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"No offense," Danny Farrell said, "but Mr. Davenport is right."
"I know," Henri-Mae sighed, rubbing the side of her face in weariness. Even with its new repairs, her bike looked exactly how she'd described it – like an old clunker. "But right now she's all I got."
"You know, with what the costs to get this one fixed up, you could buy a new one," Cooter suggested. "I know a guy—"
Henri-Mae cut him off with a shake of her head and a smile. "I appreciate it, Cooter, but…"
"But?" Danny pressed.
"I know this guy in Atlanta," Henri-Mae said after a thoughtful pause. "Does custom bikes. Really pretty, top-of-the-line stuff, all the latest hardware. I was thinking of getting in touch with him, seeing what he could get me." She smiled, a bit dreamily. "I've wanted one of his bikes for the longest time."
"You spent time in Atlanta?" Danny asked.
She nodded. "Come to think of it, Cooter," she said to the mechanic, "I'll pick it up later, when I come pay you. I don't want to ride it when I'm all wet."
"No problem," Cooter replied, hiding the relief in his voice. "It'll be here when you get back."
Danny and Henri-Mae bid him goodbye – at least, Henri-Mae did – and they headed back out, through another door, past where Bo and Luke were still mildly shocked at Gabrielle's brush off. Henri-Mae glanced at them out of the corner of her eye and couldn't help a rather triumphant expression.
"Your partner is quite the looker," she said airily.
Having noticed what she noticed, Danny smirked. "Yeah, she's like that," he said. "Although I think she's not into boys."
Eyebrows shooting up, Henri-Mae spun on him. "What? You serious?"
"Well, I can't get her to go out with me," Danny said lazily. "So what else can I figure?"
Henri-Mae sighed. This guy was Bo with darker hair and a nicer suit, without his blue-eyed innocence to keep it charming. She felt a twist in her stomach. "So you're a real ladies' man, huh?"
Balladeer: Now I know I don't like that boy, but I'm starting to think Henri-Mae don't either. Guess the girl does have a pretty solid head on her shoulders. Sometimes.
Danny shrugged, a failed attempt at modesty. "You'd have to ask the ladies, but…" he trailed off, giving her a suggestive look.
Henri-Mae cleared her throat. "I guess I would," she returned dryly, already bored with the conversation. "Well, I gotta be getting back to the car wash, and—"
"You want to have dinner tonight?" he asked, quickly.
She froze. It caught her off guard – not just the invitation, but the realization that no, she did not, in fact, want to have dinner. "I think I'm on duty tonight," she said, and it sounded lame to her own ears.
He gave her a "yeah, right," look, but was undaunted. "Another time then," he said.
"Sure. See ya." She quickened her pace as the car wash came in sight, shooting him a goodbye grin over one shoulder as she returned to the safety of the Dunbar family.
"He's cute," Shelly said as Henri-Mae came within earshot. "A bit slick, but cute."
"Not slick at all, in the right way," Henri-Mae muttered. "I don't know…he's dreamy at first but when you get closer it's all messy."
"Like Monet," Shelly suggested, her tone sardonic.
Henri-Mae giggled. "Yeah, only without the artistic genius."
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Later that day, when the car-wash was over, and the humid summer evening was turning into an equally humid summer night, only a few people were milling about, as most of them were saving their energy for the dance coming up next week. Henri-Mae had long since noticed that people in Hazzard had little enough to do, so they were quite creative at inventing their own activities, and attending those activities in abundance.
Sometimes, she missed the city. Things were always moving in the city.
"So what did you do?" Shelly asked her as dusk streamed in through the windows, as Henri-Mae was helping her straighten up the main lobby. Having changed into dry clothes, Henri-Mae was in a rather good mood, thinking fondly of summers spent running about in the sprinkler system, and the feeling of coming in after all of that wet and being warm and dry and having it feel so good after being sticky and uncomfortable…
"Where?" Henri-Mae asked, fluffing one of the couch pillows.
"In the city," Shelly asked. "I mean, in the evenings, for entertainment."
"A lot of what we do whenever Tonya comes into town," Henri-Mae answered vaguely. "Go to clubs, drink, pick up guys."
"Really?" The look on her face was definitely disappointed, although she struggled to hide it. "That's it? I mean…"
Henri-Mae looked at her, biting back a smile. "Yeah, it was shallow," she said. "It got old quick."
"So you still did it?" Shelly asked. "I mean, seven years…"
"Well, the first three years I pretty much worked my ass of to keep from starving to death," Henri-Mae said, plopping down onto one of the plush couches, making sure it was still up to specs.
Shelly bit her lip. Henri-Mae had known this was coming eventually. Shelly had been attempting to prod bits and pieces of her mysterious vanishing from her without much success, as it wasn't really something Henri-Mae felt the need to discuss. And then there was the fact that Shelly had a serious weakness for gossip. Sure, she was a mother and a responsible person, but she talked. She liked to talk. It seemed to be her hobby.
Thank God, Molly came and interrupted them. "Mommy!" the four and a half-year old called as she rushed into the room. She held up a box of cereal. "Empty!"
Shelly sighed, taking the box. "I keep forgetting to go to the store," Shelly said.
"You manage a hotel," Henri-Mae pointed out. "Don't you have a kitchen?"
Shelly tossed her a look. "You think Boss doesn't keep a strict inventory?" she remarked. "Sure, I can snitch a thing or two, but still, we keep our own pantry."
"I can go," Henri-Mae said. "I want to go say hello to Lula anyway…and I'll take Molly," she added brightly.
Shelly gave her another look, this one incredulous. "Really?"
"Sure!" Henri-Mae winked at the four-year-old. "It'll be fun! Won't it?"
Shelly bit her lip again.
