"We're not taking your deal, Keelie," Taylor said. "Go peddle your snake oil somewhere else."

For a second Keelie acted like she didn't know what to say. She shrugged.

"Have it your way," she said. "And don't forget to check out the YouTube link on my page. I know you'll both 'like' it." Keelie blew us both an air kiss. "Muaw!"

I stared at Taylor.

"You know what this means," I said.

She nodded. "That I'm seeing you in a whole, new light?"

"It means your secret crush isn't gonna be a secret anymore."

Taylor shrugged. "Who believes anything you see on the Internet?" she said.

We started walking across the sand volleyball court.

"How did you know I was considering Keelie's deal?" I asked.

"I could see it in your face."

I sighed. Just once I'd like to pull off a poker face.

"So, we're good?" I asked.

"You still need a muzzle," Taylor pointed out.

"And you could use a chill pill now and then." I looked around. "So, where did everyone hightail it to?"

"By now, Frankie and Dixie are probably sacked out in the Suburban. I have no idea where Van Vleet disappeared to. And your little artist friend? Last I saw, he was up to his knees in sand, creating art. Sand art, that is. He's actually pretty good, too."

I did a forehead b.u.mp.

"If only we'd challenged the Red Queen to a sand sculpture contest, we would have won, hands down," Taylor said. "Kenny's sand sculpture of little Miss Reality Star is pretty amazing. I took a picture if you want to check it out."

I shook my head. I'd had enough of Reality Red to last a good long time. What I needed was a shower and a place to crash.

We walked back to the Mini-Freeze in silence. Out of nowhere, Taylor grabbed me and gave me a quick squeeze that just qualified as a hug and hurried into the Mini-Freeze.

I stared after her.

Taylor wasn't touchy-feelie.

Taylor was no hugger.

Taylor certainly didn't squeeze.

Note to Tressa. Check Uncle Frank's saltshakers. We could be dealing with the sodium-addicted, shape-shifting alien from Planet M-113.

Darn it. Where was the tricorder when you needed it?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

Winterset. Birthplace of John Wayne. Epicenter to a collection of historic covered bridges made famous in a bestselling book and hugely popular movie.

The Bridges of Madison County. Synonymous with...romance. Sigh.

I don't remember much about the movie, except it had Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep in it. I do recall the hoopla. I especially recall a brouhaha erupting in our happy home when my mom and my gammy asked their respective husbands to take them to the movie-and to actually stay and watch it with them.

I was around six at the time. Although a bit hazy, my recollections go something like this: Grandpa Will: "That's not the kind of movie real men go to. That's one of those chick flicks."

Gammy: "Chick flick? There's no poultry in the movie, Will. It's got Clint Eastwood in it. You like Clint Eastwood. And that actress with the funny name. Merle something."

Grandpa Will: "Does Eastwood have a six-gun strapped to his side? Does he carry a 44 Magnum? Does he call the bad guys 'punk' and let loose with a swear word now and then?"

Mom: "Clint Eastwood plays a photographer in the film, William."

Dad: "Oh? Field and Stream?"

Mom: "No. National Geographic."

Father and Son Turner: "Chick flick. Count us out."

Literary and film critics aside, every year visitors from around the globe converge on the county, map in hand, to visit the bridges made famous by the book and movie. (An Oprah-on-location extravaganza cinched this slice of Americana's place as the budget-friendly romantic hotspot.) While I loved the historic bridges dotting the rural landscape around Winterset, for me, the city's attraction has always been John Wayne. I "heart" John Wayne.

Born to Clyde Morrison, a local pharmacist, and his wife, Mary, "Duke" lived in Winterset until he was six, when the family moved to California. The rest, as they say, is movie history. Duke's birthplace, now a museum complete with tours and gift shop, was also a popular local attraction.

Winterset, Iowa. Tourist Mecca? You bet your boots, pilgrim.

In keeping with the western flavor of a town that produced the all-time most famous box office cowboy ever, the host city planned an all-day John Wayne movie marathon and old-fashioned barn dance-entertainment hand-chosen for this good ol' girl. It was a cowgirl's night out. I planned to drink a little, dance a little, watch my movie hero teach the bad guys a lesson-and hit the sack-er, tent early.

So far I'd avoided the whole camp-out experience, opting for the front seat of the Suburban rather than face the great unknown. Given the recent publicity surrounding Uncle Frank's Mini-Freeze, for security reasons, Taylor had decided to toss her bedroll on the floor of the food mobile.

At least in the Suburban I didn't have to worry about creepy crawlies finding their way into my bed, but bug-free accommodations came at a cost.

Sleep.

Frankie hadn't altogether broken his childhood teeth-grinding habit. The result? A horrible, high-pitched whir magnified ten-fold in the restricted confines of the Suburban. Each time I closed my eyes, I could swear I was in the dental chair listening to someone in the next cubicle undergoing a root ca.n.a.l.

Whireeee!

Between Frankie's grinding and Dixie's snoring, it was all I could do to keep from picking up a jug and blowing my way into the midnight serenade.

Tonight, critters or not, I planned to pitch my tent and sleep the undisturbed slumber of the dead. Er...you know what I mean, right?

