Free Tumbleweed Weddings by Donna Robinson Page A

two-person table, and a tiny lamp, set on the edge, shed a circle of yellow light on the white linen tablecloth.
    “I guess ‘Mama’ is a good cook.” Callie adjusted her glasses. “They always give their customers such big portions. I have enough Eggplant Parmigiana on my plate for three people, and we
have
to save room for dessert. Mama’s Kitchen has the most delicious desserts.”
    “Ice cream cones?”
    A blush spread over her face. “Much better than that, but please don’t throw a spoonful of tiramisu at my left lens.”
    He grinned. “If you recall, I don’t use that ploy anymore.” He reached across the table and snatched off her glasses.
    “Lane!” She covered her face with both hands and peeked at him through her fingers.
    He dropped her glasses in his shirt pocket. “Much better.” He gazed into her eyes, startled again by how pretty she was.
I have to get her that laser eye surgery
.
    She sighed as she dropped her hands back to the table, and he could tell she was trying not to smile. “What am I going to do with you?”
    Kiss me?
“Uh, I don’t know … I’ll think of something.”

    Callie felt completely lost without her glasses. Everything was a blur, even her food.
    She swallowed a bite of her eggplant. “Could I ask you a personal question?” She glanced up and blinked a couple times, unsuccessfully trying to bring his face into focus.
    He gazed a moment at her eyes. “Anything.”
    Callie hesitated.
The power of a woman’s eyelashes
—one of her sister’s pet phrases. No wonder Tonya batted her eyes at every new guy she met. “Um, first of all, could I have my glasses back? I really can’t see anything.”
    “Oh.” He dipped into his pocket and pulled them out. “Sorry to tease you. Guess I’m just an insensitive cad.”
    She smiled as she took her glasses. “No, you’re not.” Noticing a smudge, she wiped the lenses with the hem of her dress.
    Lane leaned forward. “So, what’s the personal question?”
    “I was wondering about your job. What do you do for a living?” There, she asked him. His job status had bothered her since she’d met him. “When you first came to the library, Miss Penwell asked what you did, and you told her you were an insurance salesman.”
    He frowned. “I did?”
    “That’s what she told me.” Callie put her glasses back on, thankful Lane was in focus once again.
    He pushed a bite of lasagna around on his plate. “Oh, I remember now. I told her I was an
agent.”
He laid his fork down. “But an agent can be anything—a manager, an investment broker, a real estate person, an insurance man, a book agent, a spy… .” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll let you guess which one I am.”
    “You’re definitely a spy.”
    He threw back his head and laughed so loud that other diners turned to look at him. “Right you are, Callie.”
    “Oh sure.” She couldn’t help but smile. “But really, Lane, tell me about yourself. You know so much about me. I’ve told you about my family, my church, my job, and even my dreams, but I hardly know anything about you.” She touched his hand, which was resting on the table across from her own. “Tell me all about Lane Hutchins.”
    He shrugged, and his smile faded to a frown. “I have no family, no friends. I’m just a drifter, Callie.” He looked down, picked up her hand, and cradled it in both of his own. “When my parents died, my aunt and uncle raised me.” He looked up. “I’ve already told you that.”
    She nodded. “How did the accident happen?”
    “My dad owned a Cessna, a small airplane. He had a pilot’s license, and he was always jetting my mom around the country. They took a lot of vacations—without me.”
    Callie pictured the young couple, too busy with their own lives to take care of the little boy who needed them. She squeezed his hand. “That’s sad.”
    “It would have been, except for Aunt Betty and Uncle Herb. I stayed with them so often, they might as