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"Can't see what the big deal is," Bo muttered as he scanned the aisle. "I mean, its just shampoo, can't Daisy—"
"You really want to get into this, Bo?" Luke quipped. "Come on, hurry up."
"Why do I have to get it?" Bo asked. "Why can't you?"
"Because nobody'll buy me buying girls' shampoo. But you, you got all that pretty hair-"
Bo just grunted as he caught the sign for shampoo and headed toward it. Just as he'd picked up the bottle something barreled into his legs.
"Hey!" he called, looking down into the freckled face of little Molly Dunbar. She looked a lot like her dad, who helped Shelly run the hotel. Dark hair and large blue eyes, even the same smile. Bo and Luke had wound up chatting for a good while with Lloyd that day while the car was being washed. The three of them had struck up an interesting friendship ever since that night Lloyd had directed them to the club where the girls had gone in Capitol City. And Molly, who was definitely a daddy's girl, picked up the hint.
"Bo!" she chirped. She was holding something her hand, something plastic with wheels. She held it up to him for his inspection.
"Is that a car?" Bo asked, and leaned down to see it was, in fact, a toy motorcycle. It did not escape his notice that Molly was also suffering from a little bit of hero-worship ever since Henri-Mae had moved into the boarding house.
"Bike!" Molly said. "Like Auntie Hen's!"
As if on cue, Bo caught a flash of honey-brown hair, dark as amber and still wet from the day's activities, dressed in a pair of loose shorts and a plain white button-down shirt. She wasn't looking, but was instead scanning a row of boxes, eyes squinted as she read the labels.
"What's the big deal?" Henri-Mae was muttering. "It's cereal…I mean, how many different kinds of cereal can you make?"
Bo wanted to say something to her, announce his presence, make a quip about how he was having the same problem with the shampoo, anything to make this a normal, every-day run-in at a neighborhood general store. But he stalled too long and lost the chance to Molly's eagerness.
"Auntie Hen!" Molly called, turning and running to her, bike outstretched in her hand. "Can I have? Please?"
Henri-Mae's eyes went from the boxes to the object in Molly's grip. "A bike?" she said. "Would Mommy let you have that?"
Deflating, Molly drew back. "No," she said, disappointed.
"Then absolutely," Henri-Mae said, lowering the basket she clutched for Molly to deposit it inside. "It's yours."
Molly giggled as Henri-Mae winked at her, and then her eyes traveled up and saw Bo.
There were so many different blues in the world. Blues like oceans, blues like skies. Light blues and dark blues, green blues and purple blues. Bo had been complimented for his own eyes more times than he could count, but still, to this day whenever Henri-Mae turned her aquamarine eyes on him, he could still remember the first moment he'd caught her looking at him, in the hallways of Hazzard High.
"Good brand of shampoo," Henri-Mae said as she strode past him, quirking an eyebrow down at the bottle. She gently grasped Molly's hand with her other free hand as she added, "It'll keep that pretty hair of yours all nice and shiny."
"It's not for me," Bo said, feeling utterly lame. "It's for…Daisy…"
But the conversation was over.
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Walking down the street, back toward the boarding house, Henri-Mae carried the shopping bags and Molly helped with the small items she could. All in all, Henri-Mae wondered why in the heck she hadn't taken Shelly up on her offer to loan her that little plastic cart she used – no, Henri-Mae had said she didn't want to take it because she didn't want to look like an old woman, pulling along that gaudy thing. Now she regretted it.
Between Lula Marie's General Store (she hadn't been back yet from her little business trip) and the boarding house was the Sheriff's station. Enos was on duty, pulling up in his vehicle and climbing out. Someone was with him – someone in a neatly tailored, not-so-expensive suit and a head of thick dark hair.
"Agent Farrell," Henri-Mae called, almost cheerfully, as he turned and waved at her.
"Hello again, Deputy Locke," he replied, coming around the car. Enos stood there for a moment, unsure.
"I'm going in to file the report," he called, in his respectful and slightly tentative way.
"That's fine, Enos," Farrell waved over his shoulder, hardly sparing the man a glance. "I'll be along in a few…shopping?" he asked, pointing to her bags.
"No, actually I was thinking of taking up residence on the streets of Hazzard," Henri-Mae replied. "What do you think of me as a bag lady?"
He cocked an eyebrow. "Prettiest bag lady I've ever seen," he said.
"So what did you do today?" she asked, changing the subject. "Out with Enos? Painting the town?"
"Oh, checking out some old barns, really, abandoned farms," Farrell said.
"You know, Agent Farrell, you've never really shared the details of your investigation—"
"Well, when you're on duty again, Deputy Locke, we'll have to see if we can't discuss it," he returned, then added, "Why don't we just get rid of the Agent and the Deputy and call each other by our first names, like friendly people?"
"Depends on how friendly," she remarked dryly. "But fine, just don't call me Henrietta like Sheriff Coltrane and I won't have to kill you."
Danny chuckled, and then looked down at Molly, who was rolling her plastic bike on the ground idly while the adults talked. "And who is this?" he asked.
"Oh, my friend's daughter," Henri-Mae said. "Molly, say hello to Mr. Farrell."
"Hello, Mr. Farrell," the little girl dutifully replied.
"She's sweet," Danny said, but his eyes dragged back to Henri-Mae. "So when will you be on duty again?"
"Tomorrow afternoon," she said. "I get to sleep in."
"So you're free tonight?"
Classic line. He was going to ask her out. She felt the need to deflect him, but her eyes caught the bright orange of the General Lee making its way out of town and she felt her resolve kick in. She wasn't dead…and maybe Danny Farrell was a gentleman after all.
"A bit late notice," she said, "but ask me again, and we'll see." She winked at him as she headed off down the street, Molly at her heels.