Comanche. Brett Riley
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meetin, Mr. LeBlanc?
You know what I mean. Just you and me.
McDowell smiled and twirled one of her braids. I’d like that. What took you so long, anyway?
And just like that, LeBlanc fell for her. Not love yet, but not just lust either. A kind of deep affection and a sense of propriety, as if he had made a pact with an honorable personage. She had surmounted his defenses so easily she had not even needed to try—so discomfiting, so glorious.
I reckon I’m just slow, he said.
McDowell slipped her arm into his. I’m sweatin through my shirt. How about escortin a lady back to the air-conditioning?
Yes, ma’am, he said. Maybe by the time we get there, your friend Jake will feel better.
They set off down St. Phillip, arm in arm.
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