if I hadn t been speeding

I slammed the truck on my old Chevy, climbed in with a sigh, and headed toward Tulsa.

Drat it all! I didn’t want to leave Branson, but I didn’t trust my resistance to the devastating charm of James Bentley the Third. He had sweet-talked me back before.

The Chevy coughed a bit as usual but traveled smoothly enough along Interstate 44 under a huge yellow orb, a sunny-side-up egg on a giant blue platter overhead. A few puffy clouds were biscuits and maybe a serving of grits on the side.

A beautiful day, I thought. A harbinger of new beginnings. A mix of relief and regret assaulted my mind. Was I doing the right thing?

What did I have to lose? Just two hundred pounds of male animal without a faithful bone in his gorgeous body. James wasn’t the man I had thought him to be, but still the disappointment was sharp.

I had thought the guy was the real deal, the epitome of dreamy romance.

Instead, he convinced me that romance doesn’t exist anymore. It’s only a game people play called I-like-your-looks-so-let’s-get-together.

After that, it becomes sizzle-on-the-sofa or it’s-our last date—a game I refused to play in college. And as sure as Bigfoot won’t make it on Dancing With the Stars, I wasn’t about to put up with James Bentley’s side trips to more willing partners.

James could go to Heck as far as I was concerned at the moment. Heck. That’s a place for people who say words like darn and shoot and for guys who cheat on their girlfriends. It’s not quite as hot there as the fiery place, but still uncomfortable enough.

Heck would suit James just fine.

“I know it looks bad, Linda, but I can explain.” James had insisted, with that I-know-I’m-irresistible look in his eyes.

“I’m sure that you and Miss Chesty-luscious kissing in the car is perfectly explainable, but this time our romance is really off, James. I’m leaving Branson.”

I kept my voice light and pleasant, even though disappointment tugged sharply at my emotions.

Then he winked and kissed me on the forehead.

“You’ll be back,” he said with irritating certainty. And I’ll be waiting for you.”

I wanted to kick him in the shins. Or other places.

That’s what happens. You hang an image on a guy and fall for him without realizing that he isn’t that person at all. I’d been so besotted I couldn’t see past the charm to the deceit and conceit. Too bad there wasn’t a way to decon-ceit him. Without thinking, I shoved my foot down on the accelerator.

Decon rat poisoning. Now there’s a possibility! I mused with a wry chuckle. Nah. Murder is always out. A girl should never do anything she can’t talk about at the beauty shop.

Of course, nobody’s perfect, as he was always reminding me.

Those words do hold a ring of truth.