"Bullshit!"

I banged down the phone, and grabbed my purse and keys. I'd been trying to get in touch with Luke Benson for two days now, but couldn't seem to get past his receptionist. I was sick to death of hearing that "Mr. Benson just stepped out," that "Mr. Benson is interviewing," and that "Mr. Benson can't be disturbed." Hell, if Chloe hadn't mentioned seeing him at Dumplin's, I'd have thought that "Mr. Benson" was only a figment of the imagination and that the local newspaper was really being run by some disembodied head much akin to the Wizard of Oz!

Yeah, I should've taken Chloe up on that introduction, and just forgotten about how bad I'd looked. But it was too late to worry about that now. I would wangle an introduction, and it would happen today - even if I had to camp out in front of his office, I thought as I started the car and pulled out of the drive.

Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? He hadn't made the slightest effort to return any of my calls. Not that I knew if Little Hitler had even bothered with the messages. But that didn't matter. What did matter is that he had an office and a telephone. And if he was any sort of a businessman at all, he'd know how to use them. Moreover, had he been in his office by the phone, I wouldn't have had to waste my time dealing with the front desk Gestapo at all. I was still stewing when I pulled into the parking lot.

I checked my makeup in the rearview mirror, took a deep breath, and willed myself to calm down. Marching into the Sikeston Press Herald in a rabid fury wasn't going to get me anywhere - except maybe, arrested. And I certainly didn't want to go there. Besides, I was probably being more than just a little unreasonable. Deep down, I was certain that Luke Benson was a busy man, and did have tons to do. It was just that I wasn't used to not getting what I wanted when I wanted it. And the older I got, the more it bothered me. So, with that in mind, I took a deep breath, wrapped myself in an aura of professionalism, made my way up the walk, and prepared to meet Little Hitler - right up close and personal.

Luke Benson leaned back in his chair, propped his feet on the desk, and inhaled deeply. Nasty habit, he thought, as he exhaled three perfectly formed smoke rings. Problem is, that's what everybody else keeps telling me. Now, if I really thought it was, that might be a different story. I might actually do something about it. Like maybe even quit, he mused, as he watched one of the rings settle around the toe of his brown leather loafer.

He'd been in the office since before five o'clock this morning - same as every morning for the past two weeks - and there still weren't enough hours in the day for everything that needed his attention. Damn Roxanne and her sick mother! He'd needed a secretary in the worst way, and Roxanne had been the best. She'd not only been able to juggle forty things at once, but do it effortlessly while standing on her head and whistling Dixie. Maybe he should have offered her more money to stay. Maybe he should have begged. Pleaded. Gotten on his knees and groveled. But none of it would have made a damned bit of difference. Illness was a fact of life. And so was parental responsibility, he thought as he stubbed out his cigarette and pulled another from the pack.

What he really needed now was a miracle. A Secretarial Goddess to march right through that front door and fix everything. Someone to keep his appointments straight, handle that never-ending flow of messages that streamed across his desk, and deal with complaints from the rural route customers.

And as long as he was dreaming, maybe this Goddess could even deal with the Sikeston Charities Guild and that high-fallutin' Miss Ada Thompson who ran it. He was sick to death of her insistence on coverage for ice cream socials and tea parties - events designed solely to defray college expenses for those whose families could well afford to put any six kids through Yale - when there were homeless people living in cardboard boxes on the outskirts of town. Of course, the plight of the homeless didn't bother Miss Ada a bit - except for the fact that they were unsightly. She just wanted them run out of town so no one would have to look at them. How anybody could be so obtuse, and still manage to breathe the same air as normal folks, was beyond him.

He crushed out his cigarette disgustedly, grabbed his cup, and headed for the coffee pot. So, how many pots did that make today? Three? Four? He'd lost count, but guessed it didn't really matter. He'd never heard of death by coffee, regardless of how much was ingested. Now, if he could just keep from bouncing off the walls, he'd be doing fine.

Must be oldies hour again at the radio station, he thought with a grin as the first few bars of "Mr. Sandman" wafted from the overhead speakers. Yeah, that's what I need, all right: a dream. A made-to-order dream. And before he knew it, he was singing along silently to the personal version running through his head.

