Ned snorted, his hand dropping from his face. “Yeah r—right.” With a frown, he stared at the Christmas tree dominating one corner of the living room. Did they actually think they could earn enough money on the pageant to build a community center?
“Well, like I said,” Justin continued, “Elliot and I are giving the city a big break on the construction costs, but we need to at least cover the price of supplies.”
Ned focused on the festive tree. They only needed him to build pageant sets, not perform a speaking part or something ridiculous, but invariably these things got out of hand. He wasn’t even sure how many sets they planned or how involved they’d be, but he did know Smithville’s penchant for overblown productions.
This time of year he had to shop for his enormous extended family. His mother would be counting on him to put up her Christmas decorations and lights, and the Sheriff would need a hand with the normal holiday upheaval. Not to mention his trips to Pittsburgh…
His hand dropped to his lap and he contemplated his friend across the coffee table. “You do n—n—know, that at some point the wh—whole thing will b—blow up, right?”
Justin nodded, straight-faced. “Without a doubt.”
Ned grunted and shifted position on the sofa. “Why not?” he relented, tossing hands in the air. “I’ll do it.”
Fifteen minutes later he slipped his key into the ignition of his patrol car, knowing full well he’d lost his mind. It would take a ton of work to construct the elaborate sets and backdrops for the pageant, and he’d need help. A lot of help. And Justin and Elliot would be too busy to offer much support. The engine rumbled to life, and he backed up to pull down the long drive toward town.
One thing was certain. He wasn’t going to give up his commitments in Pittsburgh, or let down his family.
* * *
Gloria watched Winnie as she cradled the tiny sleeping Isabelle in her arms. The baby’s angelic face was perfect, with her eyelashes dark against her porcelain cheeks.
Collecting her notes, Tara stood. “So, we’re set then. We’ll have a manger scene, choir, bake sale, carolers, gift exchange, snowman contest, and a turkey dinner.”
Winnie swayed gently back and forth on her stool, lulling the baby. “Don’t forget the tree, dear.”
“I don’t think we’ve forgotten one single Christmas activity,” Gloria mumbled, certain that they were biting off far more than they could chew.
Reaching for her bag, Tara stood and glanced from corner to corner searching for baby items that had been strewn about during the meeting. “Maybe.” She bit her bottom lip, deep in thought. “Do you think we should take off a few events?”
Gloria immediately felt bad for dampening the mood. “Let’s sleep on it; we can talk tomorrow at the spa.”
“You’ll have help you know,” Tara reassured. “Justin is talking to Ned now about building all the sets.”
Gloria’s eyes darted off to one side. The last think she needed was that handsome deputy underfoot. How would she ever prove to the women in town that she could be involved with the pageant and not flirt with any men, with that eye-candy of a deputy around? Then again, he’d never shown one ounce of interest in her.
Tara tossed the straps of the bag over her shoulder and bent to carefully tuck the baby back into her coat.
Once the baby was bundled and ready to go, Gloria hurried to put their dishes in the sink. “I’ll grab my jacket and help you get her buckled,” she offered.
Tara offered a thankful grin and headed for the back door. Winnie made her wait to allow a moment to brush a lock of hair from the baby’s forehead and plant one more kiss on her tiny cheek. Then the old woman stepped back to allow Tara to pass. “Drive safe,” she whispered loudly to Tara’s retreating back as Gloria slipped out the door past her.
Offering to take the heavy bag, Gloria twisted the handle as she watched Tara buckle Isabelle into her car seat. She’d never been involved with a Christmas Pageant before, and this one was a hum-dinger. By her accounting, there weren’t enough people in the whole town to be in the thing, let alone who on earth would attend. They’d have to bus in folks from Uniontown.
Tara backed out of the open car door and stood to rub her lower back. “Thanks for helping with this,” she said, her expression sincere.
“I just hope you know what you’re doing.” Gloria shrugged. “I’m not very popular you know. Every woman in town may boycott Christmas if they find out I’m involved.”
