Free A Great Catch by Lorna Seilstad Page B

chocolate on a cold day, broke the silence, and his lips curved in a genuine smile.
    Emily pressed a hand to her uncooperative throat. “We’ll have to hurry. My grandmother will be worried.”
    “No, she won’t. This morning I asked her for permission to take you out for ice cream or to supper, whichever opportunity presented itself. I wanted to spend some time with you. She agreed as long as it was still daylight.”
    This morning? Her mind reeled. But that was before the swimming incident. He’d planned this. He actually wanted to be with her.
    “Do you want one?” He pointed toward one of the booths.
    Blinking, she took a moment to consider his question. Around them, hawkers shouted for the crowds to come try their games of chance. One claimed he could guess anyone’s age. The hawker nearest them held up a porcelain figurine and tried to get the men to win one for their lady by throwing a baseball at three stacked milk bottles.
    Carter grinned. “Say the word and it’s yours.”
    “That would hardly be fair—you being a pitcher and all.”
    “Step right up!” The man pointed at Carter. “You look like a fine young man. Don’t you want to impress your girl?”
    “Impressing her might be harder than you think, but I’ll give it a try.” Carter winked at her. “What do you say?”
    Unable to resist the boyish grin on his face, she nodded.
    Carter passed the man a nickel, picked up the baseball, and bounced it a few times in his palm.
    The hawker set two more balls on the plank in front of him. “You get three tries to knock them all down.”
    With a knowing glance at Emily, Carter drew his arm back and launched the ball. The milk jars clattered off the wooden pedestal onto the straw below.
    The gap-toothed hawker shook Carter’s hand. “Good job, son. Here you go. Give this to your gal.”
    Carter accepted the prize and turned to Emily. “You heard the man.”
    She traced the fine features of the porcelain match holder with her finger. It depicted a boy trying on his father’s boots. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” She tingled inside. No one had ever won her any of the trinkets before.
    A freckle-faced boy darted between them, knocking the figurine from her grasp. Both Emily and Carter lunged for it, and their heads collided. The figurine tumbled to the dirt and one of the boots broke off.
    Emily gasped and pressed her hand to her head.
    Rubbing his own head, Carter scooped up the broken pieces. “I’ll win you another one.”
    “No, that’s all right.” She bit her lip as she adjusted her hat, set askew in the collision. “I’m such a butterfingers. The next one would probably slip through my hands too.”
    “It wasn’t your fault, Emily. It was the boy’s. Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine. I’ve got a pretty hard head.”
    “I can believe that.” Chuckling, he deposited the two pieces in the pocket of his coat and offered her his arm.
    This time she held her breath and slipped her hand in place. Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t let go.
    “Hawkins Shooting Gallery is down the street. Still want to shoot me for dragging you here?”
    She couldn’t let him off that easily. “I’ll settle for a small flesh wound.”
    “Make sure you hit my right arm then. I need the left to pitch.”
    They strolled down the Midway until they reached the long, narrow brick gallery at the far end. Carter held the door, and she stepped inside. The report of rifles made her step back, but Carter pressed a hand to the small of her back and urged her forward.
    An outdoor mural lined the back wall of the gallery. In front of it, a row of cast-iron ducks, squirrels, and rabbits moved steadily on a chain while two young men took aim and fired. A bull’s-eye spun in a circle behind the figures. The explosion of gunpowder overpowered the sound of the engine, which kept the chain moving, and filled the air with a peppery sulfuric scent. An occasional metallic ping indicated the men had hit the target.
    Emily