There must have been some telltale inflection in her voice because Lori picked up on it immediately. “Lesley, are you all right?”
“Of course.” It was always of course. Always some flippant remark that discounted her unhappiness. “We’ll get together later in the week.”
They chatted for a few more minutes. When they’d finished, Lesley knew it was up to her to make the best of the day. She couldn’t rely on her friends, nor should she.
She mulled over that realization, trying to decide what to do. Attending a movie alone held no appeal, nor did treating herself to dinner in a fancy restaurant. She sighed, swallowing the pain as she so often had before. She was sick of pretending it didn’t hurt, tired of being cheerful and glib when her heart was breaking.
A day such as this one called for drastic measures. Nothing got more drastic than a quart of chocolate-chip cookie-dough ice cream and a rented movie.
Lesley’s spirits rose. It was perfect. Drowning her sorrows in decadence made up for all that pretended indifference. Men! Who needed them? Not her, Lesley told herself again. Not her.
She reached for her purse and was out the door, filled with purpose.
It was while she was at a stoplight that Lesley saw the billboard. BRIDE WANTED. PHONE 555-1213. At first she was amused. A man advertising for a wife? On a billboard? She’d never heard anything so ridiculous in her life. The guy was either a lunatic or a moron. Probably both. Then again, she reasoned, she wasn’t exactly sympathetic to the male of the species these days. She’d been done wrong and she wasn’t going to smile and forget it! No, sir. Those days were past.
Still smiling at the billboard, Lesley parked her car at the grocery store lot and headed toward the entrance. Colorful bedding plants, small rosebushes and rhododendrons were sold in the front of the store, and she toyed with the idea of buying more geraniums for her porch planter box.
She noticed the man pacing the front of the automatic glass doors almost immediately. He seemed agitated and impatient, apparently waiting for someone. Thinking nothing more of it, she focused her attention on the hanging baskets of bright pink fuchsia, musing how nice they’d look on her porch.
“Excuse me,” the man said when she approached. “Would you happen to have the time?”
“Sure,” she said, raising her arm to glance at her watch.
Without warning, the man grabbed her purse, jerking it from her forearm so fast that for a moment Lesley stood frozen with shock and disbelief. She’d just been mugged. By the time she recovered, he’d sprinted halfway across the lot.
“Help! Thief!” she screamed as loudly as she could. Knowing better than to wait for someone to rescue her, she took off at a dead run, chasing the mugger.
He was fast, she’d say that for him, but Lesley hadn’t danced her way through all those aerobics classes for nothing. She might not be an Olympic hopeful, but she could hold her own.
The mugger was almost at the street, ready to turn the corner, when another man flew past her. She didn’t get a good look at him, other than that he was big and tall and wore a plaid shirt and blue jeans.
“He’s got my purse,” she shouted after him. Knowing she’d never catch the perpetrator herself, her only chance was the second man. She slowed to a trot in an effort to catch her breath.
To her relief, the second man caught the thief and tackled him to the ground. Lesley’s heart leapt to her throat as the pair rolled and briefly struggled. She reached them a moment later, not knowing what to expect. Her rescuer was holding the thief down, and as Lesley watched, he easily retrieved her purse.
“I believe this belongs to you,” her rescuer said, handing her the bag.
The mugger kicked for all he was worth, which in Lesley’s eyes wasn’t much. He was cursing, too, and doing a far more effective job of that.
“That’s no way to talk in front of a lady,” her hero said calmly, turning the thief onto his stomach and pressing his knee into the middle of his back. The man on the ground groaned and shut up.
A police siren blared in the background.
“Who called the police?” Lesley asked, looking around until she saw a businessman holding a cell phone. “Thanks,” she shouted and waved.
The black-and-white patrol car pulled into the parking lot. A patrolman stepped out. “Can either of you tell me what’s going on here?” he asked.
“That man,” Lesley said indignantly, pointing to the thief sprawled on the asphalt, “grabbed my purse and took off running. And that man,” she said, pointing to the other guy, “caught him.”
“Chase Goodman,” her white knight said. He stood up, but kept his foot pressed against the thief’s back as he nodded formally.
Lesley clutched her handbag to her breast, astonished at how close she’d come to losing everything. Her keys were in her purse, along with her identification, checkbook, money and credit cards. Had she lost all her ID, it would’ve been a nightmare to replace. Nor would she have felt safe knowing someone had the keys to her home and her car, along with her address. The thought chilled her to the bone.
There seemed to be a hundred questions that needed answering before the police officer escorted the mugger to the station.
“I’m very grateful,” Lesley said, studying the man who’d rescued her purse. He was tall—well over six feet—and big. She was surprised anyone that massive could move with such speed. At first glance she guessed he was a bodybuilder, but on closer inspection she decided he wasn’t the type who spent his time in a gym. He had a rugged, outdoorsy look that Lesley found strongly appealing. A big, gentle “bear” of a man. A gym would’ve felt confining to someone like Chase. Adding to his attractiveness were dark brown eyes and a friendly smile.
“My pleasure, Miss…”
“Lesley Campbell. I go by Ms.” She paused. “How did you know I’m not married?”
“No ring.”