Tara waved a hand in dismissal. “Their loss.” She closed the door and Gloria headed toward her car. “Have a good night,” Tara called after her.
Gloria unlocked her car and dropped into the seat. She might joke about the women in town hating her, but in reality, she was devastated anew every time she was snubbed. This pageant would be the perfect opportunity for her to be hurt over and over. So why was she willing to help?
The kind voice from the darkness the night before came to mind, and she wondered again why she hadn’t tried harder to find out who the man was. The stranger’s unexpected and reassuring words had given her a spark of hope.
* * *
Ned looked over his shoulder as he parallel parked his patrol car next to the curb. Smithville folk trickled along the sidewalk of Main Street, making their way in the dim winter-morning light. Ancient holiday decorations hung from the light poles, and tinsel trim draped across the street. A holiday bustle was in the air, for sure. Not that the little town could ever be considered busy, but as the holidays approached, people were definitely on the move, even this early. Seeing as how the main drag through town was a state highway, there were usually at least a few cars about, but this morning he was happy to see townsfolk acknowledging one another by raising a hand or shouting out a greeting. The holidays brought that out in folks.
Willie emerged from the café to head up the sidewalk, his breath wafting steamy swirls around his head. As the old man neared the patrol car, Ned winced. But not willing to hurt the man’s feelings, he rolled down his window. “Morning, Willie.”
“Morning,” the old man wheezed. “The wind has taken a turn, hasn’t it,” he said as he shrugged deeper into the collar of his tattered jacket.
Making a mental note to get the old man a new coat for Christmas, Ned agreed. “Yes, it has.”
Willie scoffed and waved his gnarled hand. “Well, this ain’t nothing compared to Alaska. My Uncle Jack lived in an igloo, and it was ninety below!”
Careful not to roll his eyes at the old man’s elaborate story, Ned grinned. His expression must have given away his doubt, however, because Willie cleared his throat and kicked at dead leaves piled at the base of a light pole.
“Well, he did build an igloo once,” the old man muttered.
Movement down the sidewalk drew Ned’s attention. Becky, with an armload of files and craft supplies, was struggling to unlock the door of the Shabby Chic Boutique. Her plentiful jewelry jangled and danced as she shook her key ring, looking for the key, and her enormous signature bun of greying hair flopped with each movement. Seeing that she needed a hand, he opened the patrol car door.
“I need to get moving, Willie, you t—take care,” he said as he climbed from the car and hurried to Becky’s side.
The key ring slipped from Becky’s fingers, but Ned caught it in mid-air. “Got ‘em!” he exclaimed, offering her a warm smile.
“Ned!” she cried in surprise, her eyes wide. “You handsome thing, I didn’t see you. Where were you hiding?”
He slid the key into the lock and turned the whole ring with a clank. “In my c—car.”
“Well chivalry isn’t dead after all, is it,” she gushed, waltzing through the door. Her multicolor caftan dress swished over his polished shoes. She hurried through the small shop and plopped her supplies on the counter, then turned to face him, her cheeks rosy with the cold. “So,” she began, “I hear you’ll be building the sets for the Christmas pageant.”
Becky was the biggest gossip in town, but
even so, Ned was shocked that she already knew about his agreement to help. It had only been, he glanced at the clock on the wall over the cash register, nine hours since he’d left the inn, and most of that time the town had been asleep.
He placed the key ring on the counter. “Yup.”
Her head kinked to one side. “You having second thoughts?”
“No…” he hedged, not wanting to say anything that would immediately get back to Justin. “It’s just going to be a lot of w—work, I expect.”
“Well, that’s for certain. I’ve been planning to get involved with the whole thing, so if you need a hand just give me a holler.”
“Will do,” he said, turning to leave.
Just then, the door opened, and Gloria stepped past a Christmas tree decorated with cookie cutters, and into the shop. Ned froze, mid-stride. He couldn’t help but notice how pretty she looked with her bangs windblown and her cheeks glowing. The confidence he enjoyed as a deputy drained away and his throat went dry. “M—morning,” he stuttered then hurried past her, annoyed over his lack of articulate speech.
