“Let’s hope he’s not testing the beans,” Matt said jovially. When Rebecca gave him a dark look, his smile faded a little. “Okay,” he said, putting up a hand. “I’ll find him.”
He went one way, Rebecca went the other, to the dais to tell Grandpa it was time. Only Grandpa wanted to review with her some of his better jokes, which he did until Matt showed up with Tom. Tom had obviously been enjoying the free food, judging by the bit of barbecue sauce on his shirt. Angie was with them, too, as was Gunter and the photographer. Pat was right behind them all, looking very disgruntled. “I think the whole thing is rigged. I lacked only one number for three calls and still didn’t bingo!”
“Okay, is everyone here?” Tom asked, gleefully rubbing his hands together as Gunter’s photographer bounced around them, snapping pictures. “This is our big moment, the reason all these folks came out tonight. So!” He looked at Rebecca. “Do you have my remarks?”
The question stunned her. “Didn’t Gilbert prepare some remarks for you?”
“Yep,” Tom said congenially. “He said he was faxing them to you.”
No one uttered a word; Rebecca could only gape. Pat muttered, “Good God.”
“The rainy day fund,” Matt said quickly. “Talk about how we need that fund to meet the needs of everyone in case of an emergency, to ensure that we are never in danger of cutting back on services.”
“Yeah, that’s good,” said Tom, jotting it down in his pocket notebook. Rebecca silently agreed, recognizing instantly that she wouldn’t have come up with that in a trillion years. Which begged the question of what, exactly, she would have come up with.
“I can talk about how I’m a huge advocate for saving money,” Tom said. “Not that I can save my own damn money, but they don’t have to know that, right?” he asked, laughing easily. Pat groaned again.
“Okay folks, we have a real treat for you tonight,” Grandpa said. “The Silver Panthers’ president, Francine McDonough, is coming up here to tell you all about it.”
Francine, eager for the microphone, pointed her scooter toward the dais and punched it. Matt likewise nudged Tom toward the dais, made him take two steps up behind Francine when she parked her scooter and inexplicably bounded up the steps.
“And health care initiatives,” he said to Tom. “Mention that. Remember, don’t take any questions, and for God’s sake, be vague!”
Tom laughed. “Don’t worry, Parrish! This ain’t my first rodeo.” He jogged up the steps and began sauntering toward Francine.
Rebecca looked at Matt from the comer of her eye. “Okay . . . the rainy day fund was close to brilliant. Thanks. I really owe you one for bailing me out.”
Matt grinned down at her, his gray eyes sparkling with delight. “I do not believe sweeter words were ever spoken. Great thing, debts—”
“Stop it—”
“First I owed you one—”
She laughed nervously as Gunter’s photographer turned and suddenly took several shots of them.
“Now you owe me one.”
“Excuse me!” Rebecca whispered to the photographer, and pointed at Tom. The photographer shrugged, turned back to Tom. She could hear Matt’s deep chuckle, but she refused to look at him, lest she lose what was left of her composure, and refused to think about debts or bets in any direction. But while they waited for Francine (who seemed to like the limelight as much as Grandpa) to finish her long spiel, the feel of Matt standing so close to her, his body radiating delicious energy, she could not keep the seductive thoughts of debts from her mind. By the time Francine turned it over to Tom, Rebecca was so uptight that she feared she might actually twist off and spear herself into the ceiling.
Tom strutted across the stage, thanked Francine, and began to speak about why he had come tonight and how important the Silver Panthers were to the state and to candidates like him. He then launched into a little well-rehearsed speech about what he hoped to accomplish as lieutenant governor—which consisted, when one cut through the rhetoric, of not raising taxes. And then a plug for a new superhighway, from Dallas to Old Mexico, with a gas pipeline running beneath that would bring commerce to Texas.
“Huh,” Matt muttered. “That’s new.”
“You know, he looks like a sausage,” Gunter said thoughtfully as Tom spoke extemporaneously. “He’s really not very photogenic.”
“Okay!” Rebecca said, feeling better as the crowd clapped. “This is going pretty well!” She glanced hopefully at Pat. Pat shrugged.