Hometown Series Box Set

by Kirsten Fullmer

  As the clerk worked, Gloria turned back to Tara. “The clothes were high quality thought. Much nicer than anything I’ve ever owned anyway.”

  Tara opened her mouth to reply just as Isabelle threw the toy back on the floor and began crying again. Tears rolled down her chubby cheeks, and she rubbed one eye with her little fist.

  Gloria gazed at the baby tenderly. “She’s tired, poor baby.”

  Tara unbuckled Isabelle and put her up to her shoulder. “Yeah, I was hoping we’d finish before she needed a nap.”

  “Sorry,” Gloria apologized, considering the pile of fabric still to cut.

  “Not your fault. Shopping takes time and she has a schedule all her own.” The baby hushed and snuggled into the crook of her mother’s neck. “When do you go shopping with Beatrice next?” Tara asked.

  Gloria pulled a face. “Tomorrow. But I have considered finding an excuse.”

  Tara patted the baby’s diapered bottom and rocked her from side to side in a soothing motion. “I know Beatrice can be—But maybe—”

  “Next?” said the clerk.

  Gloria pushed another bolt her way. “Two yards, please.” She returned her attention to Tara.

  At a loss for words, Tara hesitated, rocking back and forth to the rhythm of patting the baby. “I guess, I just want to say, to let her do this.”

  Gloria scoffed. “Whose side are you on?”

  “Both of you,” Tara said in a serious tone, catching Gloria off guard.

  “Oh, well, I don’t…”

  Tara shifted the baby to her other shoulder, then explained. “Not only does Beatrice stay out of trouble when she’s shopping, but I really want to see you happy. You deserve nice clothes.”

  Gloria’s brow furrowed. She looked down at her old T-shirt and jeans, then glanced self-consciously to the left and right, wondering if she looked as bad as Tara made it sound.

  “I didn’t mean—” Tara rushed to backpedal.

  “What’s next?” inquired the clerk.

  Gloria pushed the last bolt across the table. “Four yards, please,” she said quietly.

  The clerk measured the fabric, but Gloria didn’t look up.

  “Oh shoot, please don’t feel bad,” Tara continued. “I didn’t mean you look bad. It’s just that nice clothes can really give you a boost.”

  “Is that all?” the clerk interrupted.

  Gloria nodded and collected the folded pile of fabric.

  Tara struggled to push the now deserted cart, still half full of baby gear, out of the way so the next customer could step up to the cutting table, all the while balancing the sleeping Isabelle on her shoulder.

  “It’s fine,” Gloria said, taking the cart from Tara. “Let’s go pay for this stuff.”

  Following her, Tara frowned, feeling like a heel. Once the bill was paid from the town budget, they headed back toward the truck. Luckily the day was bright and sunny with only a light breeze. Tara settled the baby into her car seat in the back, careful not to wake her, then climbed into the driver seat.

  Gloria, laden with shopping bags, rounded the truck to climb up into the passenger seat.

  Instead of starting the truck, Tara waited, and finally, Gloria met her gaze. “You know I think you’re beautiful, and I don’t care one bit what you wear, right?”

  Gloria nodded but didn’t necessarily look convinced.

  Tara sighed. “You deserve nice things, that’s all.”

  Gloria relaxed, her expression easing. “Thanks.”

  “So we’re good?” Tara asked, her expression hopeful and open.

  “We’re good.”

  Tara started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot. They drove in silence with nothing but the dogs barking Jingle Bells on the radio to break the peace. Gloria’s thoughts roamed back over the shopping trip, the fabric, talking to Ned about shopping, Beatrice, beautiful clothes, and finally settled on the strange letter. She cleared her throat, then asked the question that had been on her mind all day. “Do you know of anyone in town who is eloquent?”

  “Eloquent?” Tara repeated, unsure what her friend was getting at.

  More than a little surprised that she’d asked out loud, Gloria shifted in her seat. “Yeah, you know, like a good writer.”

  Tara’s brow lowered as she considered Gloria’s question. She glanced at her friend then back to the road. “A writer?”

