"Let's do that again." She hadn't wanted him to think of her as a useless rich girl; now she didn't want to be Mother Earth. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it. Confusing. Fortunately, he had turned to the drinks cooler. She made the sandwich, including the extra pickle, and took his money from the counter. As she reached toward him with the change, her arm dipped and her hand rested for a moment on his palm. "Thanks, Willow. Have to run." "Bye." He was out the door and into an old blue pickup before she could think of anything else to say. It wasn't me, she thought. I didn't do that. It was my arm, like a damned dowsing rod. Two guys came in for coffee and bagels. A steady flow of customers kept her occupied; by noon she was over the embarrassment. But she was on alert. At dinner she said to Amber, "My goddamn arm was out of control." Amber clapped. "Oh, great," Willow said. "I'm groping strangers, and you think everything's fine." "It is fine. You just need to get laid, that's all. And how can you call Patrick a stranger? You've known him for a month." "Get laid--that's your solution for everything." "No, no. It's a help; it takes the pressure off. And it's interesting, Willow. Men are so different. Now, we're not talking babies, here." Amber took a bite of bread. "Mmm, this bread . . . " She swallowed. "Yumm. You're getting it; those first couple of loaves were kind of a workout. You could get some good men, Willow; they're around. You need a strategy." "I'll pass out numbers at the News Shop," Willow said. Amber laughed. "Give number one to Patrick. Maybe number two to that cute Claude. Leave Art out; I'm not done with him. He's got a lot of talent, Willow. You know what he told me last night?" "Let's see . . . " "He's buying another old barn--for its frame. He's going to put the frame against his house barn, end-to-end. He wants to roof it and hang one room in a quarter of the upper level, leaving the rest open. Can't you see them: the finished barn and the design together, sort of turning into each other?" "Neat idea," Willow said. "O.K., I'll leave Art out." "Oh, I forgot to tell you," Amber said. "There's a big party, Saturday night. It's going to be on the mountain at a place called, 'Mead's Meadow.' Art says they have it every year. It goes on all night; some people bring sleeping bags. Kegs, music--why don't you ride up with us?" "Maybe I will," Willow said. "If I have any numbers left." 5