Preston waved his arm and gazed around at the tackle and dry bait, assorted poles, out-board motors, small boats, and other athletic equipment. "Who owns the sporting goods shop?"

"I do," Marleen said with a wry smile. "Does that surprise you? A woman owning a sports store?"

"Yeah," Preston smiled, eyeing her with a different appreciation. "Yeah, I have to admit it does. Then you'd be the Franklin I'm supposed to rent from, right?"

"Right. Marleen Franklin."

If Marleen had been stunned by the impact of meeting David Preston, similarly Preston was blinded by her, and he caught his breath as she continued to talk and was leading him gracefully to the back door. She was better looking than Gloria nine ways from Sunday, and must be smart as well, to run such a shop, he thought hungrily. Looking at her smooth rounded buttocks moving under that skirt; he had the impulsive urge to reach out and run his fingers over the lithe moons undulating so softly and teasingly ahead of him, and then to crush her shoulder-length hair, kiss her full, pouting lips and suck that pair of large, proudly-cresting breasts that strained against her thin green blouse. She was beautiful, and he instinctively knew that she'd be hell on wheels in bed. She'd fuck. She'd fuck and fuck passionately, and his penis throbbed with impatient anticipation at the joys her wet, warm cunt could provide.

Sexy, obviously not bad off financially, and with the manners of unconscious yearning, the smell of a bitch in heat about her. As the ancient Chinese say: it is a happier state to sleep with a dead pig than an uncomplying woman…

"My husband left it to me when he died," she went on to say. "He was drowned six years ago."

Preston licked his lips. Then she was alone… no husband… "I'm sorry to hear that, Mrs. Franklin. It must be rough to be alone and run the shop all by yourself."