And there he stood - still lost in his own world of dreams and Secretarial Goddesses - when Tess came waltzing through the front door.

Well, wasn't this a fine way to run an office! No Little Hitler at the front desk. No Gestapo to meet you, greet you, or send you on your way. No one at all. Unless, of course, you could count the dreamy-eyed idiot leaning against the door facing on the other side of the room. And that one? Well, he'd have to be deaf as well as blind, since he hadn't so much as looked in my direction. Still, I thought I'd take a chance. After all, what did I have to lose?

"Excuse me," I said, sauntering in his direction.

The poor guy nearly jumped out of skin, but at least, I had his attention. That'll teach him to keep his mind on his business, I thought. I did my best to keep a straight face, but the look on his was so befuddled that I couldn't help cracking a smile.

"I am so sorry," the idiot offered. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I'm actually looking for Luke Benson. Is he in?"

"Who wants to know?" Now the idiot had taken a different stance. Peering down at me from over the tops of his wire-rimmed aviator frames, he was actually trying intimidation. Something which obviously didn't sit well with me, especially after the morning I'd had.

"And just what sort of question is that?!" I'd promised myself that I wasn't going to get pissed, but my new-found calm was quickly flying out the window. "Is he screening his visitors today? Just like he's been screening his calls for the last few days? Well, let me tell you something, sir..."

"Now, hold on there just a minute..."

"No! You hold on there, buddy. I will not be pushed aside like.."

The sudden realization that we were not only literally standing toe to toe, but that I was standing on the very tips of mine to get right in his face, stopped me short. The whole thing was so ridiculous that I burst into laughter.

"Sorry," I said as I set my heels back on the floor. "Perhaps we could start again?"

"Perhaps," he said with a twinkle in his amber eyes. "Coffee?"

"Absolutely."

"Cream and..."

"Completely unnecessary, but thank you. I'm a purist when it comes to coffee."

"Well now, a woman who knows her own mind as well as mine. You wouldn't happen to be a secretary, would you?"

"Once," I said as I followed him to the coffee pot, "a very long time ago. But I'm not looking for work. In fact..."

"Pity," he said, filling our cups. "I was beginning to think you were a dream come true."

"Excuse me?" I took the cup and looked at him.

"Oh, never mind. What did you say your business with Luke was?"

He was studying me. My face. My body language. My reactions. The whole ball of wax. I quickly came to the realization that I was right in the middle of a personal game of cat and mouse, and I was the one with the shorter legs.

"I didn't...Mr. Benson," I retorted.

His laugh was free and easy, with no trace of embarrassment at being caught. In fact, he didn't even have the common courtesy to blush.

"Guilty as charged. Now then, if you'll just tell me your name and have a seat," he said as he gestured toward the empty chair in his office, "I'll see what I can do to help you."

"It's Tess. Tess Logan. The same Tess Logan who's been trying to reach you by phone for the last couple of days."

"Well, Ms. Logan - the same Ms. Logan who's been ringing my phone off the wall," he said with a smug grin as he fished for a cigarette, "What can I do for the fine ladies of the Sikeston Charities Guild?"

"Excuse me?" I was beginning to think my first assessment had been right on. This guy was, indeed, an idiot. And one of the worst kind.

"You're not with the Charities Guild?" Now he looked embarrassed. And even though I didn't get the joke, I'd somehow managed to unsettle him with nothing more than two words. The ball was back in my court, and I was enjoying it immensely.

"No," I said with an arch of my eyebrow. "I'm actually researching a family that lived in Sikeston during the Civil War, and I thought you might be able to help me." I tossed the file across his desk and waited while he thumbed through it.

"Well, I'm not familiar with these folks, but I do have some connections who may be," he said as he scribbled down a phone number and handed it to me. "Give this guy a call. He's the area's unofficial historian. Fair warning, though. You'll probably want to have five gallons of coffee, a carton of cigarettes, and an endless supply of pencils and paper by the phone. It's common knowledge that once he starts talking, he never shuts up," he said with a chuckle.

I looked at the post-it note and grinned. "Silas Shrum," I mused. "Name sounds like it came straight out of a fairy-tale."

