Nancy O'Berry--Romance Writer

More than a hero to die for...

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Kissing Bandit

Summer Reading Trail:

More information can be found at:
A. J. O'Donovan UK Trailhead or
Voirey Linger US Trailhead

by Nancy O'Berry
© July 2010

Willow 1870's---

Chapter One - Twas thus the meaning or romance...

Rory spent another exhausting day on Glacier Peak. No one promised him or his brothers that logging would be easy. Ethan, his older brother, found himself called away to Portland on business and their foreman, Luke with his hands full on the east side of the mountain replanting timber. It was no surprise, the job of keeping the day to day activities of the lumber camp fell to Rory.

The spring thaw soaking into the earth, turning the half frozen ground into a sticky mush. As he moved down the mountain, his concentration focused on how nice a cold beer and a warm smile could set things right. First, he mused himself, he would quench his thirst at Stone House Tavern, and then a warm smile from his intended would ease his trouble mind. To finish off the rather full day, he envisioned a stroll in the soft moonlight with her at his side. What man could want for more?

Turning to the right, he brushed back a heavy bough of green to reveal the rope bridge that crossed the ravine separating the upper reaches of the Mountain from the trail that led to Willow. Taking hold of the rope, he paused to listen to the roar of the water as it moved down over the rocks forming a rapid beneath the bridge. The warmer than normal temperatures had caused a quick melt of the surrounding snow. The small stream was now more of a raging river as the current moved down toward Mirror Lake. He wondered about the flood gates. He'd send two men in the morning to check on them.

As the distance between Willow and the timber stands lessened he could not imagine anything going astray with his plans. Pausing at the top of the knoll, he gazed down to the single mud pocked wagon trace that signaled Willow's one and only main street. Teams of horses moved wagons and skids of timber toward the mill house. Their wheels swirling in the mud caused the animals to strain against their collars. Rory skipped over a puddle and moved around the muck doing his best to keep his boots free of the mire. Stepping onto the boardwalk, he stomped his feet to remove the unwanted dirt before entering the Tavern.

Expecting to find the room filled with loggers and mill workers to his astonishment Rory Winthrop found petticoats and gingham. He stood gaping until their accusing glances reminded him to close the door. Using both hands, he eased the door closed, and moved over to the bar. His thoughts were to order a drink to wash the dust from the day out of his throat. However, Rory had not counted on running amuck with the Ladies Literary Society.

He leaned over the bar and planned on whispering to the woman behind the bar.

"Bar's closed, Rory." Galen's blonde head leaned toward him as she listened to the drone of Miss Anne, the town's school teacher's voice as she read from the book clutched tight between her fingers.

Rory looked over the crowd of women seated around a makeshift platform in the center of the room and shifted uncomfortably in his stance.

"They gonna be at this long," he inquired.

Galen hunched her shoulders at his question. She too seemed mesmerized by the literary word and waved off his questions. Looking around the room, he noticed every eye plastered on the reader. He spied several of the girls his brothers either courted or were in the process of stringing along. Keeping his eyes peeled, Rory searched for one woman in particular. A turn of a head, the flash of hair the color of burnished copper, and he caught sight of her heart shaped face in the crowd.

She was sitting beside her best friend, Bethany Sloan. Both women held their hands clutched to their necks, in reverence, listening to the story. Bethany's mouth moved mirroring the words spoken. A flair of light, and he noticed Elizabeth's eyes shimmering as if with unspent tears. Wetting his lips to sum up his courage, Rory moved toward the girl of his dreams.

"Excuse me," he whispered, crossing between the rows of women.

"Pardon," he murmured, as he stepped on a few fine slippers.

A chorus of "Sh!" greeted his ears with each syllable he uttered, as if a horde of angry bees were flitting past. Rory felt his face grow red with heat. He smiled back uncomfortable with the attention he seemed to be getting and continued on. With great relief, he reached the vacant seat beside his ladylove. Settling down, he leaned over to speak.

"Hello."

He spoke the word soft, hoping to draw her eyes to his. In anticipation, Rory plastered a bemused smile on his face while he waited for her reaction. To his surprise, nothing occurred. Rory looked over again. Elizabeth appeared enthralled with the speech. Her hand raised, she dabbed a lace handkerchief next to her eye, then brought it down to twist beneath her fingers as she listened.

