Bull in a Tea Shop

by Zoe Chant

  She'd heard her niece come back last night, shortly after she and Maddox had settled down to sleep, but she hadn't thought at the time about the inevitable Walk of Shame when she emerged from the bedroom—especially since she'd been working hard to model good behavior now that Bailey was becoming a young woman and getting interested in boys.

  On the other hand, "it's okay because I'm an adult and you're not" was a perfectly acceptable excuse, she decided.

  She got up quietly. Maddox didn't stir. Verity wrapped herself in a bathrobe and went into the bathroom for a shower. While she was at it, she checked their box of backup bathroom supplies—something she'd gotten in the habit of keeping on hand over the years; there was no telling when a toothbrush was going to fall into the toilet or the Tylenol bottle turn out to be empty at the worst possible time, and not being able to drive plus having a business to run, she couldn't just dash out to get more. There was a spare toothbrush, still in its package, and an unopened tube of toothpaste, and she laid both on the edge of the sink for Maddox.

  Washed and dressed, with her hair down to dry, she padded into the kitchen. "Good morning, Bailey."

  "Morning," her niece's voice said from the table. There was a rattle and crunch of cereal.

  Verity filled the electric teakettle and put it on to heat. "How was your evening at Luke's place?"

  "It was nice. Say, Aunt Verity," Bailey said, "is Mr. Maddox still here?"

  Verity went for a noncommittal, "Yes. He is."

  "Oh good," Bailey said. "A courier dropped off a package for him this morning."

  "A package for Maddox?"

  "I know, right? They brought it right to the store. It's got his name on it and everything."

  Verity felt a fat manila-sized envelope shoved into her hands. She pushed it back in Bailey's direction. "This is no help to me. Who's it from?"

  "County clerk's office."

  "Oh," Verity said. She got a tea mug out of the dish drain. "Oh ... yes. That must be paperwork for the sheriff job."

  "For the what?"

  Verity ran her fingertips across the tea labels in the cabinet. Today, she felt, was going to require caffeine. "Maddox is running for sheriff."

  "He's doing what?"

  Just then water ran in the bathroom, and the toilet flushed. Verity busied herself making tea.

  "Aha!" Bailey declared. "I knew he wasn't down in the shop this time! You do not snore that loudly. You go, Aunt Verity. Fistbump!"

  Verity sighed and held out her fist. Bailey's knuckles connected in a light tap.

  "No, but seriously," Bailey said. "Good for you. Now what's this about the sheriff?"

  The shower began to run. "Maddox can tell you himself when he's up," Verity said, opening the freezer. "Is there any bacon left?"

  "You're making a proper breakfast? You must have it bad."

  "Hush and get me the small mixing bowl."

  By the time Maddox's footsteps creaked in the hall, she was busy scrambling eggs while Bailey kept an eye on the sizzling bacon. Verity heard Maddox's steps hesitate at the domestic kitchen scene, and said over her shoulder, "Good morning. Come on in. Do you mind wheat toast? We're a brown-bread household."

  "Toast sounds great. Uh ... I don't suppose you have coffee?"

  "Oh, no!" Bailey said in her most melodramatic voice. "How will this relationship ever work out?"

  "Hush, you. There's very strong Irish breakfast tea in the upper cabinet. Bailey, could you get him down some? And maybe some of the chicory as well."

  "It's not the same as coffee, Aunt Verity, I hate to break it to you."

  "No, but it's the closest thing we have. Oh, Maddox, Bailey says there's a package for you."

  "For me?" Maddox said, startled, as Bailey started banging around with the tea things.

  "From the county clerk. I expect it's to do with the election. Bailey, that bacon's getting overdone."

  "Get the tea, Bailey, get the bacon, Bailey—I don't have twelve arms, Aunt Verity!" But there was renewed sizzling and the sound of bacon being transferred to the paper towels they'd set out on a plate earlier.

  "Imagine shopping for clothes if you did," Verity said. "Would you buy six shirts, or one shirt with twelve arms? And wherever would you find it?"

