Inspector Dickson clambered down to the grass, panting. He had not fallen off, though several lurches had taken him dangerously close. His indignation, hot as it was against Madam Thorne and the corner she had maneuvered him into, had given his fumbling feet the stronger balance.

No sense of victory, however, enveloped him. He was irate above all, and also he could not help thinking that he might have done better if he had not had to still favor his side.

"Not bad," said Sandy.

Inspector Dickson wheeled to face her. He had capitulated to her outrageous request, avoided total failure, risked his public dignity — what if someone had come along the road while he was up there? — and all she had for his efforts was "Not bad"?

Ire, compounded with his frustration in being unable to retaliate the way he would have to a man, trussed his tongue completely. With a stiff nod, he stalked down the road.

"You should take your shoes off next time," Sandy called after him. "Makes the balancing easier when you aren't used to it yet."

Inspector Dickson pretended not to hear. He envisioned himself on the fence again, this time barefoot, and flushed scarlet to the ears.

~

"She dared you to walk a board fence? What a girl she is, that Sandy!" Mordred's eyes were glowing with delighted mirth. "And you did it?"

Inspector Dickson had not intended to relay a word of the incident to anyone, but his ill humor had not escaped Mordred's perceptive eye. Little by little, with teasing probes, Mordred had prised admissions out until Inspector Dickson burst forth with the whole encounter from start to finish; and he had found himself relieved to unburden the tirade to a pair of listening ears.

Unfortunately, Mordred was offering somewhat less sympathy than he had hoped.

"What could I do? She practically ordered me to. I could not refuse any longer without being rude."

"Would that I had been there!" Mordred was laughing, undeniably laughing.

"Would that you had," grumbled Inspector Dickson. "She might have been persuaded to give it up."

"Come, Inspector Dickson, what is the matter with you? I should not mind walking a fence myself — if I could." And Mordred flashed a grimace down at his leg. "Laufeia will not be persuaded to let me up even one day early."

"She made it into a contest," Inspector Dickson snapped. "And I'm not a schoolboy. A man has his pride."

"Quite," said Mordred. "But do you really think she wanted to make a fool out of you?"

"Yes."

He regretted saying it so hastily, especially with the thoughtful, unreadable look Mordred gave him afterwards. The feeling that maybe he had blown things slightly out of proportion tickled him uncomfortably. "You can't know how aggravating she was, Mordred," he protested.

"I seem to remember you entertaining a very similar perception of a certain young man who used to stay in Delgrass," said Mordred in his serenely teasing way.

Inspector Dickson got up, huffing an exasperated sigh. "You will win, won't you? Forgive her I must, I suppose, but I don't expect it to do any good. I've not a doubt she hates the sight of me."

~

It was mid-August when she saw him again. Of course, she had seen him at Therelane and Mirda's wedding, but somehow their paths had not crossed, so it failed to count.

She was not at the Earles' field this time, but halfway between home and town, just where the path broke out of the forest and looped north. There had been a heavy rainstorm two days before, and the grass was thick and very dark green, and the sky the hot, drenched blue that belonged to summer. She rounded the bend, whistling, and almost collided with him.

After jerking back, they both recognized one another and blinked. Neither knew what to say: at least, Inspector Dickson was silent, and Sandy, just when she wanted a witty remark, could not think of any, and so settled philosophically for a pleasant, "Good morning."

"The same to you, Miss Thorne."

The ensuing silence felt awkward to Sandy, which scared her, because she disliked awkward silences, but after a moment she decided it was only uncertain. That was fine; uncertainty she could deal with.

"Still in town, Inspector? I confess, I thought you'd left already. Hadn't seen you for quite a while, and it seemed like you'd be going back to whatever you do at home, now that the war's over."

"I've sent back to Delgrass requesting a resignation." He was calm, unflustered, business-like. "It was Mordred's idea — rather a ridiculous one, but the worst they can do is say no."

"Ah." Sandy turned this over with interest in her head. "You mean to stay here?"

He met her eyes with a hint of challenge. "If I'm let to, yes."

Sandy quelled a grin. So he thought she didn't want him around! She pulled a face and said, "I see."

A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"Do you find yourself in a hurry again, Inspector?"

"I am generally in a hurry, Miss Thorne." He spoke curtly.

"Why?"

The genuine curiosity in her voice must have given him pause, for he swallowed back some automatic response before answering. "Quite simply, Miss Thorne, I despise travelling."

He might as well have said he didn't like the sky being blue. "Why?" demanded Sandy, astonished.

"I prefer to have things done, not be blocked from doing them by distance."

"Don't you ever just walk to have fun?"

"That is not my idea of an enjoyable time, Miss Thorne."

Sandy saw another opportunity to dig, and took it. "So you prefer to be lazy?"

The muscle twitched again, and he spoke through his teeth. "Miss Thorne, that is not what I said."

"No," said Sandy sweetly, "but if none of your pastimes involve walking or traveling of any sort, then there isn't much left."

"I never said none of them involved walking, ma'am."

"What are they?"

A pained frown cleaved Inspector Dickson's brow. "I — really don't know, ma'am. I don't do much outside of work."

"Sounds boring."

"I like" — he was turning redder than poison ivy berries — "I like gardening."

"What sort of gardening?" She must sound like a police inspector herself.

"Flowers," he forced out, managing to imbue the choked syllable with considerable defiance.

"Really? Not the usual hobby... for a man." She wondered if she had gone too far, and decided she had.

The red in his face darkened. He took several breaths, as though unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say. He stormed past her and whirled back, panting heavily. "Miss Thorne, of all the confounded, badgering, trying women — you are the worst!"

Sandy burst out laughing. "I ought to feel insulted, I suppose."

"I apologize for letting my temper slip." He took a cold step backwards, expression under control again. "I should be going."

"Oh, it's all right," said Sandy. "I like people being frank. But I am rather sorry I provoked you. It's just you're so fun to tease."

He looked taken aback, not sure what to think. The puzzled frown made havoc of his forehead.

"Have you had a large percentage of those in your life?"

"Excuse me?"

"Confounded, badgering, trying women."

He gave a short laugh. "Only the one who raised me. But that's no matter. I really should be going—"

"Do you believe me?"

"About what?"

"That I'm sorry. I truly didn't want to make you angry."

He hesitated, and yielded. "Very well. I believe you, and I shall try to remember that next time we meet. But — forgive me, Miss Thorne — you are still an exceedingly trying woman."

"Thank you." Sandy did not hold back her grin again. "I try not to be, sometimes."

He grunted disbelievingly. "Try harder."

***

Read on for Part 3, the final part!