Hometown Series Box Set

by Kirsten Fullmer

  “I don’t think it will help.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But I appreciate your concern. If you weren’t here, I’d have no way to reach her.”

  Winnie collected her books from the bench and stared down the sidewalk for a long moment. “Hey, I’m sorry, I’ve got to get to class. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  “Thanks,” he said with a hopeless tone, then looked away.

  * * *

  Tara frowned at the name and number on the lit-up screen of Lizzie’s phone. “Who is this Ashley that’s calling everyone?”

  Lizzie tossed down the wedding magazine they’d been discussing and snatched her phone up from the coffee table. She hit the silent button and tucked the phone into her pocket. “Nobody special. Now, about my bouquet—”

  “Don’t nobody special me,” Tara snapped. “Who is she, and why is everyone acting so secretive about her?”

  Lizzie gave her a steady gaze and arched one brow. “Really? Since when do you get all weird about phone calls?”

  Realizing she’d overreacted, Tara looked away.

  “If you must know,” Lizzie said in a lofty tone, “she’s a real estate agent from Uniontown.”

  That made sense since she’d be working with Justin’s business. “Oh. Well, why wouldn’t you call me if you needed a real estate agent?”

  Lizzie snorted. “I’ve already got you double booked, and I know you’re helping with the women’s shelter. I’m not going to ask you to do one more thing.”

  “I thought you loved your old house.” Tara back peddled, feeling sad that Lizzie and Elliot would move from the house she’d so thoughtfully remodeled.

  Lizzie appeared to be surprised at her friend’s words. “We love our house, we’re just—” the sentence hung there unfinished.

  “Never mind,” Tara said, feeling like a needy fool. She stood. “I need to get back over to the house. It’s Blanche’s first day, and she’ll be here any minute.”

  Lizzie stood to walk Tara to the door. “I’d like to meet her when you get a chance—”

  The door of the spa burst open, bells jingling, and in marched the woman in question.

  “Blanche,” Tara greeted in surprise. “I’m sorry, did you knock at the Inn and I wasn’t there?” She glanced at the clock on the wall. The woman wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes.

  Blanche ignored the question, passing the women to stand in the center of the lobby, taking in the cottage-feel of the spa. “This is simply delightful, it really is” she stated emphatically.

  Tara and Lizzie looked at each other, then at Gloria, who shrugged, as if to say she had no idea Blanche was coming either. The trio of friends then took in Blanche’s elegant blouse and flowing skirt, as well as her bright red pumps. She had a clear complexion, wore turquoise jewelry, and her hair was an absolute show stopper. It was short and spiky, and the silver-grey color sparkled almost like glitter. Her lips were bright red and her brows deep black, giving her a ’50s, movie-star vibe.

  Tara had to wonder if Blanche ragged on Marge about her outmoded bouffant hairstyle, as sisters were known to do.

  The older woman plopped her sizable derriere onto a sofa and kicked off her shoes. “Bunions,” she huffed.

  Tara joined her on the couch and motioned for the others to come too.

  Blanche’s bouncing gaze took in every detail of the spa. “Whoever designed this space is a champ! They really are!”

  Lizzie waited to offer Gloria her choice of seats on the sofa. “My fiancé was the architect, but Tara is the decorator,” she said.

  The older woman’s head turned to Tara. “I’m so impressed, honestly, I really am.”

  Tara felt the need to blush under the profuse praise.

  I see you do nails.” Blanche said, then she glanced down the hall. “And massages?”

  “Yes, we do,” Lizzie said, settling onto the sofa, tucking one leg under her as she adjusted her white lab coat. “We also do facials. The full spa treatment.”

  “And you are—” Blanche asked, eyeing Gloria and her very round belly.

  “I’m sorry,” Tara interrupted. “This is Gloria, our receptionist. Lizzie, here, is the manager.”