  “Never mind,” Gloria blustered, motioning with her hand as if to erase the whole question. “It’s not important.” She’d been crazy to bring it up, but it was driving her crazy. His words about her mother made it clear he was the same man from the porch, but beyond that she was lost. Wondering who’d written the letter was taking up more and more of her time, but his kind words, both on the porch and in the letter, had changed something in her heart. They had given her hope and a secret source of support and kindness. It helped her when she felt overwhelmed. She only wished she could place the voice. It rang a bell, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  “Eloquent,” Tara muttered, tossing her another questioning glance.

  Gloria decided to change the subject. “I talked to Ned about the colors. I think we’re on track.”

  Tara perked up. “Oh?” she drawled, her eyes bright. “…and how is Ned?”

  Gloria shrugged. “He’s nice. He was telling me about going shopping for the wood in Uniontown with Chad and Bobby.”

  With a laugh, Tara glanced her way. “Oh, I bet that got out of hand.”

  “Yeah,” Gloria chuckled. “Bobby has a knack for getting into trouble, doesn’t he?”

  “I’d say,” Tara agreed. “So, what else happened with Ned?”

  Gloria gave her a look. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Tara repeated. “There has to be something.”

  Chuckling, Gloria looked out the window. “No, but he’s easy to talk to. I think we’ll work well together.” As long as no one sees us and makes up stories, she added in her mind.

  “Well,” Tara said, tossing her a speculative look. “That’s something.”

  * * *

  “So what do we do first?” Justin asked.

  Ned tugged on his work gloves. “Grab one of those sheets of Masonite,” he instructed, “and lay it r—right here with the smooth side down.”

  Justin lifted the four-by-eight-foot sheet of thin wood, and Ned motioned for him to lay it on the clean tarp spread across the shop’s dirty floor. Once the wood was on the ground, Justin looked up and brushed his hands together. “Now what?”

  “We’re going to f—frame up the flat,” Ned said, selecting two sticks of one by three wood from the pile.

  “The flat?”

  “Yeah, that’s what you c—call this type of set,” Ned explained.

  “Oh, okay. What should I do?” Justin asked, feeling like a fish out of water. Building houses was more his speed. “How do you know all this stuff anyway?”

  Ned shrugged. “I was into b—band and theater in college.”

  “Really?” Justin asked in shock. “I never would have thought you’d—” Realizing his comment may offend Ned, he stopped. “Not that… I mean…”

  Ned waved him off. “It’s a weird thing. S—something about repeating l—lines and singing, makes me not stutter. K—kind of like magic. I like it.”

  “I’ve heard that, come to think of it,” Justin said, rubbing his jaw.

  “Anyway,” Ned continued, “we’re going to lay the one-bys on the edges of the sheet of Masonite, like a frame. I’ll measure them and m—mark ‘em, and you can cut ‘em.

  “Sounds good. I understand cutting wood.” Justin laughed, as they laid the pieces along the sides of the sheet of wood.

  Ned marked each one, then handed them off to Justin who took them to the table saw. In no time the frame was cut and nailed together, complete with a brace across the center.

  Ned bent to pick up the frame and motioned to Justin. “Grab the M—Masonite so I can lay this there.”

 
; The men maneuvered the wood to add the glue, then nailed the sheet of Masonite to the frame. Next, Ned cut out two triangle-shaped braces from a sheet of plywood and connected it to the flat.

  Both stepped back to consider their work.

  “Impressive,” Justin said, tilting his head. “That was quick.”

  Ned scoffed. “Yeah, but that was the easy one. These next few are rounded on top.”

  “Oh, shoot,” Justin said, his expression showing he was unsure how that would work. “Should Elliot have designed them differently? Made it easier?”

  “Maybe.” Ned chuckled. “But I got it.”

  As Justin watched the deputy collect the wood needed for the next backdrop, he contemplated the pile of remaining supplies. “So everything went okay when you picked this stuff up, I assume?”

  Ned pulled two long sticks of wood from the stack. “Cl—close enough for horseshoes.”

  “What does that mean?” Justin asked.

  “We got it here, that’s what m—matters,” Ned said, not willing to repeat the whole story. “Oh, and I checked on the c—costume colors, everything looks good with that.”