He cast an annoyed glance tin the school teacher's direction. She continued on oblivious to his plight. Not one to let go, determined to gain her undivided attention, he reached over and brushed her wrist with a stroke of his thumb.

"Hello," he spoke louder.

"SH!" Elizabeth swatted at his hands away with her gloved ones and turned her attention back to the reader.

Rory blinked and turned around. His mind whirling with the possibilities of her dismissal, as the speaker continued to read.

"His deep dark eyes held her in his glance and the young damsel stopped. Could she really leave him when he needed her so? The dashing figure of the masked bandit held her heart imprisoned. Nothing existed but his eyes; those windows to the soul. She could not move as his arm swirled around her, enclosing her, holding her tight in his embrace."

A chorus of high female sigh's filled Rory's startled ears. He watched the women mimic the gestures of the character and close their eyes in unison, leaning forward as if to swoon from their chairs. He placed an arm before his girl, his eyes wide at the sight of such behavior. Breaking the silence, Bethany leaped to her feet applauding wildly, her motion carrying the other girls to follow including Elizabeth. When she pushed away his protective hand, he drew back, gripping his chair arms with both hands as if the entire world had gone mad!

Seeing the masses begin to dismiss, Rory moved to stand beside the doorway and await Elizabeth as she made her way to the exit.

He scratched his head bewildered that she enjoyed this silly story. Women, he blew out a strong breath, who could figure them out. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Rory rested his shoulders on the wall and listened to the female voices sing the praises of this literary hero.

***

"Oh my," Bethany Sloan sighed in contentment. "If only it were me!"

Elizabeth bounced on her feet, caught in the excitement of the moment. Usually she did not participate in such outlandish fashions, but there was something about the story that seemed to fire her imagination. The promise not to come today had melted when she noticed the other women moving toward the tavern.

Miss Anne closed the book and placed it on the pedestal reverently.

"Thank you ladies," she spoke, pulling her shawl around her shoulders a bit tighter. The pink tinge to her cheek a tell tale sign of embarrassment. The book aside, her meek demeanor found her afraid of being left in the spotlight to face the crowd. "We shall adjure for today and met again next Friday afternoon?"

She glanced at the owner of the saloon, "If it's all right with Miss. Steward, of course?"

"Me," Galen squealed. "Of course, the Ladies Literary Society of Willow is always welcome."

Several of the women rose on their feet applauding with the joy of being able to listen again to this wonderful tale of adventure

"Oh my," began the besotted young woman. "If only the Duke were real!"

Another chorus of sigh's echoed her words as they left through the front doors.

"If only the Duke were real," Rory did his best to imitate the women. Rolling his eyes, he glanced at the thinning crowd to see his intended approaching locked in a discussion with Bethany. Pushing his body away up from wall, he moved over to the center of the floor.

"Oh and when he bent his head and kissed her." Bethany closed her eyes imitating rapture Elizabeth's laughter rang out. "I tell you none of the loggers in Willow know how to court a lady. No indeedie, they do not!" she emphasized.

"Oh Bethany," Elizabeth giggled.

Not paying attention to her path, her shoulder ran into another person.

Without looking, Elizabeth called out her apology and left the building.

***

Rory stood stunned rubbing his shoulder where Elizabeth Jones nudged him aside, called out her apology, and walked past him as if he were not even there! His face mirrored the disbelief his heart felt.

Turning, he was surprised to see no one left in the room except Galen and himself. Turning on his heel, he moved to the bar.

"Beer please," he spoke in disgust, "Did you see them. Acting like a fellow wasn't even around."

Silence filled his ears. He turned and looked at the woman behind the bar. Galen stood, her hand pushing the dishtowel, polishing the same spot.

"Galen?" he called again.

A long female sigh greeted his ears.

"Oh good Lord," Rory grimaced reaching out and touched her hand stopping the motion.

"Galen, may I have a beer?"

"Hum?" she looked at him all misty eyed as the question dawned on her. "Oh! I'm sorry a beer."

Turning she poured a tall foamy glass and placed it in front of him, then walked off. Rory eyebrows arched. He watched her move toward the kitchen area of her establishment before he moved down two spaces to retrieve his drink. With beer in hand, the younger Winthrop moved to the podium and picked up the leather bound material. It seemed light in his hand. The gold lettering gave a befitting title.

