MM03 - Saturday Mornings
church and afterward took her aunt to lunch. Then she went with her Sunday-school class to Traceway Manor to visit the shut-ins. When she got home, she put a roast into the oven for supper and settled onto the sofa with the Sunday paper.
    But she didn't feel usual at all. She kept having breathless moments, and every now and then her cheeks got hot. She knew what was the matter with her. Andrew McGill. He'd made her feel pretty. Even desirable. She was very close to being smitten.
    She folded the paper in her lap and stared into space. What was he doing now? Was he thinking about the previous night? Was he remembering how it felt to stand so close on the dance floor, pressed up against her so he could hardly tell where one body left off and the other began?
    “Don't be foolish, Margaret Leigh.”
    The sound of her own voice brought her back to her senses. What was she thinking of? Even if by some miracle he did ask her out again, what in the world would she ever do with a man like him? A man who lived in the woods with his bird dogs. Everybody on both sides of her family tried to make something of themselves. There was even a governor on her mother's side. It wouldn't do for her to fall in love with a vagabond like Andrew.
    She opened her paper and turned to the arts section. She'd be better off if she quit mooning and stuck to book reviews. She was well into a review of Stephen King's latest when she realized that she wasn't going to spend the rest of the afternoon reading. For once in her life, she was going to be daring.
    Almost in a trace, she laid the paper aside and went upstairs. She freshened her lipstick and turned to get her purse. On second thought, she took the pins from her French twist and brushed out her hair. It hung heavy and silky around her cheeks, and she felt young and giddy. Grabbing her coat and purse, she went downstairs.
    Bertha was sitting beside the window in her bedroom, still wearing her Sunday hat. Margaret Leigh quickly crossed the room and slid an arm around her shoulders.
    “Aunt Bertha, what in the world are you doing?”
    “Watching the birds.”
    Margaret Leigh started to comment on the hat. Instead, she removed it and gently smoothed her aunt's hair.
    “It's a nice afternoon for bird watching.”
    Aunt Bertha slowly turned from the window. The first thing she saw was Margaret Leigh's hair. The next thing she saw was the purse.
    “Are you going somewhere, honey?”
    For the first time in her life, Margaret Leigh lied to Aunt Bertha—to spare her any needless worry, she told herself. “Just on an errand. Will you watch the pot roast while I'm gone?”
    “Certainly.” Aunt Bertha caught her hand. “Be careful.”
    Margaret Leigh deliberately misunderstood the warning.
    “I always drive carefully.”
    It was almost sunset by the time she got to Boguefala Bottom. She parked her car beside Andrew's red truck and mounted the cabin steps. Her knock was timid at first, and then bolder when she failed to rouse anybody. By the fourth knock she decided no one was home.
    She turned and started back down the steps.
    “Going somewhere?”
    Andrew was standing in the doorway, chest bare, jeans snug over his hips, and a guitar dangling from his hands. She couldn't seem to take her eyes off his chest. Fascinated, she studied each muscle separately, as if they were rare museum pieces. The setting sun spotlighted him, tangling in his gold chest hairs, so that every inch of him shimmered.
    “Would you like to take a bite, Margaret Leigh?”
    Her head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?”
    He crossed the porch, took her hand, and dragged her into his cabin.
    “I do love it when a woman looks at me like that.” He pulled her inside and kicked the door shut behind them. “Yessir, there's nothing to liven up a good Sunday evening like a woman who wants to have me for supper.”

    Chapter Four
    Andrew was delighted with the turn of events.
    He'd spent all Sunday congratulating himself on

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