Dead Dry

Chapter One I awoke that Friday morning in the blistering heat of summer with something tickling my foot. At first I thought it was some kind of bug because I was sleeping in the backyard in the bed of my pickup truck where such creatures are not uncommon, but when kicking the sheet and wiggling my toes didn't make it go away I opened my eyes to see what it was. "It" was Fritz Calder, a six-foot two-inch male of my own species who was smiling at me quite mischievously. Even though I had begun in recent months to grow quite fond of this male, I flinched with surprise. "Fritz!" I gasped. "Where did you come from?" A shadow of worry swept across his face. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to surprise you, I---" "Out for your morning run?" I asked, quickly smoothing things out with a smile. I didn't want him to go away. It was nice to see Fritz in the morning in his T-shirt and sweat and shorts, his cheeks flushed with exercise. He looked really good leaning against the side of my truck, the branches of the apple tree spreading out over him, the deep blue Utah sky winking between the green leaves and reddening fruit, but then, Fritz usually did have a way of looking good. In fact, in that moment goodness suffused that tiny backyard, filling the intimate confines of the cedar fence and my landlady's tomato plants with a bucolic glow. I had known Fritz for a year and a half now, and we had become good friends. Of late I had seen him mostly on evenings when one or the other of us thought up something nice to do together, such as a game of tennis (unbelievable, I know . . . cowgirl Em Hansen swinging a tennis racket) or a hike in the hills above the city or even a spin in the new airplane Fritz is developing. The plane needed exercise, too. It went like spit and Fritz knew I liked to zoom out across the desert landscape of Great Salt Lake and the Bonneville Salt Flats. Fritz smiled back. "Up and at 'em, bright eyes. Seven a.m. and it's already eighty-five degrees out. Gonna be another scorcher." "Pray for rain." I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, hugging the sheet to myself with my elbows. I couldn't remember what I had on underneath it. A T-shirt was my standard sleep attire, but had I kept on much else in this heat? "Too hot in the house?" he inquired. "Yeah." He looked up at the brick Victorian in which I rented an upstairs apartment. "I'll bet it roasts up there, when it gets this hot but isn't it a little unsafe to sleep outside like this? Salt Lake is the big city, Em. You're a long way from Wyoming. People might come by and see you here." "Joggers, for instance. Renegade flyboys like yourself. No end to the depravity." I slid a hand under the sheet and discovered, to my relief, that I was indeed wearing a pair of athletic shorts and not just panties. I flicked off the sheet and was pleased that Fritz's gaze immediately dropped to my legs. "Breakfast?" Fritz's lips stretched into a grin. "Whatever you want to call it." I began to feel the wobbly sense of confusion Fritz and I had been stumbling into with increasing frequency. "I meant something like eggs and toast." Fritz's smile tightened and a scorching blush crept up his throat. "Well . . . ah . . ." I was saved from thinking up my next volley by the arrival of a second healthy male of the species, good old Detective Thomas B. Raymond of the Salt Lake City PD. The gate squeaked shut behind him, bringinAndrews, Sarah is the author of 'Dead Dry ', published 2005 under ISBN 9780312342524 and ISBN 0312342527.