"I hope so," Lewis was agreeable. He watched the clerk lovingly fold the blush pink sweater, nestle it in tissue paper and then place it in a foil gift box stamped: "Marmee's Fashion Boutique". Marmee's was the only shop within 30 miles that sold delicate clothing. The clothing available at Ray Moon's Market was heavy and rugged, denim, fur, wool and leather.
Lewis showed up on Cherie's porch without calling her first. He was wearing a white cowboy hat that was comical because it was too small for his head. It was 9:00 pm. Cherie answered in her robe and flannel pajamas.
"I know you had a rough day. I just wanted to check in on you and take you to the hospital if you haven't regained your strength. If I called, you'd just say you were ok. I had to see your face and I wanted to give you something to cheer you up. Can I put these in water for you?" Lewis showed her a bouquet of roses and the package from Marmee's.
"Come in. I can finally say I've 'single-handedly' done things," Cherie nervously laughed at her own joke.
"Have you single-handedly eaten dinner yet?" Lewis smiled and answered for her, "I didn't think so. How about a thick, juicy, steak? Get dressed. I'm taking you to Fat Rock for the best steak you ever had in your life. It's just three miles from here on North Apple Road. They also have the best country western music in the area."
Cherie emerged from her bedroom wearing a white fringe cowgirl shirt with pearl snap buttons, a baby-blue plaid a-line skirt and tan leather cowgirl boots. It occurred to her that she might never be able to remove her boots single-handedly.
"Nice hat," she said frowning at him. "Are you going to wear that hat all night?"
"It's yours, silly. Mine is in the car. It's black, of course. Yours is from Marmee's. This is from Marmee's too. Open it." Lewis put the hat on her head. It fit.
"This is very nice. Thank you, Lewis," Cherie admired the sweater.
"I didn't want you to have to slave single-handedly trying to get the blood stains out of the one you wore today, seeing as how blood makes you faint. You should just throw it away, you big sissy," Lewis helped her with her coat and locked her front door for her, since the hand she had injured was her left hand and from his observations, she was left-handed.
Cherie enjoyed her meal at the Fat Rock Steakhouse very much. Lewis got up to buy her a pack of her brand of cigarettes from the machine at the entrance to the Tenderfoot Saloon where most patrons went for cocktails before and after dinner. The manager of the establishment grabbed Lewis by the arm to find out what was up.
"Something wrong with your steak tonight? I usually have to wrestle you for the bone so you don't wolf it down and injure yourself," the manager studied Lewis' face for clues.
"I think I'm in love," Lewis shocked the manager with his honesty.
"Not you!" the manager was astonished.
"I'm gonna die. I don't want to be in love. She doesn't want to be in love. It's not our style. We're gonna die." Lewis shook his head and walked back to their table.
"They have a good band tonight. Let's grab a brandy. I promise to get you home before midnight," Lewis took her arm and guided her to the dance floor. They sipped brandy and the band kept playing slow songs. The manager sent the band a note instructing them to finish out the night with slow songs. The Masterson family were good customers and Fat Rock took good care of them.
Cherie knew she couldn't stop what was happening. It was like the day they went tube riding in the snow, only the heat was rising from his chest and sending a constant stream of warm air under her chin this time. She might faint again, but for a different reason. This was dangerous. She shouldn't be doing this. Her throat hurt. Her lungs felt like they were collapsing. It was the worst thing that could happen to a fugitive, chancing upon the love of your life like this.
~ To Be Continued ~
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