"Well, for God's sake, don't tell him that," he said with a wink. "Silas takes himself very seriously." He handed me the folder, lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply. "By the way, it might be a good idea for you to leave your phone number. Just in case I think of anyone else who could help you."

"No problem," I said as I handed him my business card. "I could certainly use a few more days of synchronicity at work!"

"What did you say?" He was wearing that deer in the headlights look.

"Synchronicity at work. I said I could use a few more days of that."

He leaned across the desk, propped his chin on his hands, and looked me right in the eye. "And I suppose you actually know what that word means?"

A burn of color crawled across my cheeks and for a moment, I thought I might actually catch on fire. I couldn't believe my ears or his audacity. That pompous little twirp! Just who the hell did he think he was?!

"As a matter of fact, I do," I said through clenched teeth as I got to my feet and leaned right in his face. "And now, I have a question for you, Mr. Benson. Were you born a pompous ass? Or is that a practiced art?"

Now then, I thought, as I watched his jaw drop ten feet. If you're going to run with the big dogs, buddy, make sure you know how to play the game.

His mouth was still agape when I wished him a lovely day, and sailed out the door.

"What a jackass!" I screamed as I stomped through the house. "I can't believe he had the audacity to..."

"Well, at least you got a phone number. That's got to be worth something." Chloe was being Chloe, and doing her best to calm me down.

"Look, Chloe, I love you. But just this once, please don't make me try to see reason, okay? I just want to be mad for a while. Besides...the sonuvabitch deserves it! And I'm not entirely certain that one little phone number could ever be worth all the bullshit I had to trudge through to get it!" I waved the post-it note in the air, then tossed it on the table. "That holier than thou asshole! How dare he even pretend that I'm stupid!"

"Sounds to me like you're forging quite a relationship with our illustrious newspaper publisher," Chloe chuckled.

"Yeah, right!" I exhaled a stream of smoke and drummed my nails on the kitchen counter.

"But you have to admit he's cute."

"Cute?! What the hell are you thinking? Are your hormones on overdrive this morning? The only thing cute about that idiotic jerk was the look on his face when I cut him off at the knees."

"Oh, come on, Tess. The only time I ever see you this pissed at some guy is just before you fall head over heels!" Chloe was right. Intimate relationships had never been easy for me. I couldn't remember any ever having started out with hearts and flowers, or that light and fluffy romance that's supposed to make you spontaneously break into song. No, every single one of mine had started out with a real bang - the sort of bang that generally heralds a war, rather than a love affair.

And as much as I hated to admit it, Chloe was right on the other count, too. Luke Benson - regardless of his arrogant, self-serving nature - was, indeed, cute. He had that distinctive look of what Aunt Mary had termed "the black Irish," with those hazel-amber eyes set into a freckled face, framed by the darkest brown hair I'd ever seen. Still and all, though, I wasn't going to give Chloe the satisfaction of being right. Not right now, anyway.

"In case you didn't hear me the first time, let me spell it out for you. He's a cocky, arrogant, self-serving bastard! That's why I'm pissed. I could strangle him with my bare hands! I could just..."

"Whatever. But you know what they say. Anger is just the flip side of passion. And if Luke Benson can drive you this close to the brink of insanity with just a few words, can you even imagine how good the sex might be?!"

Sometimes, the Universe steps in and saves you from having to answer questions you'd rather not. And this time, the rescue came by way of the ringing telephone, which Chloe picked up immediately. That was the great thing about having a friend like Chloe. She not only knew when to unleash you upon the world to stir things up, but when the world was much safer left to its own devices.

What the hell had just happened? Luke rubbed his chin and stared at his empty office. He'd thought everything was going along just fine. In fact, he'd really been enjoying the banter with Tess Logan. What wasn't to enjoy? She was smart, sassy, and had a quick wit. Her independent nature was intriguing. And the fact that it was all tied up into one nice, neat attractive package didn't hurt, either.

What was it with women, anyway? He'd gotten her phone number and had even entertained the thought of inviting her to dinner. Then - wham! - she'd let him have it right between the eyes.