  "The internet," Bailey said complacently. "Or I could make my own. I'm very good with a sewing machine, Mr. Maddox. I made those oven mitts for Aunt Verity, and that apron, and—um—" From the sound of her voice, she'd turned around to talk to Maddox at the table, slotted spoon no doubt still in hand.

  "Don't let that bacon spoon drip."

  "How do you do that?" Bailey said. There was more sizzling and the click of the spoon against the draining plate.

  "Experience, dear. Do you want two slices of toast?"

  "What's in the envelope?" Bailey wanted to know. "Uh, yes, please."

  "That's his business. Two slices or four, Maddox?"

  "Four, thank you, ma—uh, Verity."

  There were some small rustles that indicated Bailey had slipped over to the table to take a peek at the papers Verity could hear rustling around over there. "Bailey—"

  "It's okay. It's just paperwork and stuff," Maddox said. "Actually ... I'm not so good with this kind of thing. I was gonna ask if you could give me a hand."

  "You're really running for sheriff," Bailey declared. "Oh my gosh. You're awesome, Mr. Maddox. You'd be so much better a sheriff than Mr. Hawkins. Oh wow."

  "I ... guess I hadn't thought that far ahead." Maddox's voice sounded slightly stunned. And Verity realized that it hadn't sunk in for her until that moment, either. She'd only been thinking about getting rid of Sheriff Hawkins—or, more accurately, thinking about his likely reaction to being challenged.

  But if Maddox won the election, he'd be the sheriff for a full term.

  He'd have to stay.

  Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. "Is there room at that table for food, by any chance?" she asked.

  The paperwork was moved aside, Bailey brought in an extra chair from the deck, and they dug into a hearty breakfast. Bailey kept up a steady stream of chatter; she'd clearly jumped into the idea of Maddox's election campaign with both feet, as Verity's mother used to say, and Verity quickly got the impression that Bailey was violating the "no phones at the table" house rule to look up election information online. As it was something of a special occasion, she decided to let it slide.

  "You're going to need an election headquarters and signs and buttons and a website—"

  "I don't think I need all that stuff, do I?" Maddox asked.

  "I doubt it," Verity said. "The important thing is getting the word out that you're running. I expect people in this county would vote for a can of Spam instead of Ted Hawkins at this point."

  Bailey giggled. "Oh, he should talk to the newspaper, then! And I can get Luke's grandma to spread the word. She knows everybody."

  "I think you've found your election campaign manager," Verity said to Maddox. There was little room at the small table for more than two people, so he was sitting very close to her, their knees touching under the table. She didn't mind in the slightest.

  "Can I?" Bailey declared. "It can be extra credit for poly-sci. Actually, I bet I can get university credit on this—"

  "Let's take this one thing at a time," Verity said, laughing. "I like your idea of talking to the paper. We can call them after breakfast. Actually, I see no reason why the store has to open today at all. Maddox, I think today is the day we get your campaign into full swing." She reached out and found his hand on the table. After a frozen moment, he turned it over and squeezed her fingers with his thick, callused ones. "If you're all right with it. Don't let us pressure you into anything."

  "I don't feel pressured. Heck, you were trying to talk me out of it just yesterday."

  "Oh my God, you guys are so cute," Bailey said.

  "I know who's doing the dishes this morning," Verity said dryly.

  "But I have to help Mr. Maddox with his paperwork,
" Bailey said, all innocence.

  Verity smiled and got up, removing the plates.

  "You do need buttons, though," Bailey said very seriously. "You can't have a campaign without buttons, and signs and stuff."

  "I can't really afford that," Maddox said, sounding a bit nervous.

  "Well, then you need to have a fundraiser. That's what campaigns do, right, Aunt Verity? They have fundraisers and get donors and stuff."

  "He's running for sheriff, not for the state senate," Verity said.

  "Well yeah, but he's running against Mr. Hawkins, who's got all of Mr. Ducker's money and all those signs. Oh, I have an idea!" Bailey declared. "We could do it today, even, and start out your campaign right. We can have a car wash!"

  "A car wash?" Maddox said.

