Amber Dan-Dwayne Spencer (romantic books to read .txt) 📖

needs a ride home. What would he do if the Elders didn’t accept his petition for residency? After all, we are his friends.” He slugged me hard on the shoulder. “Yep, what are friends for, anyway?”

I grimaced.

Rose threw her arms around Jimmy’s neck and shook with glee. “Oh, Jimmy, I think that’s a great idea.” Then she gave him one of those kisses like Deborah Kerr gave Burt Lancaster in the movie From Here to Eternity, and I’m pretty sure there was some tongue action going on.

Roger stood staring with his mouth hanging open when I poked him in the ribs and said, “Let’s go on to the meeting. They can catch up.” Without taking his eyes off them, he nodded and followed me into the Roundhouse.

Inside, the tables were full, and the Sheriff was giving some kind of talk. We climbed halfway up the stairs spiraling around the eastern oak tree and sat on a step overlooking the gathering while our feet dangled off the side. From where we were, I could see out into the meadow, and I was confused by what I saw. They hadn’t brought any firetrucks with them. The only emergency vehicles out there were the Fire Chief’s pickup truck, the Sheriff’s patrol cruiser, and a couple of police cars belonging to his deputies. These were strange first responders. They hadn’t intended on helping with the fire.

The Sheriff was in the middle of his lecture. “…and all I can say is holy hell, holy hell, what were you, hippies, thinking?”

White as a bleached sheet, Roger sat beside me chanting under his breath, “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” He stared over at me. “He said Holy hell. He’s a zombie. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.”

I think all the blood drained from Roger’s head. “I don’t know. Maybe,” I used the calmest voice I could muster. “Let’s see what else he has to say.”

The Sherriff loudly accused, “The Fire Chief and my men have inspected the field including those firetraps you folks call solar pho-poop-ic collectors and they have determined this fire was caused by a spark made from those infernal contraptions. They are all fire hazards and either you put gravel under them, or cover them with asbestos, or we will be forced to come out and destroy them. There will be no further warning. We’ll be extra lenient this time and allow you seventy-two hours to comply. So, early Tuesday morning we will be here to see if you have made the necessary changes to your stupid electric gizmos. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were more fires started by those unsafe….” He turned to Flower and asked, “What are those things called?”

Flower replied to the Sheriff, “They are called photovoltaic collectors.” She lifted her chin. “And, we know how the fire got started.” Her focus bore down on him. It reminded me of how I used to glare at my competitors right before a swim meet.

“Yeah, Missy, you’re not as smart as you think you are. My men know what caused the fire, and it was definitely those collector things. I bet you also knew they were unsafe from the start.”

Flower answered, “Sheriff, I assure you they are completely safe and could not have started this fire.”

“My men and the Fire Chief say otherwise, and they know a bit more about fires than you do.”

“Yes, I bet they do,” Flower’s posture stiffened as she spoke. “However, I am just as certain they know nothing about photovoltaic collectors.”

“I have spoken,” he yelled. “Get your makeshift electro gadgetry off the field by Tuesday, or else.”

“Sheriff,”—Flower’s tone turned calm and collected—“we will comply. When you return, we will have the collectors insulated as per your instructions. There will be no need to remove them.”

“Impossible, where do you think you’ll get enough asbestos in time to insulate all of those contraptions?”

“Where we get it, is not your concern. Come back on Tuesday as you said and see for yourself.”

We were sitting above and slightly behind the Sheriff who began waving his fists in outrage. He shook his head and inadvertently glanced up at us. I could swear his eyes glowed red and were bleeding. The entire eye, white and all, was a fluorescent, angry red with bloody tears dripping down. Still facing upward, he stopped shaking his fists. Eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened them, they were normal.

The sun went behind a cloud and the Roundhouse tenting darkened. Pains streaked through my chest. It felt like an icy hand had reached in and squeezed my heart with powerful frozen fingers. Chill bumps raised on my skin, and I slowly exhaled, expecting to see my breath as a foggy mist. Flooded by dizziness, the room spun around and I gripped the railing until my knuckles turned white. I panted, trying to catch my breath. An overpowering sense of doom filled the air—choking me. My warning system went to DEFCON one, and I sat there holding the staircase railing, gasping for breath. As suddenly as it came on me, it passed when the sun emerged from behind the cloud.

“I’ll be back on Tuesday. Be expecting me.” The Sheriff’s voice sounded more gravelly than before.

Roger huffed another, “Oh shit,” and quickly pulled his dangling knees up to his face—peering over them.

Struggling to get enough control of my emotions to speak without freaking out; I paused and gathered my courage, trying not to alarm Roger by telling him what I saw. I’d seen a lot of scary crap in the last couple of days, but this was over the top. I’m sure my voice quivered when I asked, “Roger, what are you saying?”

He lifted his head. “Did you see that too?”

I didn’t know how to answer and not send him screaming into the woods. It had scared me spit-less, and