  Blanche grinned, revealing a large set of startlingly-white, prominent teeth. “Your hair is the loveliest shade of red,” she said to Gloria. “I’ve always favored red-headed women, when it comes to beauty, I really do.”

  Gloria blushed. “Thank you.”

  “What do you think of the spa?” Tara asked.

  Blanche smoothed her skirt on the sofa. “It’s delightful, it really is. Simply delightful. Your Inn is bright and spacious and impeccably decorated, and now I see that you have a spa to add to the experience. The only thing I have yet to see is the barn. I really can’t wait.”

  “It’s actually an amphitheater,” Gloria said. “Lizzie is getting married there soon.”

  Blanche turned to Tara. “Is this the wedding you were telling me about?”

  Tara nodded.

  Leaning forward to see past Tara, Blanche offered Lizzie another toothy smile. “Congratulations, my dear girl. I, myself, have been married seven times. Weddings are such fun. They really are.”

  “Seven times!” Tara gasped, then flinched at her own bad manners. “I mean,” she started again. “Seven times.” As if having seven wedding were an accomplishment to admire.

  Blanche laughed. She had the deep, hearty kind of laugh that caught one’s attention, and made them want to laugh as well.

  The three friends exchanged amused glances.

  “My first wedding was at a country inn very similar to yours,” Blanche said. “It was simply lovely, it really was. I had the largest poufed sleeves you could possibly imagine.”

  No one commented, so Blanche continued, motioning with her hands. “It was the ’80s, you know, and huge sleeves were practically required. Did you know it’s a proven fact that making a dress wider at the top makes the waistline look narrow? It’s true, it really is. Jackie O, and Nancy Reagan, and of course Princess Di loved the poufed sleeves.”

  “I heard poufy sleeves are making a comeback,” Gloria chimed in.

  “To be honest,” Tara interrupted, ready to get the subject back on track, “I think Lizzie and Gloria have the spa covered, Blanche. You’ll only need to manage the Inn.”

  “Oh!” the older woman replied, “Well then, I really think we should retire up to the house and get on with things?”

  They stood and Gloria, unable to see around her belly, stumbled on Blanche’s discarded shoes. Luckily, she put out a hand and caught herself on the ottoman.

  Blanch grabbed for her elbow. “Oh goodness, do be careful. I’m so sorry about that, I really am.”

  “I’m fine, it’s not your fault,” Gloria assured. “I— I can’t see my feet anymore. My husband, Ned, he worries I’ll fall and break a hip before the baby’s born.”

  “When is the baby due?” Blanche asked.

  “Three more weeks,” Gloria sighed, resting her hand on her swollen belly.”

  Blanche clucked her tongue. “I never had any children, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. It really wasn’t.” She winked boldly.

  Lizzie giggled behind her hand.

  “Shall we go?” Tara asked, putting out a hand toward the door.

  Blanch slipped into her shoes and followed Tara, limping as she worked one heel into a an uncooperating pump. “I can’t wait to get a look at your website and your books. I simply love doing books, I really do. I learned form the best. Husband number four was in the hotel business in Singapore, you know.”

  “Really?” Lizzie couldn’t help but ask.

  “He really was!” Blanche declared with another wide grin.

  Tara held open the door and let the older woman go out first.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Blanch continued as she walked, “what a smooth talker that man was, I can’t even begin to tell you how he would…” Her voice faded as she headed across the porch.

 
Tara tossed Lizzie and Gloria each an amused look before she closed the door behind her.

  Chapter Nine

  Winnie smiled lovingly at Bella as she ate her sandwich. The little girl had a way of diving into her food with an enthusiasm that the old woman could admire. Oh, the zeal of youth. Had it really been so long ago that she had felt such passion about something?