  Justin grinned. “And how is Miss Gloria?”

  Tossing his friend a look, Ned laid the wood by the table saw. “She’s fine.”

  “She certainly is, isn’t she?” Justin teased. “Ned told me he threw you two together the other night, and you both disappeared. He was quite proud of himself.”

  “Oh, he was, w—was he?” Ned scoffed, starting up the saw. “Well, we only talked for a minute. The poor girl is scared to d—death of being seen with me.”

  “Why?” Justin yelled over the noise of the saw.

  Ned carefully fed a piece of wood through the saw, then turned to grab another. “She’s trying to avoid more gossip!” he called out.

  Justin waited until the saw quieted, then spoke, his words thoughtful. “That poor girl. What can I do for her?”

  Ned grabbed the pile of cut wood and carried them to the center of the room. “She’s a smart girl, funny too. B—but she’s got her work cut out for her.” He dropped the wood. “I plan to run interference as much as I c—can.”

  “Interference huh,” Justin teased.

  Ned ignored the comment. “Can we get back to work here, mister m—matchmaker?”

  * * *

  Gloria eased her toe lower down the bed, willing the cold sheets to heat up. Slowly the bed grew warmer around her, and she inched her feet a little lower. Something about cold sheets was horrible and wonderful at the same time. It was kind of like life, she reasoned. It started out cold, but the more you reached out, the warmer and larger your circle became. She frowned. That was the way it was supposed to work, anyway.

  Once again, the women in town gathered around a frowning Nadine, came to the front of her thoughts. How was she ever going to break through the barrier of her past and make friends? What could she do? Friendship seemed impossible, seeing as how they wouldn’t even talk to her.

  She reached under her pillow to touch the letter, making her feel a little bit better. There was no need to pull it out. She’d memorized it; she just liked to know it was there. In this day and age of email and texting, she’d forgotten how sweet a letter could be. It was a tangible thing you could hold in your hand. A feeling. A moment trapped in time. Something you could keep.

  Even though she’d been upset and distracted at the time, she could still hear the man’s voice on the porch that night. Or more accurately, a voice she’d reconstructed for her own purposes, but it was close, she was sure. She may not have been in the best state of mind to remember details, but the concern in his words had been very real, and the timbre of his voice had been low and even, sweet and true. Like the voice of a lover.

  She blushed. Where had that come from? The man could be fifteen or fifty, she had no idea, and he was a pen pal at best. But the feelings she got from the letter; the time he’d taken with the pen.

  Or she was losing her ever-loving mind. That was it. She was so damn needy she’d turned the corner, gone right over the edge, and was falling in love with a figment of her own imagination.

  With a grunt, she turned over and pulled the covers tight around her chin. She needed sleep. Tomorrow was her day off, and she had tons to do. There was shopping to finish, gifts to wrap, costumes to create. She’d also agree to help Ned paint for an hour or two.

  Stretching out, she winced one more time at the cold. She hadn’t planned to help paint, she had enough work sewing, but Tara had mentioned that the deputy was falling behind and she knew the feeling, so she had offered to stop by. Now, in the darkness, facing the next day stuffed with errands and projects, she wished she had left a minute or two to clean up, collect her thoughts, and cook a decent meal for Fergus.

  Chapter Seven

  “Then I just had to wr—wrap the baby up and hand her to her mother,” Ned said as he dropped his paint roller in the bucket of hot water.

  Gloria stared at him, her eyes wide in fascination. “I can’t believe you delivered a baby by the side of the road. I don’t think I could have—”

  “Sure you could,” he said with a shrug. “When the time comes and work needs doing, folks like us st—step up.”

  Unsure, she scoffed. “Well, baking a casserole is one thing, but…”

  Ned reached out to take her paint roller. “Yeah, okay, the b—baby was kind of a big deal,” he conceded, “Usually, I just end up learning w—way more about people than I want to know.”

  “I understand that.” Gloria nodded. “Given my past, I know—” She stopped, realizing what she was saying. “Of course, I’ve forgotten all about those guys...” She faltered, her words fading away and her cheeks burning red.