"Hey, Luke!" The disembodied voice belonged to his twin sister, Liza, the front-desk receptionist. "Could you give me a hand with the stuff in the car? There was a sale at the office supply store, and I nearly bought the place out."

"Sure thing, Liza. And I'm glad you're back. I need to talk to you about something."

"Women from the Charities Guild giving you a hard time?" she quipped as she rounded the corner, but one look at his face told a different story.

"Geeze, Luke, what's wrong? You look like you lost your best friend."

"Woman trouble."

"You've got to be kidding," she said as she tossed a box into an empty chair, and began sorting through the stuff inside. "You don't even go out. In fact, you haven't been close enough to a woman in years to..."

"Well, one came to me. And just before I could ask her out, she called me a pompous ass, turned on her heel, and walked right out the door. She may as well have spat in my face."

"What the hell did you do?"

"Well, that's just it. I'm not sure," Luke said, "I was hoping that maybe you could tell me!"

"Okay, we'll just worry about the stuff in the car later," she said as she grabbed a chair. "Just sit down and tell me everything."

Liza listened while Luke talked and went through his morning pack of smokes. And by the time he got to the punch line, it was all she could do to keep from smacking him.

"Holy shit! You did what?! And you can't figure out why she was pissed?!"

"All I did was..."

"Say she was stupid, Luke!"

"No, I didn't. I was just amazed that anyone in this two-bit town even knew that word. And she didn't just know it, she used it in a sentence!"

"And you had the balls to ask her if she knew what it meant. Just how stupid are you? Lucky I wasn't on the receiving end of that shit, or I'd have hit you so hard..."

"...That by the time I quit rolling, my clothes would've been out of style," Luke finished with a roll of his eyes and a chuckle. "So...what do I do now?"

"Well, groveling at her feet might be good," said Liza with a grin, "as well as kissing her ass up and down Main Street. But I guess it all depends on how much you really want that date. In any case, you're going to have to apologize - and do it profusely - or she'll never even speak to you again. How about giving her a call?"

"Geeze...I don't know, Sis. I really don't think..."

"Do you want that date or not?" she quipped, grabbing her keys and starting for the door. "Now help me get the stuff out of the car before the plastic wrappers melt right into the legal pads."

"Logan residence, Chloe Dawson speaking."

I scanned Chloe's face for some idea of who was on the line. And when I saw her eyes light up and the smile crease her lips, I figured that my luck might just be changing. At least, it wasn't somebody trying to sell me something. And with the way things had been going lately, that in itself, was good news.

"...just fine, thank you. Hold on a second, please."

This must be really good, I thought as she handed me the receiver. Chloe was, after all, grinning from ear to ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Tess. This is Luke Benson."

For the second time in less than an hour, I couldn't believe my ears. How much nerve did this guy possess? How dare he call me - especially after what he'd done! Had he no manners at all?!

And what about Chloe? She damned sure knew better than this. What sort of fucking friend was she anyway, to subject me to this sort of shit? I shot her a dirty look, but the only response I got was a muffled giggle.

"Tess? Are you there?"

"Yeah," I responded rather tersely. "What do you want, Mr. Benson? Some further discussion of my personal vocabulary?"

"Well, I certainly don't think that's in order. In fact..."

"Look, I don't like you very much right now. And I really don't feel like making small talk with you. So...if you'll just state your business, we can get this over and done with."

"Oh, geeze!" he sighed heavily. "I knew this wasn't going to go well - this sort of thing never seems to go well for me - and you're obviously not going to make this easy..."

"If this morning is any indication, everything," I said as I clearly enunciated all four syllables in the last word, "is easy for you, Mr. Benson. If it enters your head, it just rolls off your tongue. How difficult is that? Especially for someone who makes his living with words? So, how about just spitting them out?"

I was being a real bitch and it just wasn't like me - particularly when someone was as nervous as he seemed to be. But try as I might to do otherwise, I just couldn't help myself.

"Look, Tess...I am so sorry about this morning. I don't know what got into me, and I'd do anything to take it back. Could we just start over? Please?!"

