The Sex Solution

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“WELL, WELL. Just call me a three-legged jackrabbit and put me out of my misery if it ain’t Maddie Hale.”

Time seemed to have stood still for Spur Tucker. He’d looked ancient then with his shock of snow-white hair and his leathery skin, and he’d changed little. He stooped a fraction more and his hair had thinned some. Otherwise, he was every bit the man she remembered from all those childhood Christmases, with the exception of his eyes. Rather than cloudy and gray as they’d been back then, they were now a clear, crystal blue.

She peered closer. “You know who I am?” She hadn’t even held up her sign, complete with extra bold letters.

“’Course I do. What do you think I am, blind or something?”

“Well,” she started, but he cut her off.

“Well, I ain’t. Cataract surgery. My vision’s as first-rate as the rest of me.”

“That’s good.”

“’Course it is.” His face crinkled as he narrowed his eyes and sized her up. “I see you still got plenty of meat on them bones of yours.”

“And I see you’re still every bit as charming.”

“’Course I am, and I’m also a whole lot wiser.” He handed several bags to her and picked up the lightest. “Speaking of which, let’s get going ’cause I ain’t of a mind to waste time. I got things to do.”

“The wedding’s not until later tonight.” Madeline picked up the largest bag and her shoulder wrenched. “You’ve got time for a little nap.”

“A nap? Hells bells, I ain’t got time to sleep. I still have to shower and shave, polish my boots, squirt on some of the vanilla extract I packed just for special occasions. I aim to look and smell my Sunday best.”

“I’m sure Cheryl Louise will appreciate that.” She hoisted bag number two. “You must have packed an awful big bottle of vanilla.”

“Those are extra vittles. A man’s got to eat and I know how you women are. Why, you’re liable to torture me with rabbit food for the next few days.” He gave her another once-over. “’Course you probably got some vittles of your own stashed away. Why, you could probably hibernate a good six months with what you got stored in them hips of yours.”

She let the suitcase slip from her hands and watched his look go from smug to panicked as his luggage dropped to the floor.

“Whoops, sorry about that,” she muttered.

“Lordy be, just tote the danged thing. Don’t throw it around.” He shook his head. “And all the primping ain’t for Cheryl Louise. It’s for the future Mrs. Spur Nathaniel Elijah James Tucker.”

“You’re engaged?”

“Sure am.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I will be once I narrow down the playing field. I figure that ought to take a good fifteen minutes. Maybe ten. There are a lot of prime cutting horses at the Newfolk Auction, too, but I can always pick the best of ’em in less than ten minutes.”

“You really intend to find a wife this weekend?” She struggled after him with the bags.

“That’s why I’m here.”

“I thought you were here for Cheryl Louise’s wedding.”

“It’s called killing two hogs with one load of buckshot. Since this here’s a social event, I thought I’d do double duty. Pay my respects to the bride and groom and find my own little bride to fetch back home.” He picked up his steps. “Enough of this chitchat. Get a move on. I don’t aim to keep the future missus wait-in’.”

SHE SHOULD HAVE BOUGHT the bread maker.

Madeline came to that conclusion the minute she walked inside Cheryl Louise’s family home two hours later and came face-to-face with Twinkles.

Literally.

Twinkles was a Great Dane and far, far removed from the cute and cuddly puppy stage. Standing on his hind legs, his paws braced on her shoulders, he looked her straight in the eye. His snout bopped her in the nose. A fat, wet tongue flopped out and licked at her face.

“He’s really…big,” she told Sarah, who’d met her at the house since Cheryl Louise was still stuck at the hairdresser.

“He’s big and several years old, but still as playful as a puppy.”

“Is that where he got the name Twinkles?”

“‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ is his favorite lullaby. He likes to hear it every night after his evening walk.” Sarah grabbed a spiral notebook from the nearby coffee table and flipped several pages. “He likes ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’ after his morning walk, which should follow Live with Regis and Kelly—that’s his favorite TV show.” She held up the notebook. “It’s all right here. There’s a detailed schedule for feeding and hygiene, as well as a page with lyrics in case you’re not up on your lullabies. And a TV schedule, as well. Oh, Cheryl also included a picture diagram of Twinkles with a list of the exact spots where he likes to be scratched. The last few pages contain information on the plants. They’re all on the sun porch out back. Each pot is labeled with a name and an age.”

“And a lullaby?”

“Actually, they like country music. There’s a CD player out back complete with a stack of George Strait CDs. Each is labeled with a time slot and a preferred song.” Sarah must have noticed Madeline’s shocked look. “Look on the bright side, at least Tilly the farting poodle is going with them. Besides, it’s only two weeks. They almost went to Australia, which would have meant a solid three.”

“Want to time-share with me?”

“I went for a popcorn maker myself. Speaking of which, I need to get going. I have to run by my house and grab the gift before I head for the church. I picked up the dresses at the dry cleaners. Yours is hanging over there.”