Argosy Junction by Chautona Havig Read Free Book Online Page A

asked. It was overwhelmingly tempting, but he managed to keep the question stifled. Lane was dying to tell him, and he wanted to make her squirm a bit. After all, if he encouraged her too much, he might be the next person on her torture list. Matt almost forgot that she’d already inflicted severe torture on him, and if he forgot again, he’d remember next time he bent to tie his shoe.
    Lane finally saw through him. “Fine. You win. I put honey in his boots this morning.”
    To Matt’s consternation, he spewed his mouthful of taco across the table and all over Lane’s sage-colored turtleneck, giving it the unflattering appearance of abstract southwestern art. His mind immediately questioned why he couldn’t have coughed, choked, or at the least, caught the food in his napkin. People in books and even most movies didn’t shower attractive women in partially masticated Mexican food, regardless of the hilarity of the moment. Mortified, he tried to apologize, but couldn’t; he was laughing too hard at the shocked look on Lane’s face. As she wiped a potato from one cheek, he lost all self-control and toppled to the floor in helpless laughter.
    Mrs. Montoya rushed to the room, carrying a clean spoon and handed it to a confused Lane. “For his tongue. The episioto—no that’s birth. The Caesar!” she shouted in triumphant jubilation of finding the right word so quickly.
    Lane howled. “He’s not having a seizure. He’s just laughing.”
    Utterly confused, the poor woman left the room with occasional glances at the panting man on her floor as she went. Matt struggled to get to his feet and failed. Tears streaming from his eyes and still laughing between gasps, he held out his hand for help.
    “I’m not sure I should help you. You ruined my favorite sweater.”
    “Who filled boots with honey? Did it override the stink from Tad’s feet?”
    Matt’s artwork instantly forgiven, Lane grabbed his hand and effortlessly pulled him to his feet. At first, he marveled at her strength until he realized that height probably made more difference than strength. It gave her leverage. “How tall are you?”
    She shrugged and dug out her driver’s license. “They measured me when I got this. It says five-eleven.”
    “You don’t know your own height?”
    “I’ve never paid attention.  Every time someone measured me, it was different, so I gave up keeping track.”
    Half an hour later, they wandered up and down the street peering into shops and discussing souvenirs. Well, Lane wandered.  Matt did a half-limp hobble. “I know I want a sweatshirt for my dad. He’ll get a kick out of people asking about it. The guy down at the coffee shop will ask if Dad got it on eBay, and Dad will have a chance to tell about his son’s adventures in the wilds of Montana. I have to warn you…those sheep will probably be changed to a heard of thundering buffalo, and you will probably become a petite little thing that couldn’t help a kitten across a slick floor.”
    Lane led him into The Jct. Trading Post and to a display of t-shirts and sweatshirts. As she followed him as he perused a wide array of cheesy options, she pulled out her phone and made a quiet call. Matt hardly noticed the shift in atmosphere. He wasn’t finding what he wanted. Everything for men was either tacky or something related to college sports. The women’s clothing was exactly what he wanted, but nothing would work for a big guy like his father. He’d have to try the airport.
    He turned and did the “in your way shuffle” with Lane for a moment, before placing his hands on her shoulders and rotating them manually. As she returned to her phone, he sought out Christmas ornaments on clearance by the register. He found one with a bear wearing a Santa hat and paddling a canoe that would be a perfect gift for his Aunt Judy.
    “I like that. It’s cute. Is that for your mom?” Lane’s voice at his sleeve almost made him drop the ornament, but he passed it across