Aware that the chill only enhanced his attraction, and wanting to make an example out of her, Ellison approached with lithe grace and compacted power. He had everyone’s attention riveted on him now.

“Mrs. . .” he inquired, with a mere lift of his chin warning the staff to stay out of it, standing over and staring down at the lump of womanhood puddled gracelessly amid golf ball boxes and loose golf balls on the floor.

She croaked getting her name out, gasping “Bishop!” up into his face. He immediately thought of a frog. A fat frog in a blue knit dress. And that was all it took to break the spell. He unexpectedly grinned, struggling mightily to keep a very unmasculine giggle from escaping his lips, and failed. He giggled.

It wasn’t often that one of his unwanted admirers brought a smile to his face. At the sight of her very expensive butt sitting on so many new golf balls like a chicken hatching eggs (eggs that were now used golf balls and would have to go for half-price) Ellison laughed out loud, his irritation defused. Confused, Mrs. Bishop beamed and straightened at her dress.

Like a contagious yawn, his amusement set off light tittering in the background from the staff. Someone new came in the back entrance. The woman at his feet cautioned another wide smile, and, to his surprise, slowly turned from an ogling would-be Ellison fancier into a contrite, wealthy resident who, no, wouldn’t clean up the mess herself but would call her husband in to do the job if that was all right with him. Red in the face, she couldn’t get out fast enough, though she took one last look at him as she exited.

What in the world had just happened, he wondered. Could it be so easy? Maybe he just needed to start laughing at them.

Marcia Dowson entered the front door just as Mrs. Bishop stumbled out. He caught his assistant’s brief, irritated look his way as she blew breath upwards to scatter the long bangs of a new hairstyle. Ellison started to say something admiring but stopped himself just in time.

“Why don’t you just get fat and save us all this trouble,” she muttered, careful to wait until Mrs. Bishop was safely out of earshot, he noted, but not so careful he didn’t hear.

She meant him. It wasn’t the first time she dared him to change his fate by changing his looks. He ignored her comment and kept his own to himself. There would be time later to compliment her new hairstyle. His glare this time told the staff to stop with the hilarity and get back to work.

To Be Continued…Copyright 2010 by Gretchen Lee Rix/photo by Roxanne Rix. Link to The Cowboy’s Baby at Amazon.com  www.amazon.com/The-Cowboys-Baby-ebook/dp/B003UYUVZC. 

Jessica Scott has a good blog that goes beyond writing. She’s a writer who is also a soldier. www.jessicascott.net/blog/ . Keep up with guest blogger Deb Sanders at www.author-debsanders.com/ Help feed people and learn new words with  www.freerice.com  and help feed pets with www.freekibble.com . Check out places to submit your short stories at www.duotrope.com. AND ENTER SCARE THE DICKENS OUT OF US www.clarklibraryfriends.com You’ve got one month left.