The day's ride had been uneventful. Another hot and humid day with little cloud cover to give us a break from the unrelenting sun, neither Van Vleet nor I felt in the mood for chitchat. Thanks to Shelby Lynn, I had a decent selection of songs to listen to on my phone. Currently, George Strait bemoaned the fact that his exes were preventing him from residing in Texas, the only place hotter than my present location.

Our Greenfield nooner had been a quickie. (So not like that sounds!) We grabbed some grub, rehydrated, and took off again. Van Vleet had somehow scored a night's lodging in Winterset and wanted to get to our host city so he could enjoy all the comforts of a home as soon as possible.

Me? I was for whatever got me off the bike sooner rather than later.

I hadn't seen hide nor big hair of Team Hollywood, and that was probably for the best. Whether Stan liked it or not, I intended to keep as far away from the "I've got no talent, but I'm still famous" reality stars. There were stories galore on this ride. Rich and colorful characters.

On our noon stop, I discovered Chester R. Smith. Who is Chester, you ask? Chester's claim to fame is that he's in the movie Cold Turkey. What's Cold Turkey, you ask? It's a 1971 film starring d.i.c.k Van d.y.k.e shot in Greenfield, Iowa, about an entire town that takes a pledge to stop smoking for thirty days. Who does Chester play? He's the guy standing outside the Hotel Greenfield about thirty-seven minutes into the film.

You can quit shaking your head now.

I'd already arranged a time and place to meet Van Vleet the next morning to begin the fourth leg of our trip.

Home. Where, be it ever so humble, my very own bed (and a dishy ranger) awaited me.

I fanned myself thinking of the homecoming possibilities and looked around for a story to appease Stan. I spied Kenny Grey. He had his kiosk set up in an area reserved for vendors. Two girls, sixteen or so, all smiles and giggles, posed cheek-to-cheek for their drawing.

I grinned. Now here was a great down home, goodtime story if I ever saw one.

"May I?" I asked the girls, holding up my camera phone. "I'm a reporter and I'm blogging about the ride. I'd love to take your picture and post it."

The girls looked at each other and giggled.

"Okay. Sure. Whatever."

I snapped a couple of photos and moved over to stand behind Kenny.

"Do you mind?" I asked over his shoulder.

He shrugged. "I guess not."

I looked at his drawing. It was good. Very good.

"How is it?" one of the models asked.

"It's great," I a.s.sure them. "You're gonna love it." I looked at the drawing, then back at the girls. "Are you two sisters?" I asked.

More giggles. "No. We're best friends."

"Ah." I nodded, thinking Kenny's drawing was a little bit off around the eyes. Both sets of eyes seemed...alike-a similarity I couldn't see. Okay. Okay. I hear you. Enough with the art critique, Blondie.

I took some more pictures and a slice of video, watching while Kenny put the finishing touches on the drawing, unveiled his work of art to two very pleased customers, and sent them happily on their way with their purchase and several business cards to pa.s.s along.

I sat down in the chair and put up a hand when Kenny slid a clean piece of paper in place.

"Nope. Don't want a drawing. What I'd like is to interview you."

Kenny frowned. "Me? Why?"

"Human interest story. Iowa artist: Have easel. Will travel. Catchy, huh? So, will you do it? Will you answer a few questions? After all, giving you a bit of free advertising is the least I can do after dragging you into that crushing loss on the volleyball court."

He smiled. "I suppose it couldn't hurt."

Good. My reputation had not preceded me. Yet.

"So how long have you had this gig? You know. A traveling caricaturist?"

"I only do it during the summers," Kenny explained. "I'm an art student."

"Cool. Where do you go?"

"I'm actually hoping to be admitted to the Art Inst.i.tute. It's expensive, so I'm working to save money."

"Good idea. Debt sucks. Seriously. Have you done TribRide before?"

He shook his head. "It's a new experience."

"Is it profitable?" I asked.

"Very."

"How long does it take you to do a caricature?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It depends on the subject. Some take fifteen minutes. Others are more time intensive. Like I said, depends on the subject. How long they want to sit. How much money they want to invest."

"Invest?"

"It's art. Art that comes complete with memories and emotions attached to it. Every time someone looks at one of my drawings, it takes them back to that day, that moment in time, and the people they met and shared that s.p.a.ce in time with, people who had a lasting impact on them. So, yeah. It's an investment because the drawings bring with them a windfall of emotions and memories that last a lifetime."

I tapped his words into the memo app on my phone. "That's a cool way of looking at what you do," I said. "You should use that in your promo. Kenny's Caricatures. Memories for a lifetime."

He smiled. "Good thinking."

"A lot of your customers are biking. Obviously they can't take the drawing with them. How does that work?"

"I obtain addresses and mail them before I leave town each day. When they get home, their pictures are waiting for them in pristine condition."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out."

"Well, look who wants to be immortalized, Frankie! If it isn't Miss Ninja Elbows. Make sure you get her good side, Mr. Artist. Oh, wait. She doesn't have a good side."

I groaned. Just what I needed. Dixie-what-is-that-sucking-sound-Daggett and a guy who gives a whole new meaning to the daily grind.

"I'll have you know I'm not posing, I'm prosing," I said. "I'm featuring Kenny in my blog. His stuff's good. You should sit, Dixie. And beg. And roll over." I snorted. Even with a sore patootie, I still had it.