Free Gnome On The Range by Jennifer Zane

someone has to be taking care of the place.” Although not that well. Unmowed grass, gas explosions.
    “Right, that was a good sale. Got myself one of those new-fangled quesadilla makers,” Mrs. Huffman said. She’d murdered the word quesadilla so the end sounded a lot like armadillo. “They have a son that stays there. Morty. Works at the Rocking Double D ranch.”
    “That boy’s always been a little…odd,” said Mr. Huffman.
    I wasn’t sure if odd meant strange or gay. Even at the forty-fifth parallel this was still the Bible belt. Gay didn’t go over super well around here, especially with the older set. Gay didn’t bother me a bit. I met more weird, kinky and sometimes perverted straight people at Goldilocks than I really ever wanted to. Gay had nothing on some of Goldie’s customers.
    “Odd?” I wondered, hoping he’d clarify.
    “He’s twenty-four and lives in his parent’s basement. Never had a lot of motivation in life. Even as a little kid. Watched TV. Played those shoot-em-up video games all the time.”
    Did this Morty Moore have enough motivation as a grown up to steal a vial of sperm off my stoop? Was he in over his head with something? Someone? Did he have enough smarts to take the sperm from where he worked? If he did, why did he put it in a garden gnome? The gnome part really was odd. Maybe he did do it, after all.
    I’d had enough of being pampered by the Huffmans. I thanked them for the refreshments and headed back across the street.
    My phone rang from my pocket and I stopped in the middle of the blocked-off road. I read the display.
    “Hi, Mom,” I said brightly.
    “I just came from a sale at the mall. I was fixin’ to get some new lipstick at the Lancome counter but picked up some jammies for the boys and some sun hats instead.” My mom sounded as pleased with a sale at the mall as I did by a good find at a garage sale. I’d learned it from her. Her malls were just better—and cooler. No sense sweating outside at garage sales in the summer in Savannah. No find was worth heat stroke.
    I caught Ty’s eye and he headed my way.
    His shorts had a pocket ripped at the seam. Dirt smeared his T-shirt on one shoulder. He still looked pretty grim.
    “That’s great, Mom! I…um…can’t really talk now. I’ll call you later.” Before she could get in a goodbye, I ended the call. Didn’t want her to learn anything about the little mishap with the house. There was a time and place to tell your mother you were almost exploded and it wasn’t now.
    “Thankfully no one was inside, no one was hurt.” Ty’s eyes grazed over every part of me that he could see. New nerves fluttered up and rattled me.
    “Sorry about your truck,” I said as I watched a small clump of firemen stand around it, probably contemplating how to get the fridge detached. A few bags of frozen vegetables were strewn on the ground by a front tire.
    He grimaced, rubbed his thumb over my forehead. Must’ve had some dirt smeared there. “It’s just a truck.”
    Why was he so nonchalant about it? I’d be super upset if my car just got leveled by a fridge. It reminded me a little of the Wicked Witch of the West. “I did offer to drive.”
    Ty glared at me and his jaw clenched tight. I realized I might have just poked a bear with a stick. He looked left and right, grabbed my upper arm, gently this time. “Come with me.”
    I followed him around to the back side of the fire truck, away from all the action, the people. He leaned in close so his eyes were level with mine.
    “It’s just a fucking car. I can get another one.” His blue eyes dropped to my mouth and back up again. “Shit.” He shook his head. “I’m having thoughts about kissing you.”
    My breath lodged in my throat and I felt my blood pressure soar.
    “But it’s the wrong thing to do,” he continued. “Hell, I don’t kiss women who are demented.”
    Huh? Now I gave him a funny look.
    “Demented?” I asked. I was stuck on the word ‘kiss’