  The though brought to mind Thomas. Memories of him were never far from the surface lately. It was just as she’d known it would be. Once she opened Pandora’s box, the memories flowed with no hope of holding them back. He was still very much alive in her mind, as was her own sweet daughter. She got up from her stool, still unable to cope with thoughts of her family’s deaths. Everyone in town knew that Thomas and Charity had died in a horrible flu epidemic, due to their severe asthma, but no one would ever understand the depths of her grief. She wasn’t sure if, even now, she believed it herself. It was incomprehensible how someone could be so alive, so vivid, so loved one day, and then simply so gone the next. Gone forever. She knew back then that she’d never recover from the loss of her family, and even now, she was still sure she didn’t want to recover. She didn’t want to forget, to be okay with never holding her baby again, never get to see her grow up, or to never kiss her husband again.

  Huffing to the other side of the kitchen, she filled the tea kettle and put it to heat on the stove. All these years, she’d busied herself when the memories came, working hard and thinking of something else in order to keep the sadness from overwhelming her, but now the memories were like churned-up water behind a broken damn. She couldn’t hold them back.

  “Oh, Thomas,” She murmured, remembering again that precious fall they had fallen in love. As the rest of the country seemed to be spiraling out of control, so had her world. But Thomas, with his forthright and unbending manner, had held her anchored in the chaos.

  She remembered one particular night when she’d been trying to study. Thomas hadn’t been much of a help that evening, for sure. He’d stood at her desk flipping through a magazine while she sat on her bed surrounded by papers and text books.

  “Have you looked at this?” he asked, holding up the magazine.

  “I don’t think so,” she muttered, not paying much attention.

  “It’s amazing. I’d heard about it but hadn’t seen one yet.”

  Her gaze came up. “What is it?”

  “Rolling Stone. See,” he showed her the front cover. “John Lennon.”

  She smiled, knowing how he felt about the Beatles.

  He came to sit on the edge of the bed. “This is fascinating.”

  She scoffed. “You’ve never seen the Beatles on a magazine cover? Where have you been?”

  He tossed her a look. “Come on, give me some credit.”

  Her head tilted to get a better look at the magazine. “What’s so special about this one then?”

  “This is a serious publication, Wynona. It has articles written by talented, informed people, and it’s fully distributed.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah—”

  “This is about us, our generation,” he continued, his expression one of awe. “It reflects our perspective on music, politics, and pop culture; yet, it maintains a professional journalistic standard. Even the cover quality is top rate.

  “I guess I didn’t realize it was something new,” she replied, as charmed by his excitement as she was interested in the magazine.

  He chuckled. “I guess I’m still caught off guard when my concerns are taken seriously, as an adult.”

  She smiled, her eyes filled with warmth. But then her books beckoned, and she returned her attention to her studies.

  He scooted up behind her on the bed, looking over her shoulder.

  “You know I can’t think when you do that,” she’d said, shrugging one shoulder to block his breath on her neck.

  He kissed her ear, then moved her hair to drop kisses lower, along her neck. “Physics needs a nudge sometimes, to stick in your mind. I was trying to help you retain the moment.”

  Tingles ran down her spine and back up again, as Thomas teased more kisses along the back of her neck.

  “Oh, I’ll remember this, but I won’t be thinking about formulas,” she assured with a moan.

  He continued his gentle assault.

  “Thomas, this is due tomorrow.”

  “Oh good, that means you’ll have time to do it in the morning,” he whispered, slipping one arm around her waist, pulling her up against him, spoon style. “I want you to pay attention to me -- not Einstein. I have to do this to make it a fair competition, because I can’t compete with his hair.”

  She giggled, her head falling forward to give him access for more kisses. “Why did I invite you over? You’re supposed to be helping me with homework, remember?”

  Knowing he’d won the battle over her school work, Thomas laid her back on the bed and levered himself over her on one elbow. He gazed down into her face, taking in the line of her cheek, the shape of her brow. “You’ve ruined me, you know that?”

  Still feeling guilty over her neglected studies, she couldn’t imagine what she’d done to him. “Oh? How’s that?”

  “I’ve never dated a student before.”

  She laughed, interrupting the intimacy of the moment. “I find it hard to believe you haven’t dated the whole time you’ve attended the university.”