  "Yeah, for a fundraiser, and like to raise visibility and stuff. My school does them all the time for athletic trips and things like that. All you need is some buckets and rags and things, and you can meet people too, and get the word out." Bailey clapped her hands. "It's perfect! Can we do a car wash today, Aunt Verity?"

  "Er ..." Everything seemed to be moving so fast all of a sudden. "Only if Maddox wants to."

  "You think it'd be a good idea?" Maddox asked.

  He seemed to be asking her. No worse an idea than any of the rest of it didn't seem particularly tactful—but the more she thought about it, the more she thought Maddox was right, damn it: someone had to stand up to Hawkins and Ducker, or they'd just keep pushing and pushing, hurting people and destroying this town. They needed supporters; they needed people behind them. One person, alone, couldn't take on Ducker. He kept knocking people down as fast as they tried to go up against him. But there was protection in numbers. This town had needed someone to rally behind. Maybe Maddox was that person.

  And they had to start somewhere.

  "I think it sounds like a great idea," she said, and Bailey cheered.

  Chapter Nine: Maddox

  They set up the car wash that afternoon in the parking lot of the Whistlestop, after Verity asked permission from the owners. Maddox was amazed at how quickly Bailey had pulled this together. She'd talked to her friends and gotten some supplies from Verity's garden shed, and before he knew it, there he was, with a bunch of high school kids cheerfully throwing sponges at each other, while Bailey and a couple of her friends were sitting with markers making a gigantic sign that read "MADDOX FOR SHERIFF! CLEANING UP THIS TOWN - ONE CAR AT A TIME!"

  "It should actually be Murphy," Maddox said, looking over their shoulders. "Maddox is my first name."

  "Oh, well, putting your first name on the sign will just make you seem friendlier," was Bailey's reply.

  Maddox went over to where Verity was helping some of the kids tie balloons to the Whistlestop's sign. "Hey there," he said to alert her to his presence. "This thing's coming together awfully fast, huh?"

  Verity smiled. She looked like she was enjoying herself. She'd braided up her hair in two plaits wrapped around her head, and she was grinning and, in that moment, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

  My mate. He still couldn't believe it.

  And he hated the idea that he might be about to get her in trouble.

  "Stop fretting," Verity said, reaching out to grip his arm. "I know what you're thinking. Don't. This thing with Ducker and Hawkins is something we've been ignoring in this town for far too long. It's about time someone put it right out in front of everybody, where they can't ignore it."

  "I'm worried that I might make you a target."

  "And I'm confident that you can protect me." She squeezed his arm again, her hand warm. He wanted to take her in his arms and never let go.

  "Maybe Bailey could go sleep at her boyfriend's place for a few nights or something?" Maddox suggested, glancing over at the teenager, who was now directing some of her friends at hanging up the sign. "I mean, not to get rid of her, but ..."

  "Oh. Hmm. That is a good idea. I wouldn't mind having her out of sight for a bit, in case anything does blow back onto us from this."

  It was a gorgeous day, cooler than yesterday, but still warm enough that it wasn't unpleasant to get a little bit wet. On a sunny Saturday afternoon, most of the town seemed to be out and about, and it didn't take long before their car wash was getting a steady stream of customers. The kids were kept busy scrubbing road dust off a string of farm trucks, SUVs, and commuter vehicles. At first, Maddox was almost too shy to talk to people, especially when he saw them staring at his tattoos, but the ice broke when a tiny, white-haired old lady got out of her car and marched up to him. She looked him up and down. "So," she said. "You're running against that Ted Hawkins, are you?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Maddox said, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible.

  "Good for you, young man." She put out a thin, shaking hand, as fragile-looking as a sparrow's wing, and he shook it carefully. "It's about time someone put that massive bully in his place. Good luck to you, sir."

  She stopped on her way back to her car and thrust a twenty into the jar with the sign reading "CAR WASH FREE - DONATIONS WELCOME!"

  After that, people were a lot friendlier, and Maddox got well-wishes and introductions and more dollars shoved into the tip jar. A short, balding man showed up with a camera and asked him a few questions; Maddox only learned after the man hopped back in his now sparkling-clean Volkswagen and puttered off that that had been the lone reporter, editor, and owner of the town's small weekly newspaper.