"The Kissing Bandit," he mulled it over his brow furrowing.

Looking about, none of the men had yet entered. Tucking the book beneath his arm he moved to a table and sat down. Lifting the glass to his lips, he fortified his body with a healthy gulp before flipping the cover open. Scanning the first page, he could not help but notice the colorful drawing. A well-endowed lady being engulfed by a towering man in a deep red cape, their lips touching leaving no doubt that she was being soundly kissed.

His heart dropped to the bottom of his hobnailed boots. His eyes widened at the shock of her half hidden bosom exposed to his view. He felt a strange pull in the region below his belt.

"You've got to be kidding," he murmured, flipping the pages with his thumb.

The words flew by as the printed linen ruffled beneath his touch. What was so all fired interesting about some man kissing a girl? Hadn't most of the women in town been kissed soundly by their beaus, all of them at least once? He lifted a hand to scratch his head at the quandary.

"What cha looking at," a call from the doorway questioned.

Rory slam the cover shut and slid the book in his lap.

"N-nothin," he stammered, trying to appear casual as he tilted the glass up draining the brew in one gulp.

"Is herself here in the establishment?" Patrick Magee inquired with his thick Irish tongue, moving toward the bar.

Rory nodded, swallowing, and pointed with his mug to the doorway that led to the kitchen.

"Ah!" the Irishman replied and moved in its direction. "Galen, darlin' have you a kiss for your sweetheart?"

Rory watched waiting his chance to further investigate his prize when she appeared.

"Why Patrick you Irish devil, back in town already? Can it be that it's Friday so soon?"

His mouth gaped open as the man fashioned a low courteous bow and doffed his cap.

"Ah, my dear lady" his thick brogue sang out.

Galen giggled like a schoolgirl and curtseyed allowing him to lead her off into an unlit corner of the room. The scene before him had meaning. Could it be that the women were right in their assumption, a woman needed to be courted? Rory brought the book to the table and looked at the cover yet again. Maybe, he thought, maybe there was more to romance stuff than he thought.

Neither Galen nor Patrick look to his direction as the door banged closed and a half mug of beer remained on the table.

Chapter Two - Into the Heart of the Matter.

Rory hurried all through his meal, the book burning a hole beneath his pillow where it lay. He was alone tonight and much of the story could be consumed if the dishes were washed and put away. His hand swirled the cloth around the plate. He was not what one would call a big reader. In his youth, he had squirreled away Robinson Caruso and The Three Musketeers, yet reading didn't truly capture his fancy as it did his older brother Ethan.

Still, if Elizabeth wanted romance he had to find out exactly what it entailed. Tossing the towel over the end of the wooden rail to dry, Rory hauled out some popping corn, oil, and the cast iron pot. Placing the mixture over the hook in the fireplace, he could soon hear the oil begin to sizzle. Adding the kernels and swinging it back over the fire, he moved to retrieve the book.

Striding over to the bed in the alcove off the main room, he pulled the leather bound pages from beneath his pillow.

"The Kissing Bandit," he murmured. Turning it on the side he surmised it to be no more than two inches thick. "Not much more than a good porter house steak."

The sound of rapid fire explosions hitting the top of the pot diverted his attention. Moving across the room to the fire place, he dropped the book on the table and pulled the hook away from the heat. Getting the dishtowel, he lifted a corner of the lid to make sure the treat had finished and then poured the corn into a bowl, sprinkling it with salt. With bowl of popcorn complete, Rory pulled Ethan's favorite chair toward the fire. Stretching out, he placed his feet upon the warm stones of the hearth and wiggled his toes contently. Looking around him, he grinned glad for once his brother was not around to see him or he would have endured a round of teasing. Sighing, he picked up the book and began to read.

"The Duke of Sallsbrough was considered by most, a handsome man. Some in the countryside might have seen him as the most handsome. His dark wavy hair was balanced only by his deep blue eyes and daring mustache. His roguish nature, as well as his height of six foot, made him stand out above most men."

Rory's eyes revolted. Surely it had to get better than this? Flipping the pages he glanced only at parts of the story until a certain scene caught his eye.

"To revenge the death of his father against the cruel king, Edward the Duke of Sallsbrough began to concoct a scheme to expose the tyrant and win the heart of Lady Roslyn."