  Ned’s laughter rang out into the workshop. “Oh, I’m sure you don’t know which guys in town burp at the table, who is connected at the hip to their momma, or who snores—” The words chopped off and it was his turn to blush. “I—I d—didn’t mean… I—I w—wasn’t…” His stutter always got much worse when he was upset. He stopped talking and turned back to the water bucket.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Gloria said, feeling bad for him. “It’s true though, especially with your job. What do you do when you meet someone on the street, and you know intimate details about their personal life?” She waited, but he just pumped the paint rollers up and down in the water, so she tried again. “I’m asking for advice, honest. Do they train you on this stuff at the police academy?”

  He shrugged, then straightened and shoved one hand in the front pocket of his jeans. “Well we have to t—take ethics classes, but…” he looked up, making eye contact, “no, they don’t tell you that stuff. You just h—have to act like you weren’t at their house two n—nights ago with the fire chief, helping them get their hand unstuck from the k—kitchen drain they were trying to fix.”

  Her eyes widened, and she chuckled in surprise. “Who? No, no don’t tell me.”

  He shook his head; his hand raised to stop her. “I wouldn’t,” he said, but his eyes were bright with humor. “It’s a th—thing you have to learn to do I guess. I know you’re g—good at it, I’ve seen you in action.”

  She shrugged modestly. “Oh, well, I just try to put myself in their place.”

  They were both quiet for a minute, contemplating all the dirt they’d collectively compiled on the people of Smithville.

  “Yeah, ” she continued with a sparkle in her eye. “Because if I were a great big guy, I wouldn’t want everyone to know that I scream like a little girl when I see a spider.”

  Ned’s eyebrows rose, and a big grin spread across his face. “Now I have to wonder…”

  “It will go with me to the grave,” she assured him, looking solemn. But she couldn’t help it and broke into laughter. “Oh my gosh, it was the funniest thing. I thought he was going to run away, but he kept screaming for me to ‘get it’. Of course, I was far too busy laughing and taking video.”

  He chuckled, enjoying the w
ay her eyes shone when she was happy. Her laughter was like music, and her cheeks turned rosy with happiness. His own heart swelled, catching him off guard. “You’re a mean one, aren’t you,” he teased.

  “Me?” she asked, with her hand on her chest. “No, no, I finally took pity on him and smashed the bug.”

  “Well that’s good,” he said, wishing he could make her laugh like that all the time.

  “Anyway…” she trailed off, “I better get moving. I have a ton of sewing to do.”

  “I wish I could help you with th—that,” he said, collecting the butcher paper he’d spread for them to paint. “But I have no idea how to even thread a needle.”

  Her head tilted to one side. “I doubt that.”

  “Okay, okay,” he relented, crumpling the paper to stuff it in the trashcan. “I can thread a n—needle, but choir robes and sh—shepherd costumes are way beyond my scope.”

  She waved him off. “Oh, these are pretty simple. I figure they’re for one night and no one will really see them up close.”

  “True.”

  “Except…”

  He waited for her to continue, watching her think, wishing he could hear what was on her mind.

  “Well, it’s just—” She chuckled. “Practically every family in town has someone in this thing, so I guess in reality, everyone will see them up close.”

  “Right?” he laughed. “I wonder sometimes, who is going to watch this thing.”

  “Me too!” she agreed. “We may need to set up a bus service to bring folks from Uniontown.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Not a bad idea.”

  She chuckled, reveling in the shared moment, then turned away, looking for her purse. “Well, I’d better get going.”

  “Thanks for the help,” he said, wishing he knew how to make her stay. “ Do you have to go?”

  * * *

  The question froze Gloria in her tracks. Normally at this point, if a gorgeous man was being funny and sweet and she liked him, she’d stay and talk. And not only that, she amended, she’d sign up for more. But things were different now. She was different. She wasn’t doing any of this to get a man, and, truth be told, she wouldn’t know what to do with one at this point anyway. She wanted to prove to the women in town she didn’t need to flirt, and that she could do a job and do it well, without attracting male attention. She frowned. That wasn’t going so well evidently. Was she attracted to Ned?