I let out my breath slowly. The man actually sounded like a wounded, grief-stricken child, and as much as that touched my heart, I'd been that route with men before. Once you accepted poor behavior, you never got any better. And I was worth more than that. I'd promised myself long ago that no one would ever again treat me like my ex had, and it damned sure wasn't going to start now.

"...and you're the most intelligent woman I've ever met. So please, Tess. Let me make it up to you. How about over dinner?"

Good Gods, I thought as the words sank in. Dinner? He had to be kidding. Bad enough that his crap had already ruined my appetite for lunch, but dinner, too? I didn't think so.

"When pigs fly on gossamer wings, Mr. Benson!" I retorted. "Now then, are you going to ask whether I know what that word means, too?" I paused just for effect. "No? Good. Then I believe this conversation is over. Have a good day."

I put the receiver back on the hook without waiting for a response, then strolled into the kitchen to refill my coffee cup. I lit a cigarette and stared defiantly at Chloe.

"What?!" She shrugged her shoulders and put on her most innocent look.

"What the hell do you mean, 'what?!' You knew better than that! What the hell is wrong with you? Have you lost your fucking mind?" I spat at her in a stage whisper. I was right on the edge of losing control, and doing my best to keep my voice down. The last thing I needed now was for her to burst into tears, and that was something that seemed to happen lately when I yelled at her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she countered. "The man calls to apologize - something he obviously needed to do - and how do you respond? You fucking hang up on him! What sort of shit is that?!"

"The sort that needs my food digested in peace and quiet," I said, throwing my arms in the air and pacing through the kitchen. "After all this, he had the unmitigated gall to actually invite me to dinner."

"Well after all this, don't you think he actually owes you something?" Chloe chuckled. "And a nice dinner at his expense might just be a good starting point, don't you think?" she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"No," I countered with a half grin. "I'm old enough to choose who I eat with. And I've gotta tell you, Chloe...he's simply not on the list."

Luke stared at the receiver in his hand for a good while and just listened to the dial tone. He still couldn't believe she'd hung up on him. And even after he'd jumped through his ass apologizing - something that had never been easy for him. He wanted to scream. Yell. Maybe even kick something. But instead he just placed the receiver back on the cradle, lit a cigarette, and walked out to the front desk.

"How did it go?" Liza asked with a smile. "All set for dinner?"

"You and your great ideas!" Luke grumbled as he swatted his sister on the head with a file folder. "Next time, just keep 'em to yourself, okay?"

"Please tell me that you didn't insult her again - and that you actually did apologize."

"No, I didn't - insult her, that is. And I definitely apologized. I even went so far as to tell her that she was the most intelligent woman I'd ever met."

"And?"

"She told me that she'd have dinner with me when - geeze, I still can't believe this one - pigs flew on gossamer wings!"

Liza swallowed back a chuckle. But the look on his face coupled with the punch line was just too much. And before she knew it, she was beside herself with laughter.

"Well, you've got to admit she's got balls, Luke," she said, trying to get herself back under control. "But I guess now the question is, can you make it happen?"

"Make what happen?"

"The 'gossamer wing' thing. Can you make pigs fly on them?" she asked with a wink.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He was looking at her like she'd lost her mind.

"Well," she said, arching her eyebrow, "if you're going to have dinner with her - and it looks like nothing else will satisfy you at this point - then you're going to have to do it on her terms.

"Besides...I have an idea. A quick call to Phil over at the Flower Basket might just do the trick."

"The Flower Basket? I'm sending her flowers?" He couldn't believe what she was suggesting.

"Yes, dear brother, you are. If you have to eat crow, then at least, dine with class. Take that route and you might even find it's a tastier dish than you originally thought."

Luke shrugged his shoulders. "Okay. I'll bite." He had, after all, nothing to lose. Still, the idea of sending flowers to a woman he'd just met a few hours ago seemed more than just a little over the top. Especially since he usually reserved flowers for really special occasions - things like birthdays and awards and such. And oh, all right, then...fucking up - which he'd not only managed to do, but had apparently done in spades.

But making pigs fly? And on gossamer wings? Just how the hell was Liza going to make that happen?

"So...what exactly did you have in mind?"