Rory picked up a handful of popcorn and stuffed it into his mouth. "Expose an evil king huh?" he muttered, flipping the page, returned to his reading. By the time the Duke had narrowly escaped death with the help of an honest monk, Rory began warming to the tale.

"Lying on the bed recovering from his wounds, the young man began to devise a plan of action. Looking up he watched as the door opened and the small devout monk entered.

"Ah my son I see you are awake." The padding of his soft feet brought him near the bedridden nobleman.

The mistrust spoke for him. Kindly the monk smiled.

"You have no need to fear me." He replied. "For I was your father's confessor. I know he was murdered most foul by the King."

Rory could not take his eyes off the page. Engrossed he continued to read not even noticing the dying embers at his feet.

"The young ward stood on the balcony of the Castle Berwyn not realizing he was beneath her. Cloaked by darkness, he watched her move against the moonlight until she stood at the edge of the balcony. Her hands rose to remove the golden ring around her crow. Slowly she unbound her long russet tresses and let the moonlight flash across them making them gleamed with fire. Desire rose in his breast, but he could not speak."

Rory shifted. The chair became uncomfortable as the room grew warm. Licking his lips, he turned the page and continued. His eyes were mesmerized by the story unfolding beneath his palms. For some reason, he could not put the book down until he had read up to the very last period on the final page. As the clock chimed twelve, he looked up. Oh, to be a swashbuckling hero! Nothing that exciting ever happened in Willow.

Gazing into the dying embers, Rory let a few random pictures fill his mind. A soft smile graced his face as his eyes closed. He could see Elizabeth standing at the balcony dressed in a medieval garb while he stood below and the breeze swirled a red cape about his body. Inch by inch his hands grasping the vines that curled around the bottom of the castle wall, he pulled his body upward. Careful to make no sound, he swung over the rail to the balcony floor.

She turned. Her heart beating raising the sheath she wore away from her body.

"Fear not, sweet maiden, I have come to rescue you not to harm you."

Moving a step back she made ready to rush toward the door. As she moved past him, Rory reached out and pulled her close. The swell of her bosom pressed against the opening of his shirt. His skin seared with heat that spread down toward his loins. Her eyes burned with fire and her lips the color of strawberries tempted him. He leaned forward. Her eyes closed…

"RORY!" the banging against the door jerked the young man awake.

"J-Just a minute," he called, leaping to his feet as the book rolled off his lap, into the floor, and under the table.

Stumbling to the door, he pulled it open as he wiped the last crust of sleep from his eyelids.

"You're late!" cried Caleb, stalking into the room. "Have too much fun with Elizabeth last night?" he asked in an accusing voice.

"Late." Rory looked to the logger then up at the clock on the mantle.

It was past seven o'clock! He had slept the night through in Ethan's chair dreaming about that darned book.

"Take me a minute," he stammered, rushing to the pump at the drain board and began to pump.

Caleb shook his head and moved toward the table. Pushing the small bowler he wore to the back of his head, he scratched. Odd, the table was empty, no coffee pot, no plate, or fork, not even a pan where his friend might have cooked salt pork.

"You haven't even eaten!"

"Slept hard," his voice was short as he leaned over the running water to splash the cold liquid on his face.

Stepping forward, Caleb's feet collided with the something under the table. Hearing it slide, he bent down to look.

"The Kissing Bandit?" he questioned holding up the novel.

Rory's heart froze. Turning he snatched the book from his friend's hands.

"It- it's not mine," he admitted. Hurrying over to his bed, he stashed it beneath his pillow. Moving to the table, he could see the disbelief in his friends face. He had to think fast. A white lie formed upon his lips, "Ah, Elizabeth left it here."

Caleb looked at him. His hands moved to his waistline pausing to rest upon his hips. Giving a shake of his head in skepticism, he spoke "Look Rory," he said beginning in an even tone. "I don't care who you had up here at your cabin last night. Honest, but if you had Elizabeth, here, with your brother gone. Well, there's gonna be a shotgun weddin' fast if the ladies of the church find out."

Rory lowered his head. It was one of the worse lies he had ever told and that minute he expected the good Lord to send a lightning bolt with his name on it right through the roof.

"Wanta really explain it," Caleb asked.

With a sighed, he pulled out a chair then offered it to his friend.

"Some how," he began, " I don't think even you're going to believe me."

Eyebrows raised, Caleb took the seat he was offered.