Gloria, surprised to see the attractive deputy in the boutique, was immediately concerned by his unhappy expression. Had she done something to upset him? She stepped aside to give him a wide berth, her eyes turning to Becky in question.
The older woman, however, still watched Ned’s backside, her eyes taking in every detail of his fine male form as he hurried out the door. “Mmm-mmm.” She hummed with a shake of her head, and her finger reached up to twist a string of beads on her chest. “Some girl should snatch that right up.”
Ned paused, holding the door and looked back. “Ma’am?”
Gloria paled under her freckles, embarrassed by Becky’s statement.
“Nothing, dear,” the older woman sang, waving her bejeweled fingers goodbye. She winked at Gloria.
Ned let the door bang closed and stomped back to his car. “Every damn time,” he blustered, yanking open his car door and dropping into the seat. He couldn’t have one encounter with the women of this town without them saying something behind his back as he walked away. It was downright humiliating. Hadn’t they ever heard a person stutter?
* * *
Craft supplies covered the tabletop, and bits of paper and ribbon lay sprinkled across the floor. Gloria carefully tucked the little ribbon bow up under the tiny sprig of pine on the front of the card. Leaning back in her seat, she inspected her work. It had come out nicely. Who should she give this one to? She rubbed a spot of dried glue from her finger.
This was the last of the cards. Now she only had to finish a few gifts, spend hours gift wrapping, and of course deliver everything.
The old clock on the mantle dinged, and her head came up. There was no time to waste wool gathering, so she collected her markers and paints, stamps and ink pads, and put them back in the box. Flipping off the reading lamp over her craft table, she stood and stretched. Time to start dinner. “How do my days off fly by so fast?” she muttered as she headed toward the kitchen.
She loved her part-time job at the spa, and she was certainly thankful for the money, but it seemed that her meager paycheck never went far enough for her many projects. Nor were there ever enough hours in the day to complete them all.
In the kitchen, she leafed through her favorite cookbook, wondering what to make for Fergus’ dinner. The old man never complained, but she could tell when he enjoyed a particularly tasty dish.
As the pages turned, her mind wandered, and soon only visions of the Christmas pageant danced before her eyes. Mentally she compiled a list of costumes, supplies, and practices. There were so many things she’d need to organize and prepare. She found the task both daunting and exciting, at the same time.
Turning from the cookbook, she cocked her hip against the counter to stare across the room. Lost in thought, she wandered to the mudroom door, oblivious to the jumble of coats, laundry, and storage boxes. Standing in the tiny space, her gaze was drawn to the fading purple sunset outside the ancient window.
She creaked open the back door and plopped down to sit on the threshold, then scooted her cold, bare feet up under one of the slumbering dogs on the stoop. With a shiver, she crossed her arms across her chest and leaned down to press them against her thighs, blocking the cool breeze. She should have grabbed a jacket, but was far too preoccupied to get up and fetch one.
Her forehead creased as she thought about the upcoming events. It would be a challenge to get everything done, as well as deal with the women’s attitudes, and she wasn’t at all sure she was up to it.
It’s not like she was the town prostitute or something. She hugged her knees. She may have dated most of the men in town who were anywhere near her age, but it hadn’t been for money or anything like that. She hadn’t been trashy, just… popular.
She’d been young, orphaned, and desperate for kindness when she’d come to live with Fergus. She’d also looked much older than her fourteen years, with a big bust and long red curls. It wasn’t her fault that she’d attracted a lot of male attention. Men apparently liked freckles. She’d managed okay until she’d dated Bill in high school. He was older, already graduated, and he’d pressed her to do things she hadn’t been comfortable doing. When she told him no, he’d dumped her flat, saying she wasn’t sexy enough anyway.