I ground out my cigarette in the ashtray, and thought about how good it felt to be alone in my own space. As much as I loved Chloe, sometimes I just needed to be by myself. And this was one of those times. Besides, I had tons to do. For one thing, I needed to work on the book. Editing wasn't fun, but it was necessary, and there was plenty of that to be done before I could send in the final draft. And since I had another book on the back burner as well, it might be a good time to work up an outline.

But first things first. Everything went better with coffee, and getting to work called for a fresh pot. Since it was closer to my office than the bedroom, I set up the coffee maker in the kitchen. And in a matter of seconds, the house was filling with that wonderful aroma that never failed to bring me to my senses. About two more minutes, I thought, grabbing my cup from the table, and all will be right with the world.

A wadded up scrap of paper fell to the floor. And when I picked it up, I saw that it was the post-it note with Silas Shrum's phone number scrawled across the top. Well, I mused as I straightened the small sheet, at least Chloe was right about one thing. I had gotten a phone number out of this morning's ruckus, and it was more than I'd had before. And since this was as good a time to call as any, I might as well give it a shot. Remembering what Luke had had to say about him, though, I waited to fill my cup and grabbed a fresh pack of cigarettes before reaching for the phone. No sense in putting myself through caffeine or nicotine withdrawal, I thought with a chuckle. At least, not if I could help it.

Of course, it's a fact of life that advanced preparations are seldom necessary when in place, and such was the case with the phone call. So, I left a message on the historian's answering machine and hoped he'd call me back. I was just itching to see what I could find out about the folks buried in that cemetery plot - especially the owner of that peculiar tombstone - and at this point, Silas Shrum looked like my best bet.

Still, there wasn't any point in wasting the rest of the day just waiting around for a phone call, so I sat down at my desk and started picking through the manuscript. There were only a few more chapters to edit, and with any luck, I figured I could get through it in a few hours. But before I could really get settled into the first chapter, there was one more interruption. And this time, it was the door bell.

For the love of the Gods, I thought, as I stomped to the door. What now?! Didn't people stay home anymore? I certainly hoped it wasn't the crazy woman who lived next door - the pregnant one who'd decided I should take up mid-wifing and had offered to be my first patient - because there was no way I felt like dealing with that sort of insanity. In any case, I steeled myself for whatever might greet me and whipped open the door.

It was my turn for the deer in the headlights stare. For there on my front porch stood Mickey, the delivery man from the Flower Basket. And he was holding the most enormous basket of yellow pink-tipped roses I'd ever seen.

"Must've been a really good girl today, Tess," he chuckled.

"Good Gods, Mickey," I breathed. "Who on earth did these come from?"

"Don't have a clue, m'dear," he said, "but I'm willing to bet there's not a single talisman rose left in the entire state!"

I wished him a good day, set the basket on the coffee table, and reached for the envelope. But before I could even rip it open, something else caught my eye. There, nestled in among the flowers, were three little pigs bobbing about on tiny metal springs. And attached to the back of each was a single pair of sheer, sparkling iridescent fairy wings.

"Holy shit," I murmured as a round of the giggles burst forth. "Pigs flying - and on gossamer wings! How funny is that?!" I was still laughing when I tore into the envelope, but instead of a card, there was a hand-written note which read:

"Please forgive this pompous ass. [I obviously need no more practice in that department, and wouldn't blame you if you never spoke to me again.] But as I've met your terms, I would very much appreciate it if you'd reconsider my dinner invitation.

Should you be so inclined, please call the number below and a car will pick you up at seven. If you are not, then please accept my sincere and grateful appreciation for brightening my morning.

Humbly, Luke"

Stunned, I sat down on the couch and stared at the note. Holy shit! This man was absolutely full of surprises. No one had ever gone to so much trouble for me, or done so with such elegance. By the Gods, he'd even made it his business to find out that these roses were my absolute favorites, and had managed them even though they weren't easy to come by. And just look at those pigs! This must've cost him a small fortune, I thought leaning over and inhaling the heady perfume.

Could I have been that wrong about Luke Benson? Dyed-in-the-wool jackasses certainly didn't behave this way. Or did they? Well, there was only one way to find out. I reached for the phone and began to dial.

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