"Try me."

Taking a deep breath, he began to tell his best friend about the experience in the saloon. Caleb listened, a sober expression across his face. Rory's worry eased when he did not laugh.

"Well," he drawled out. "If it had been me, I might have gone to sleep too. Geez, Rory, you really think there is somethin' to this stuff?" Caleb walked over and stuck his hand beneath the pillow to fish the book out. He looked down at it again.

The younger Winthrop shrugged his shoulders. "What I think and what the women think are two different things."

Caleb opened the book and read out loud.

"The dashing bandit knew that to really love a woman meant to own her body and soul. To be able to think of what she wanted before she even realized herself. He looked into Roslyn's eyes once more. The deep pools of blue liquid seem to ignite with a fiery passion all their own. Pulling her from the window, he dipped her over one knee and crushed her lips to his."

Rory looked at his friends reddening face.

"Ah Rory," he put the book down. "If I was to do something like that," Caleb gestured with a flip of his thumb. "General Hamilton would have me in the jail for assault for sure."

"I know." His mouth turned down glum. "I guess I have to figure a way out of this on my own."

Caleb laid the book down on the table and looked over at his forlorn friend. "You know, I used to think our only problems where how to get a few days off and go to Saw Mill Creek to see the women up there. At least then they didn't need no romancen'."

Rory nodded picking up his gloves tucking them inside his belt. "Come on we're wasting daylight."

"Yeah, comin," Caleb followed him out leaving the book on the table.

***

All day long on the mountain, Rory worked with a vengeance of two men. The man who owed his life and soul to Winthrop Lumber Company and the second, the mysterious man, who lurked beneath his skin and wanted only to be the mysterious lover Elizabeth so desired. Picking up his ax, he reared back poised to send a crushing blow into the sturdy Douglas fir before him.

"RORY!"

The mighty ax sunk deep into the pulp sending splinters showering around. his muscles flexed as he yanked at the handle dislodging the blade.

"RORY!"

This time the call was louder. Turning he looked around. His serious face lightened as he watched Caleb move to his work site.

"Hey," his friend smiled. "Lunch."

Rory wiped the perspiration off his face with his forearm and grinned.

"Good. I'm hungry."

Moving over to the wagon, the two sat upon the back and wrestled with the paper that held the sandwiches the camp cook had prepared earlier in the day.

"Luke still sore at you," Caleb inquired as he bit into his sandwich.

Rory slipped the chunk of cheese and roast beef to the other side of his mouth before responding.

"I guess." He shrugged. "I'll make it up to him."

Looking off into the distance as his legs swung under the wagon, he tried to formulate a plan of action. The two ate in silence for a few minutes. Rory reached behind him and picked up the canteen. Uncorking the cap, he held it to his lips and took a deep drink.

"What you been thinking about," Caleb paused. "You aren't usually this quiet."

"Me, I , um?" Rory raised his eyebrows. "Well, you know."

"You haven't! About that," Caleb hissed, before looking around to see if anyone was watching or in listening distance then lowered his voice. "That duke," He questioned.

Rory's eyes darted about. He leaned closer to his compadre. "I haven't been able to think of anything else. Look. Today is Saturday. We'll finish up here around two. Meet me at the old cabin at four."

"Four, gotcha."

The little man slipped off the wagon and disappeared to the other side of the grove. Rory moved back to the tree and retrieved his ax. Spitting on his hands, he swung the heavy double bladed instrument back and sent it into the wood. The sooner this was done the sooner he could begin to place his plan into action.

Chapter 3 All good things come to those who wait.

Rory couldn't believe his good luck. He didn't count on things falling into his hands. As the afternoon sun set below the sound Rory emerged from the shanty. His tools after putting away, he dusted his hands against the sides of his trousers and began walking toward the main tent when her heard his name called.

"Rory?"

He looked up, wondering by the expression on his face what could be on the Luke walked over to him, clipboard in hand, and pencil behind his ear. The last thing he wanted to deal with was the possibility of having to do another job. Still, he held his breath wanting to be free of any bounds so he could think.

"What is it Luke?"

The impatience in his voice caused him to stop.

"I'm sorry." Luke words were sharp.

Rory knew he was perturbed. No doubt, he wondered why Ethan had left him in charge of the lumber camp. Taking a deep breath he shouldered his resentment and waited for him to speak.