  It was something Maddox had never experienced before, all these people stopping to talk to him, and tell him they thought he was doing a good thing, looking at him like he was some kind of hero.

  I could get used to this.

  But then he looked over at the cane, leaning up against the table where they were keeping the money jar. He had that and the ache in his hip and ankle to remind him of what had happened the last couple of times he decided to play hero.

  And then the sheriff's car turned into the parking lot. There was a single whoop of the siren and a flash of the lights before the car stopped and the sheriff got out. He hitched up his belt, looked over the operation, and strolled over. His look at Maddox was long and lingering, and not at all friendly.

  "What do you folks think you're doing here?"

  "Having a car wash," Verity said, her arms folded.

  "You got a permit for that?"

  "We don't need a—" Bailey began. Verity hushed her and stepped in front of the kids. Maddox stepped up as well, interposing himself between Verity and the sheriff to loom threateningly.

  "Like the lady was saying," Maddox said, "we ain't doing anything we ain't got a perfect right to do. Got permission from the owners and everything." He winced inwardly; when he was stressed, he always found himself lapsing back into talking the way he'd grown up with. It wasn't the best thing when he was trying to make a good impression on authority figures.

  "Uh-huh." The sheriff looked up at the sign, fluttering in the wind, at the balloons and the customers nervously pulling away in their half-washed cars. Then he pulled out a ticket book. "I'm going to write you a citation for obstructing traffic and causing a public hazard."

  "We were doing nothing of the sort!" Verity snapped, trying to get around Maddox. He quietly moved to keep himself between her and the sheriff, though he was starting to think the issue wasn't so much protecting her from the sheriff as protecting her from assaulting-a-police-officer charges if she decided to attack.

  "You're in charge here, are you?" the sheriff said, scribbling on his pad.

  Verity made a noise like an angry cat.

  "The person in charge is me," Maddox said calmly, getting himself between her and the sheriff again. "Anyone gets a ticket here, it oughta be me."

  "Oh, don't worry, you will." The sheriff flipped to a new page on his citation book and glanced up at the sign again, then gave Maddox a long, cold look. "What's your last name, then."

  "Murphy," Maddox said, and he turned to murmur to Verity, "Hey, you wanna ma
ybe see about getting the kids out of here?"

  "Yes. Yes, of course." Verity turned to the teenagers. "I think we're breaking up for now," she said, putting a visibly strained smile on her face. "Each of you can take a little money from the jar to compensate you for your time this afternoon. Bailey, would you go start packing up the hoses?"

  Bailey nodded wordlessly, picking up on the tension in the air. Verity squeezed Maddox's arm and then, to his vast relief, went with the teen as they quietly herded the other kids away from the sheriff to start packing up the rags and buckets. Hawkins barely glanced after them, paying little attention, before turning his glare back to Maddox. Clearly the others were beneath his notice. And let's hope they stay that way.

  "I'm the only candidate for sheriff this election cycle," Hawkins said. "Deadline was yesterday."

  "Yeah, and I got my paperwork in," Maddox said. "Got a packet of stuff this morning and everything. It's official."

  "Then you'll be dropping out."

  "Nope." Maddox crossed his arms. "Not gonna happen."

  The sheriff leaned forward. He was actually a little shorter than Maddox, which became apparent when they went nose to nose. Maddox could see a look of slight apprehension cross the sheriff's face as he apparently realized that he was at a physical disadvantage here. He was a big guy and probably was used to pushing around whoever he wanted.

  Yeah, you try pushing around a bull, buddy. We don't budge.

  The sheriff settled his hand on the butt of his service weapon and seemed to use that for renewed courage. "So you got away the other night," he murmured in Maddox's face. "You got lucky. Think you could be that lucky twice?"

  "Seems like the way I remember it, you lost the other night," Maddox muttered back. "Couldn't win a fight with me 'til you brought a Ford for backup. You wanna go again? How lucky you think you'll get this time?"

  The sheriff sucked in a breath, puffing out his chest, and Maddox curled his hands into fists. If the guy wanted to go right here in the parking lot in front of a dozen witnesses, Maddox was willing to do it.