Now I'm caught up - chapter 4 will be here shortly. ;)

Chapter 3

Danny pays our way through the gate, and we each receive a blue stamp on our hand as proof of admittance. It's not very crowded inside – the families with children have gone home to backyard barbecues and patriotic celebrations. What sunlight remains is warm and pleasant, draping over our bodies like bed linens fresh from the dryer. A soft breeze cools the skin and carries the scents of food and fresh produce from all directions. Looking at the man beside me, I decide that this evening couldn't be more perfect.

"Alright, Montana," Danny says, lightly touching my back. Even the slightest touch from him causes my heart to quicken. "Where to?"

"Let's hit the midway," I suggest, referring to the main row of game booths and vendors that run through the center of the fairgrounds.

Walking along, we pass a couple about our age who are holding hands as they stroll along blissfully. Seeing them causes my own palm to itch with desire to meet Danny's. I clinch my fist tightly to resist the temptation.

As we explore the midway, the first thing I spot is a row of enormous stuffed walrus toys. They are perched on a shelf under a tent; prizes for one of those water-gun games where you aim the stream of water at a target, which in turn moves a racehorse.

I start to laugh when I see the goofy-looking plush creatures. "Danny!" I say, tugging at his arm. "Danny, look!"

It takes him a minute – he looks confused – but then he finally grins. "My 30th birthday party," he mutters, and his cheeks turns slightly pink at the recollection.

The operator of the game is taunting people as they walk by, conning them into playing. "Hey Muscle Man!" he hoots at Danny. "One win and you get your pick of prizes! Win something for your pretty little girlfriend!"

Girlfriend? Whoa. But Danny doesn't bother correcting the man, and I wonder why. Maybe he is so flattered at being labeled "Muscle Man" (which he practically asks for in that tight shirt) that the 'girlfriend' thing doesn't register. I look at him pointedly with a silent challenge, and he raises an eyebrow.

"I dunno, Montana," he says warily, eying the seats which are quickly filling up with players. "I've never done this before."

"Do it," I urge him. "I've seen your proficiency scores, you have great aim." Boosting his ego always works. Before he can change his mind, I add "Come on, I want a walrus!" I fork over two dollars to the man, and he directs Danny to seat number eight. Two more people join, and then the operator instructs them to pick up their water guns. Danny readies his finger on the trigger, glancing back at me one more time. I give him a confident nod.

A bell sounds to signify the start of the race. I stand behind Danny, just over his shoulder, cheering him on. His aim is dead-on and unwavering, and he blows away the competition. When the buzzer sounds sixty seconds later, the operator shouts, "Number eight is the winner! Muscle Man!" He points to me. "Let's ask his lucky girlfriend what prize she wants."

"The walrus!" I say, beaming as I point to the giant symbol of the earliest days of our friendship.

The operator passes it to me over the booth. The walrus is huge – nearly as long as I am tall – and it's an atrocious shade of bright purple with green trim and felt tusks.

"Thank you, Danny," I tell him, laughing. "You're my hero."

"If only I had known it was that easy to impress you," he smiles, looking terribly pleased with himself.

A decadent scent is wafting our way, and I spot a nearby concession stand.

"Funnel cake," I say suddenly, shoving the walrus towards Danny as he stumbles back onto a bench. I'm on a mission. "Hold him."

I stand in line and order my funnel cake the way I always did back home – with cherry topping and confectioner's sugar. Then I carry my plate over to join Danny on the bench, where I offer to share.

He wrinkles up his nose. "What is it, exactly?" he asks, examining the squiggly lumps on my plate.

"Just fried dough," I explain.

"It looks like worms."

"Well then, it's not like you've never eaten worms before," I remind him. I can see his curiosity rising and his resolve melting. "Come on, just try it," I goad.

"I can't reach it," he mumbles, both of his arms too occupied with supporting the walrus. "Feed it to me."

I hesitate. Feed it to him? Is he for real? So I tear off a small piece, and hold it up to his mouth. First I feel his lips, warm and soft and positively electrified, brush my fingertips. The very tip of his tongue grazes my finger slightly as he takes the sticky morsel. I lower my arm, brushing my hand against his chin, and the prickly sensation from his stubble sends a burning tingle through my entire body. It's the most erotic think that's happened to me in… too long.

I feel hot and a little faint. Danny, however, seems hardly moved. He just chews thoughtfully for a few moments.

"Well?" I finally prompt, having gathered my composure.

"Sure beats fried spiders," he teases with a wicked smile.

Between the two of us, we polish off the funnel cake quickly. Before we rise, Danny reaches over and brushes a spot of powdered sugar off my chin. Who knew carnival food could be such a turn on? I hide a smile as I study the map of the fairgrounds we were provided with.

"Well, the livestock barns close soon – let's go check them out!" I say enthusiastically.

Danny instantly turns up his nose, and I in turn roll my eyes. "This was your idea, City Boy." I take the stuffed animal from his grasp. "I'll even carry the walrus."

The livestock barns are almost completely empty of people; save the owners who are busy forking hay, filling water buckets, and scooping feed. I stop at a pen of Dorset sheep, admiring their long black faces and beady eyes. One of the ewes stares at Danny with a blank expression that is so typical of the species, and then lets out a plaintive "baa".

"I think she likes you," I joke, reaching out to touch her soft head. "She reminds me of Sally, the first ewe I ever showed in 4-H."

"So this is where cotton comes from?" asks Danny, looking nonplussed.

I suppress a snicker. "Wool," I correct him as we move on down the aisle. "Cotton comes from a plant."

For the next half hour, Danny and I weave through the halls of the livestock barns. We admire the Suffolks and Southdowns; Guernseys and Charolais; Nubians and Toggenburgs. I don't bother trying to drag Danny into the pig exhibit – I myself would feel a little uneasy in there, thinking of all the wound reconstructions I have done at work.

Once outside the barns, I notice the western sky has turned a pinkish tint, not unlike that of cotton candy. Daylight is almost gone.

"Where should we go next?" I ask Danny, still clutching my prize.

"My turn to pick," he replies, slinging his arm around my shoulder to steer me back toward the midway. His arm feels so comfortable around me, like it's what I've been missing all these years. "I know just the place."