably late then.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Lark started to hand him his handkerchief back and then stopped. “Guess I’d better wash this first.” She hurried off into another part of the house. After a few seconds, she peeked back around the corner. “Please, make yourself at home.”

Everett could feel his Palm Pilot in the pocket of his tux, even though he’d promised himself to keep it at home. Must have picked it up without