Free A Secret Identity by Gayle Roper

Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
    “Cara, a buggy ride? That’s crazy. Besides it’s too touristy.”
    I shrugged. “So what? I’m a tourist.”
    “Well, I’m not.” I watched as he hunkered down, all but attaching himself to my car, a limpet clinging to his rock, a barnacle glued to its piling.
    “Todd,” I said, smiling as sweetly as I could, “where’s your sense of adventure?”
    “I don’t have one, and I don’t want to develop one in an Amish buggy.” He clenched his jaw, clearly convinced he’d made his definitive statement on the issue.
    I leaned toward him and narrowed my eyes as I stared directly into his. He leaned back instinctively.
    “What?” he said.
    “Todd,” I said softly, my index finger aimed at his chest, “when you grow up, do you want to be like your father or like my pop?”
    He blinked. Then he clamped his jaw and glared at me through eyes as narrowed as mine. The muscles in his cheeks jumped as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.
    Finally he spoke, his words clipped and hard. “That is a very nervy question. Do you always play hardball like that?”
    It was a nervy question, and I couldn’t believe I’d voiced it. I usually never ask questions that might make the hearer uncomfortable. I was a peacemaker, a kind and comforting person. But I’d seen Todd’s sorrow over dinner and it hurt. I forced my answer around the lump in my throat. “Only when the outcome matters.”
    He blinked again. We both knew I wasn’t talking about any buggy ride. We stood frozen, staring at each other, as all around us life flowed on.
    My heart pounded to the point of pain, and ribbons of dread unfurled inside. What if he wanted to be his father? Or what if he couldn’t help being his father? I felt like my future was on the line even as I recognized the folly of such a thought. I’d only met the man yesterday.
    Dear God, it’s the brown eyes, isn’t it? And the beautiful curls and that jaw. And he shared his shoofly pie with me. And he found a place for me to live. And he’s taking me to church! Oh, Lord, please let him be able to have fun .
    Finally Todd broke the tension. He took a deep breath, twitched his shoulders a bit, and said mildly, “I guess we’d better take a buggy ride, hadn’t we?”
    My breath rushed from my lungs, and I realized for the first time that I’d been holding it. Almost giddy with relief I said, “Abe’s Buggy Rides is just down the street.”
    He looked slightly pained. “I know Abe’s Buggy Rides.” He peeled himself off my fender and sighed. “Give me your car keys and let’s get this over with.”
    “You’re driving my car?”
    “Why not? We’re standing right beside it.”
    “But it’s my car. I should drive.”
    “Don’t push it, Cara. Let me have some semblance of control.”
    I understood about control. I gave him the keys and climbed into the passenger side. He backed out of the parking space and pulled onto 340. In a short time we were at Abe’s Buggy Rides. We parked and climbed out our respective sides. When we met at the back of the car, he looked at me with an aggrieved expression.
    “I’ve driven past this place for years, always with a great feeling of superiority toward the people who took the rides.” He shuddered so intensely that his slicked-down curls almost shook. “Now I’m about to become one of them.”
    I patted his arm. “I don’t know whether it helps or not, but I think you’re brave and wonderful.”
    He snorted. “Don’t think I don’t recognize sarcasm when I hear it.”
    I grinned and started for the sidewalk where the buggies stood waiting.
    He trailed me, still busy carping. “You eat my food, you don’t pay your fair share, you complain when I want to drive your car, and you make me go on a buggy ride.” The horror in his voice was comical. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
    I turned to him, startled, and he added quickly, “And that’s not a compliment.”
    Glad for a