Part 2 (1/2)

”I'm glad my humiliation provided you with so much amus.e.m.e.nt,” I huffed.

”Ah, give it a rest, would you, Turner? Besides, it's a done deal. No one is asking you to be best biker buds with Van Vleet. You don't even have to talk to him if you don't want to. h.e.l.l. You probably won't have breath to spare for chit-chat anyway.”

”I want it on the record that I think this is a very bad idea,” I said.

”Duly noted,” Stan said. ”Anything else?”

”The guy can't be trusted,” I warned Stan. ”I don't plan to take my eyes off Drew the Shrew for a minute.”

Stan chuckled. He grabbed a handful of chocolate candies from his Hawkeyes dish. ”Looks like you'll be bringing up the rear on that bicycle built for two then,” he observed and tossed the color-coated candy into his mouth. ”Happy bike trails, Ace Cub Reporter!”

Oh, the pain.

”You? And Drew Van Vleet? On a bicycle built for two?”

My Aunt Reggie and my sister, Taylor, stood behind the counter of Uncle Frank and Aunt Reggie's Dairee Freeze and stared down at me as I drowned my sorrows in a double fudge cookie dough and caramel ice cream concoction.

”It sounds even worse when you say it,” I said, spooning a heaping, sure-to-cause-brain-freeze helping of the cold confection into my mouth.

Taylor's lips tightened into a worried slash. ”And you agreed?”

I helped myself to another spoonful of Mr. Freezee.

”What else can I do? Stan the s.a.d.i.s.tic Puppet Man is dangling the carrot of a raise over my head. 'I got no strings to hold me down.'” I warbled, holding my arms up to perform a spastic Pinocchio move that only increased the anxiety levels radiating from clearly concerned relatives.

”But you? On a bicycle? In summer's heat? Hundreds of miles. Up and down hills. Steam rising from the pavement. Pedaling. Pedaling. How long has it been since you've ridden a bicycle?”

I shrugged. I'd spent most of my life on the back of a majestic, four-legged animal, not a two-wheeled metal contraption.

”It'll come back to me,” I said. ”You know what they say. 'It's as easy as riding a bicycle.'”

”They don't know you,” Taylor pointed out.

”At least you'll have Taylor here and Frankie to look out for you,” Aunt Reggie said.

I frowned.

”What are you talking about?” I asked.

”Your Uncle Frank couldn't resist the lure of an uninterrupted stream of hot, hungry bike riders looking for cold comfort so Frank Jr. and Taylor are taking the mobile ice cream trailer on TribRide,” Aunt Reggie explained.

My Uncle Frank is on the, er, frugal side. He subst.i.tuted generic chocolate sandwich cookies for the real deal in his Mr. Freezees until he got complaints. Okay. So I accidentally outted him. It's not as if cookie connoisseurs can't tell the difference.

”I thought Frankie was taking summer cla.s.ses,” I said. Earlier this year my cousin, Frankie, (”Frankfurter” to those who know and love him) had ambitious plans to enter the state police academy. Unfortunately, Frankie is-how to put this nicely-a bit of a...wimp. A wimp with severe allergy and sinus issues and enough hypochondria to keep the local doc in yearly country club members.h.i.+ps.

When it became clear Frankie couldn't pa.s.s the physical strength and agility tests, (so not a pretty sight) he decided it might be cool to become a criminal a.n.a.lyst or one of those CSI techs. To make things even more interesting, Frankie's main squeeze, Dixie 'The Destructor' Daggett, had caught Frankie's crime-fighter bug. And, amazingly, she had whizzed through each phase of the application process with relative ease.

I'm somewhat dubious. Personally, it's hard for me to picture roll-out-the-barrel Daggett as a lean-mean crime-fighter. Okay. The 'mean' part, maybe.

Dixie and I have...issues. She thinks I'm a flake and I think she's scary. But since she's fated to become a member of the family, I'm trying to adopt an att.i.tude of...er...inevitability if not acceptance. (I can see the wedding video now: The Bride of Frankie starring Frankie the Frankfurter as the mad-in-love groom and featuring Dixie ”Cankles” Daggett as his gruesome mate.) Talk about your monster matinees. You bring the beverages. I'll supply the popcorn and candy.

”Frankie is taking mostly online courses this term,” Aunt Reggie told me.

I looked at Taylor and raised a questioning eyebrow. My sister's driving abilities didn't extend to maneuvering a large vehicle pulling a trailer-a skill I'd practiced and perfected over years of hauling horse trailers. .h.i.ther and thither.

”Maybe we could work out a deal,” I proposed. ”I could drive the pickup and you could-”

”Dixie's driving the rig.” Taylor cut me off like the hook at a vintage comedy club.

Nice.

”Dixie of Dixie's Demolition Derby, Inc.? Good luck with that.”

”Good luck with your itty-bitty bicycle seat,” Taylor volleyed.

I blinked.

Taylor had changed since her abrupt decision to take a break from books and higher education. She's become more vocal. More testy. More like...me.

”I understand that nice Trooper Dawkins who has been so helpful to Frankie and Dixie will also be riding,” Aunt Reggie said. I noticed the sudden lifting of her eyebrows at roughly the same time a sudden flush reddened Taylor's cheeks.

”P.D. Dawkins is going on TribRide?”

Aunt Reggie nodded. ”He'll be on duty. He's riding one of the state patrol bikes.”

I'd met Patrick Dawkins, P.D. for short, last August at the Iowa State Fair, and we hit it off right from the start. He likes me just the way I am (wow, what a concept!) And me? I'm a sucker for a good-looking guy in uniform.

P.D.'s fondness for farm life from summers spent on his uncle's farm, his natural affinity for animals, and his patient tolerance for eccentric seniors in their dotage, cemented the connection. At one time it wouldn't have taken much encouragement from me for Trooper Dawkins to pursue a relations.h.i.+p on a more...intimate level.

But old habits die hard. A decade of courting danger with a certain ranger via feuding worthy of the Hatfields and McCoys, interspersed with episodes of l.u.s.t, angst, and heartburn, had left me dazed and confused about what I wanted and needed in a mate. (Shocker, right?) ”You hear that, Taylor?” I said. ”Trooper Dawkins is going on TribRide. Why, it'll be just like old home week!”

I totally deserved the look Taylor gave me-one of those eyes-narrowed-to-tiny-slits numbers I suspect she reserves just for me.

I'd only recently discovered that Taylor had a serious case of the hots for the hunky brown s.h.i.+rt, Dawkins. However, rather than horn in on her older sister's supposed territory, Taylor had piously hidden her attachment to the peace officer until she realized my affections were fixed, er, elsewhere.

I suppose I should mention here that Taylor is considered the sensitive, caring sister.

What's that? Oh. You figured that out, huh?

”So, when are you and your biking buddy planning to get together for some pedaling practice?” Taylor asked.

”Pedaling practice?” I wrinkled my nose.

”You do know there's more to riding a tandem bicycle than getting on the bike and pus.h.i.+ng the pedals, Tressa,” Taylor reminded me. ”You have to get a rhythm going, achieve and maintain your balance, get in sync with your partner.”