  “No,” he chuckled, “I mean since I’ve been an assistant professor.”

  Her face grew serious. “You have a reputation for being sexy. I figured you’d had your share of—”

  He scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous. I’m considered a complete egghead. A square.”

  “By the guys on campus, maybe,” she countered.

  He sat up on the bed with a frown, the mood spoiled. “I’m seriously considered a womanizer?”

  Winnie sifted back through her conversation with Claudia. She’d said he was sexy and a well-known anti-war activist. She hadn’t said he was sleeping around. “I didn’t say that.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair.

  She sat up too and straightened her blouse. “That bothers you so much? I’d think most guys would like to hear of their prowess.”

  “Well, I’m not most guys.”

  Disappointed, she wondered how to recapture the moment. “I’ve upset you.”

  He tossed her a glance and his expression softened. “Sorry. That’s a sensitive topic with me.”

  She waited, hoping he’d continue.

  “My dad was—” He sighed. “He did stuff that really hurt my mom, and he figured we kids didn’t know. I don’t want to be like that. Ever.”

  She swallowed, unsure how to respond to such a confession.

  He reached up to trace the line of her jaw with his finger. “I take things pretty seriously, Wynona. I’m passionate when I care about something, and I don’t mince words or waste time.”

  Caught up in his emotions, she could only stare at him, hoping he understood how she felt.

  He kissed her then, his lips just a tentative touch. But as she responded, drawn to him on a deep level, the kiss deepened into a heated exchange of need. Ignoring her books and papers on the end of the bed, he laid her back, needing to show her the depth of his feelings.

  Winnie found herself spun upward into a world of sensation. The last few weeks with Thomas had been stimulating and filled with passionate kisses and conversation of all sorts. But she’d been careful. They’d spent time at the coffee shop, the library, and even his office. But this was the first time they’d been alone in her room, a place where they could be intimate. She should have known this could happen. Of course, she knew. Wasn’t this what she’d wanted all along?

  Working his way down her neck, murmuring endearments, Thomas moved her blouse to kiss the tender skin along her collarbone. “Will Claudia be home anytime soon?” he mumbled between nibbles and kisses.

  “Claudia,” she mumbled in a haze, then her mind cleared enough to consider his
question. “No, she won’t be back soon,” she whispered, glad that was the case. But wasn’t this exactly what she worried about Claudia doing? But, could her friend possibly be as caught up in the moment as she was right now? Was Claudia also lost in a passion that felt so real, so good, so all consuming? Or, was it not the sex that Wynona worried about, but the drugs? Or the drugged sex?

  Thomas paused, raising up on one elbow to search her face. “You okay?”

  “I—” she hedged. “Yeah, I’m okay, I’ve just never—”

  “Oh God,” he sighed. “I should have known. I’m sorry. We can stop.”

  “For a guy who supposedly doesn’t chase women, you sure seem to know what you’re about,” She half teased half accused.

  He leaned down for another tender kiss. Then he paused and traced his fingers down the length of her arm, watching as she shivered. He chuckled. “I never said I was a virgin -- I said I take my passions seriously.”

  She had to give him that. Chances were, if he were serious about sex, he’d have put effort into learning how to go about it. Obviously, he was a great student, because he sure knew how to set her on fire. She had no doubt that his skills continued well past her own understanding of the act, and then some.

  “How do you feel about making love?” He asked.

  “I feel pretty good about it just now,” She mumbled, closing her eyes as his finger traced the neckline of her blouse.

  He hesitated and she opened her eyes.

  “I want a willing lover, Wynona. I have no intention of seducing you without your consent.”

  She laughed. “Can one consent to being seduced?”

  “Touché. How about… I won’t seduce you without you agreeing to be seduced?”

  She searched his face, their gazes meeting in understanding. “I want to,” she whispered.

  He smiled a sweet, soft smile. “But you’re still not sure.”