A Steal of a Deal by Ginny Aiken

much.”
    I laugh. “Not hardly. And because they know me so well, they really should know better, but I guess they don’t. Let me tell you. There’s a scary number of families they take credit for, and they take their inspiration from their record of success. They see themselves as wise Cupids. I thought they’d drop that side job with the channel’s success, but only God can move mountains.”
    He winks. “Then maybe our on-screen routine will help off-screen. To keep them off our backs.”
    Huh? “You think? It hasn’t done a thing so far.”
    “Hey, you know them better than I do. Would it disappoint them enough to go on to more likely victims, or would it make them twice as determined?”
    I look at the Daunting Duo, both members of which are now busy whispering to each other, smirks on their lips. Double trouble, for sure. “Beats me, but it’s worth a try. Put it this way. It’s better than having them buy china patterns and toaster ovens because we ended the war.”
    He gives a dramatic shudder. Then, with another wink, adds, “Since you have such a smart mouth to begin with—”
    I plunk my fists on my hips. “And here I thought the truce was on!”
    He tips his head Daunting Duo–ward. “Not as far as they’re concerned.”
    I slant them a glance, catch their expectant stares, and come to the only possible decision. “You have a point.”
    “So you’re ready to beard the wild matchmaking beasts again?”
    “As ready as you are.”
    We laugh.
    “Hey! Put a cork in it!” I add in a whisper. “They’re watching.”
    He snorts. “Give it up already, Andi-ana Jones!”
    I glare.
    He stalks to the van.
    Aunt Weeby and Miss Mona join us, together with their living, breathing dismay. We drive away.
    The nondescript brown car follows.
    Oh well. Have government goons, will travel.

600
    We return to the hotel in silence, most of us too tired to do more than fight off the yawns. Once we reach our home away from home, we scatter in seconds, but no one closes their door until chivalrous Max has checked out closets, behind curtains, under beds, and in tubs.
    No corpses tonight— thank you, Lord Jesus!
    I don’t forget my earlier offenses; after I remove my minimal makeup, brush my teeth, and don my PJs, I reach for my Bible. I hit God up for wisdom—yeah, yeah, I’m lacking there; guidance—okay, so I tend toward a wee bit of blindness; and his awesome love—I’ll never get enough of that, and he’s got plenty to give.
    After a while, I sigh. Will I ever learn to think—and pray!— first, then talk, Father? And what’s with my reactions to Max? I’m seasick here from the up-and-down of it all, Lord!
    In the velvety silent night, I turn to the Proverbs, so full of advice for emotionally messy blurters like moi. Once I’ve soaked a good long while in God’s Word, I turn off the bedside lamp and fall into a rock-solid sleep.

    It takes us days to get to the Kudi Valley. Let’s just say the Himalayan concept of road doesn’t match mine. Their preferred mode of travel doesn’t, either.
    “The fine print never said I’d have to ride a mule,” I mutter as the earthy-smelling animal plods along the narrow lane. Too many days on this critter’s behind has not best friends us made.
    Turning in his saddle, Xheng Xhi gives me another of those too-bright looks of his. “You mule like you, Miss Andie.”
    Right behind me, Max chuckles. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Andi-ana Jones?”
    “Back in Filene’s Basement, where it belongs. I’m an expert hunter of bargainus extraordinarius , not a fan of extreme encounters with massively haired mountain goats.”
    “Goats?” Aunt Weeby warbles ahead of me. “I haven’t seen a single one a’ them. Unless we call them yak things a kind of goat. Are they goats? Or maybe they’re deer? Elk? Buffalo? Cows?” She falls silent for a moment. “D’ya think we could do like with sheep and angora goats, and shear them yaks? Then . . . I reckon