That had stung deeply. Hurt and offended, she’d immediately run to town to spend her pitiful savings on a tight, low-cut dress. The men in town had thought she was sexy then, they had flocked around her. But in her inexperience, she hadn’t understood the image she’d been portraying to the rest of town. Until a few months ago anyway. Admiration from the men had fooled her into thinking that dressing that way made her look prettier and smarter, not loose and sleazy.
Well, she’d take this opportunity with the pageant to prove all those snotty women wrong. She could be in public and not draw a man’s attention. She wouldn’t flirt or so much as talk to a man, and they’d be forced to see that she had changed.
But, it was hard to know which parts of her were unacceptable and offensive. As soon as she realized dressing sexy was an issue, she’d been wearing nothing but rags. Dressing in baggy limp clothes hadn’t seemed to make much difference, other than the fact that the men didn’t look at her the same way. The women certainly hadn’t changed their attitude about her.
Lost and alone, she buried her face in her hands. She’d simply have to show that she’d changed.
Fergus’ old truck rumbled up the drive, headlights bobbing, and drew to a halt at the edge of the yard. Gloria’s head popped up, and she jumped to her feet, surprised that she’d uncharacteristically wasted all her dinner-cooking time, lost in thought.
Chapter Three
The final folded towel was placed on top the stack. Gloria cocked her head to one side, silently checking the storage shelves in the spa linen closet. Towels, check. Hand towels, check. Cleaning supplies, check. Nail supplies, check. Massage lotion, check.
Satisfied that all the needed supplies were in place, she backed away from the closet, closed the door, and headed for the front desk. Bells over the spa door jangled, and in waltzed Beatrice, Lizzie’s mother.
Gloria stifled a moan and forced a smile. “Hi, Beatrice, Lizzie is over at the inn. She and Tara are working on the books.”
The older woman stared hard at the Christmas candle on the counter then her eyes lifted to take in the tinsel hanging over the windows. Her perpetual frown deepened.
Discomfort crawled up Gloria’s spine. “It’s easier to do the books over there, what with the baby and all. Want me to call her for you?”
True to form, Beatrice sniffed with disdain. “No, don’t bother. If she can’t see fit to be where she belongs, it’s not my place to call her back.”
“She is where she belongs.” Gloria defended.
Beatrice reached out to touch the cap of moisturizer on the counter display. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” she drawled, casting a sidelong glance towa
rd the redhead.
Gloria froze, partly in shock but mostly in horror. “Why?” she finally asked, afraid to hear the answer.
The older woman turned and headed for the sofa in the spa lobby. “Come and sit with me.” She motioned over her shoulder. “There’s too much to say standing at the doorway like chickens.”
Chickens? Certain that a conversation with Beatrice would be painful, her feet dragged as she followed. “Did you want to make an appointment?” She motioned back toward the desk. “I can write you in for—”
“No, no, it’s not that. Stop simpering,” Beatrice drawled in her snooty, Boston accent. She settled onto the sofa.
Watching her boss’ mother warily, Gloria couldn’t help but marvel at the queenly manner Beatrice maintained. From her meticulous stuffy clothing to her matching pumps and pearls, the woman was the epitome of wealth and culture. And that alone would have made Gloria uncomfortable, let alone the woman’s snobbish attitude toward her daughter and Smithville in general. What on earth could she possibly want with me?
Gloria balanced on the edge of the huge leather ottoman, ready to make an escape at any moment.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Beatrice huffed, waving a manicured hand, “I’m not going to devour you.”
Gloria wasn’t sure, so she stayed where she was.
Beatrice sighed and shifted in her seat. “Really.” She huffed. “I came here to help you, dear.”
Gloria’s hand came to her chest. “Help me? What do I need help with?”
Beatrice raised one perfect brow, as if the answer were obvious and Gloria was simply too obtuse to see it.
Crumpling under the severe woman’s gaze, Gloria shrunk back.
“Stop cowering!” Beatrice demanded, her brows lowering in irritation. “It doesn’t become you.”
Hometown Series Box Set Page 83