"Am I bothering you?" Luke demanded. "I mean the business only provides you and me with a way to make a living."

Rory sighed and hung his head.

"No Luke," he replied tiredly. "I am interested in the business."

Luke moved closer and held the clipboard down.

"Look, I hate to do this but I have to make the schedule out for next week since Ethan's not back. I'll bring it by your cabin in town later this evening."

Rory gave a sigh of relief. Luke looked over at him quizzically.

"I'm glad you approve. Anyway, I need you to take this wagon to the General Store and pick up a supply of black powder then take it to the ice shack to keep it cool."

Rory's eyes bugged out. He could not have asked for anything better. The shack stood right near the cabin.

"Oh, I don't mind at all Luke, honest."

Luke opened his mouth to speak and paused, narrowing his eyes he looked at the younger man. How unusual for Rory to be displaying such behavior. It was just so, uncharacteristic of Ethan's younger brother.

"Yes, well. I will see you around eight tonight."

***

Rory hummed as he rode down delighted with the prospects of having four glorious hours to his own liking. The smile, still plastered on his face, refuse to disappear when he pulled to a stop in front of the only store in Willow. Jumping down he looped the reins over the brake handle and swaggered inside.

"Hi Rory," Ben called out.

Rory lifted his hand in greeting but the shape of another caught his eye. He found himself rewarded with a coy drop of lashes against a peach colored cheek as Elizabeth turned to see him in the doorway.

"Oh, hello," he began in a soft voice moving to stand by her side.

He watched as she pushed a strand of her russet hair behind her ear.

"Hello," she answered.

Rory leaned over her shoulder and looked into the basket.

"What cha buying?"

"Oh silly things," she blushed some more.

"Like?"

"Buttons, thread, you know, girl things." Elizabeth looked at him and avoided his eyes.

"Elizabeth," Rory asked sensing something amiss.

"I.," She straightened her back to stand tall, "I have to break our date for tomorrow night."

Rory's heart plummeted to his feet. "You have to break? I don't understand," he shook his head.

"The ladies, um the literary society, They-we are getting together in the schoolhouse for another reading."

His face must have appeared stricken for she reached out in public and took hold of his hands.

"We couldn't wait till next week you see."

His brow knitted together. Could it be she needed to beg for his forgiveness. He shook his head trying to grasp the significance. "Wait. You want me to wait so you can hear another reading," he replied with disgust.

"See," She grew hot at his answer. "I told Bethany you just wouldn't understand."

Brushing past him, Elizabeth left the store leaving Rory gapping in their dust. Un sure of how long he stood immobile, he didn't move or breathe until the clerk of the general store's hand came down upon his shoulder causing him to look up.

"Women, can't live with 'em or without 'em, Rory. " Ben sighed. "You just wait and see. Once you're married, you'll wonder what the fuss was all about."

"Wait," he shook his head. "Everyone wants me to wait!" he threw up his hands and walked away, leaving the clerk to scratch his head.

Crossing over to the saloon he was half tempted to drown his sorrows in a beer when he saw it. The answers to his problem were fluttering on the clothesline. Rory stopped and leaned against the post that held up the porch on the second floor. Now how to get them was the next question.

Slowly a hand reached out from the bushes and clasped the end of the clothesline. Small but quiet yanks slipped the dry clothing closer to the tree line. A pair of blue eyes blinked until the object of their desire came within view. Within seconds the hands snatched the required items and sucked them into the dark green branches never again to see the light of day.

Their value to any passing person would be unusually small however to the owner they were beyond price. Their passing would go unnoticed until that afternoon when the title-holder showed up to reclaim his processions.

"What do you mean they're gone!" Bellowed Major Hamilton.

"They're gone!" Bethany nervously rang her hands. "I ... I put them on the clothesline and when I went there to take them in they were gone!"

The mill owner slapped his thigh with his quirt. His new shirt, lifted. Stolen! There would be a price to be paid.

"Here are your other things, Major. Under the circumstances Elizabeth and I thought that there would be no charge for the," She swallowed hard at his dark look. "Shirt?"

Growling, Major Hamilton snatched away his precious bundle.

"I'm gonna take my things back to the Chinese laundry, in Auburn!" he growled as he stomped away.

Bethany blinked and pursed her lips in shock. "Have a nice day." She called out to him as he stomped toward home.