Maryn stepped outside into the sunshine, gathered her make-up kit and smartphone from her car, found a flower-bedecked cushioned chair on the backyard porch and took a deep breath. Without checking Gene Ralston’s number-already memorized-she punched in with hopes he still lived at the number and most of all was available.
A woman answered and Maryn frowned to hear a voice that sounded like a young gorgeous secretary.
“Hello, my name is Amanda Maryn Chandler; please inform Mr. Ralston I have an urgent message for him.”
A pause and then the sexy voice said, “Sorry, Mr. R. is otherwise engaged.”
“You must be kidding so get your boss on the phone right now; otherwise engaged, my butt!”
“Uh, oh, uh yes, wait just one moment; a minute later, music to Maryn’s ears when a deep rich voice said, “What in the world is so important and who are you?”
“Amanda Maryn Chandler working with Cassidy Rae Brown on Project Grans and you offered a good sized kennel to help Mrs. Brown grow stronger and live longer. We need help from all good citizens in our wonderful town and I’m in charge of gathering information plus checking out availability so please and thank you for your desire to be another assistant in this case.”
“Amanda Chandler… I remember an incredibly pretty girl from high school with the same name except I don’t remember a middle name so my question is are you the same Amanda Chandler or is Maryn an addition, something new?”
Caught, she thought, her cheeks turned to blush pink and replied, “That’s me, all of me, coincidence don’t you think and by the way, are you um, involved with. . . are you uh, married or something?” and she waited for an answer.
“Ms. Amanda Maryn Chandler, please meet me at Tab’s Pub in half an hour; I’m the one wearing a cowboy hat; a click of the phone and he was gone.
“Oh my gosh, a cowboy hat sounds kinky; too bad I don’t have a cowgirl hat to match and soon we’ll meet and I don’t have anything to wear except. . .C.R.’s slightly used white jeans and her new silk shirt of course because I can wear her clothes, that’s what friends are for.”
Racing up the long flight of stairs, Maryn called for her pal; “You won’t mind me borrowing your clean white jeans and that never worn before new silky shirt, the one with tropical flowers splashed all over, of course, you won’t, and she pushed C.R.’s bedroom door open to find her curled up fast asleep: poor baby, all tuckered out taking care of Grans and stuff.