Someone to Run to

Chapter One, Part One

Missy Martinez reached down to double tie her sneakers before heading back out into the hot Texas sun. It was the weekend of the "Hotter than Hell, Mad Hatter Dash" and she didn't want to end up splattered in the middle of the boiling cement after tripping over her own laces. The intercom spit out a somewhat snowy announcement, "Runners, line up. Race will begin in ten minutes!"  

A cheer rose from the crowd she imagined gathered outside. Earlier that day, before the temperature reached its current triple digit are you there God, it's us, Texas high, most of the townies gathered in the football stadium for a good ol' fashion game of Cow Plop Bingo. 

The list of things Missy wished she could unlearn since moving to the Texas hill country town of Chance five years ago grew in staggering increments, sometimes daily. 

"Eight minutes, runners," the announcer warned this time. 

Missy rolled her eyes. She would recognize Royce Beardsley's nasally voice from a vocal line-up. He'd asked her out last year, but there is no way in Hell she'd be able to listen to that for the rest of her life. Not that Missy thought herself perfect, not by any means. After her ex, she found herself, more...discerning than anything.  

She looked into the mirror that hung lopsided on a pole inside the cool down tent and adjusted her hat over her shoulder length mouse-brown hair. 

This was her fourth time taking part in the Dash. The rules: 1. Run fast. 2. Wear a hat. 3. Don't pass out. All fine; in elementary school Missy took part in the running club, it took her on into middle school and then high school where she'd starred on the track team. Plus, she loved the hat part. Not to mention it kept the sun out of her eyes which helped with rule numero tres. Anything to stay cool on a scorching Texas day helped.  

Missy found out about the dash shortly after her divorce from her stinkin' ex. It made a nice diversion each year as it fell on the same week as her wedding anniversary. Or, what used to be her wedding anniversary. A therapist might say she used this to run away from her past. Missy saw it as running toward a future she hadn't found yet. 

She adjusted her pink bonnet rimmed with dozens of sunflowers and one perfect yellow rose, and headed toward the entrance. 

"Hey, watch it," a cool voice drawled as she tripped over a cowboy boot.  

She let her eyes meander slowly from the tip of the boot up the very attractive blue-jeaned leg and finally to the roughly hewn face of the man who had spoken. 

"I'm sorry," she said, butterflies whipping into a fine frenzy in her stomach. She swallowed and remembered quickly why she avoided men. In a cooler voice she finished, "you shouldn't sit so close to the entrance. Don't you know we're all getting ready for the race?" 

His lips curled into a lazy smile that threatened to pull Missy's thudding heart right out of her chest. His face wasn't so rough after all and the slight dash lines around that smile made him look sweet, almost boy like. His cheek had a cherry pit of a dimple in it and that smile reached all the way up to his pool-water eyes.  

As a little girl, Missy had always wanted blue eyes. Born to a Hispanic father and an Irish mother, she ended up looking like her dad with the brown hair/brown eye combo pack, while her brother, Jaime, got the reddish brown hair and blue eyes she always wanted. It didn't seem fair to waste such fine features on a boy who used to pour hot sauce in her soup and call her la gordita because of her baby fat. But who said life was fair? 

The man removed his cowboy hat and pushed a hand through black hair as he looked up at her. Sizing her up, it seemed, but Missy had no idea for what.  

"Well, Lady," he said in that same slow-as-molasses voice, "that's exactly what I'm doing, too." 

Missy shook her head to clear the endearing image of that dimple and responded, laughing, "You? You. You know that the race is starting in about five minutes, right? Don't you think you might want to change out of those ridiculous boots and into some proper running shoes?" Really. Some people hadn't a clue.  

The smile faded slightly from his face and he leaned toward her. "I can run faster in my boots than you could ever run in those fancy sneakers of yours." 

Missy looked down at her two-hundred dollar Nike Elite's and snorted. Sure, not lady like and her mother would be mad as a yellow jacket, but really. Really. This hick thought he could do better than her? Crossing arms across her chest, she pressed one foot forward, toe and toe with his boot. "I'll have you know, I placed first in every single event I raced in during my senior year in High School. I've been a runner my entire life. These shoes are custom fit to my feet. Your," she snubbed them with the toe of her shoe, "boots ain't got nothin' on me." 

Around them a few of the other racers stopped to stare. Some of them opened their mouths, as if to say something, but a raise of the man's hand quieted all murmurs.  

"You wanna place a wager on the race? Something friendly, just you and me?"  

Ever since she came to this part of the country, Missy had run into men who believed women should be, barefoot and preferably preggo, in the kitchen. Missy came from Dallas. She moved to Chance because it had one of the highest rated schools in the country and when they offered her the position of Vice Principal, no way in H E Double Hockey Sticks was she going to miss out on something that big.  

This man with his cockiness and those ridiculous boots had another thing coming if he thought himself somehow better than her. Much less that he could beat her in a race. She could outrace him with one foot tied to the other. An evil thought tugged at the corners of her brain. She'd been put in charge of the Bachelor Auction fundraiser this year, and one of the contestants pulled out last minute. If she could rope this guy into participating, Missy just knew his pretty-boy looks would bring in a pretty penny. "I think that sounds like a mighty fine idea, mister," she said as she put her hand forward for him to shake it. 

"Name's Brian, Brian Collins." 

"Missy Martinez. The pleasure is mine."  

They shook hands as a voice sounded over the intercom letting the racers know that it was time to move to the starting line.  

He's awfully tall, Missy thought as Brian rose from where he'd been lounging. She was a tall woman herself, or at least taller than average at five-nine, but this man had to be at least six-four. She knew his height could give him some kind of advantage in the race, but then again, he was wearing those boots. She smiled. No challenge here. Now to hand him the rope and let him hang himself with it. 

"So what's the wager?" she asked as they lined up shoulder-to-shoulder among the sea of runners. "What is it that you're going to give me when I run circles around you?" 

Brian grinned down at her, "When I win," he said in his sultry voice, "you'll agree to go to the dance with me next Friday night." 

The dance. Every year the organizers held a barn dance to bring everyone back together after the week of festivities. Missy had never gone. Still, she knew she was going to beat him so it seemed like a fair wager.  

"Take your places," the intercom sounded again. 

"And when you lose," Missy said as she took her spot among the runners. "You have to participate in the bachelor auction." 

"You running that mess this year?" 

She rolled her eyes toward the skies. She'd been unwittingly coerced. "As vice principal I feel it's important to be a part of the school." 

"I don't do the auction." 

"So certain you're going to lose?" 

He cocked an eyebrow. 

"Runners, take your mark," the announcer called over the intercom. 

"I won't lose. You've got a bet." Brian said as he tipped his hat to her.  Leaning in, he said, "And when I take you to the dance, you're going to kiss me before the end of the night."

"GO!"