A Great Kisser

by Donna Kauffman

  Her mother had laughingly responded that she’d moved to Colorado, not Siberia. And she’d moved here in February, so it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen the snow yet. Which, fine. Except her mother had been thriving since the move to a sunnier, consistently warmer climate. She’d bought a little place of her own in a great, waterfront retirement community that Lauren had privately dubbed Camp Seniors. But, kidding aside, it had seemed like a wonderful place to live.

  Charlene had been active in several clubs, did volunteer work for a couple of charities, as well as a few other local organizations—and that was a very reduced pace of life for a woman who had been the toast of the hostess circuit in the society and professional realms in the capital city of Richmond. She had gushed to her daughter about all the new friends she was making, while still finding it relatively simple to keep up with many of her old ones, a great number of whom spent time in Florida, as well.

  And almost all of whom had also expressed shock over her sudden elopement and subsequent move west.

  Charlene had been so happy, so relaxed, so involved. Her friends, new and old, had all echoed Lauren’s sentiments in that regard. And then, wham, her mother meets Arlen during some political luncheon hosted by one of her ladies groups in Miami. He was in town for a national gathering of mayors, and before anyone even knew she’d even met the guy, she was running off with him. They were married less than two weeks after meeting each other, and she moved, lock, stock, and lawn flamingos, to Cedar Springs.

  Then, to compound matters, her mother had been hurt when Lauren hadn’t been over-the-moon excited for her when she’d called with the stunning news. In return, Lauren had been hurt that her mother hadn’t even told her what was going on, before going off and doing it. At sixty-three, Charlene O’Grady Matthews was still every bit as sharp, if not sharper, than most of Lauren’s thirty-something peer group. So…she couldn’t reconcile what in the world her mother had been thinking to run off like that, on some spontaneous whim with a guy who was tantamount to a complete stranger.

  Her mother had taken offense at that tack. She’d outright refused to talk about her mental state, and whether or not, perhaps, they should be concerned about such an abrupt departure from her normal behavior. Yeah, that whole conversation hadn’t gone over well. At all.

  Which was when Lauren had started digging into Arlen’s history. Her mother might not know him, but Lauren planned to know everything she could find out on the guy. Being that he was a public official, and applying her personal contacts, there had been a fair amount to sort through despite his position being in such a small town. He was from San Francisco originally, and had made a run to be his party’s pick for governor many years back, early on in his political career—too early, it seemed, as he hadn’t won their support.

  He’d ended up marrying one of his aides and settled with her in her hometown of Cedar Springs, running for the far less prestigious position of mayor, which he’d won handily with the support of his new wife’s family, who carried enormous clout in the area. It was a position he’d held ever since. Lauren hadn’t been all that thrilled with the rest of what she’d turned up. His first wife died shortly thereafter in a car accident. Drinking was rumored to play a role in the tragedy, as was a turbulent marriage. He remarried and divorced shortly afterward. Then remained single and focused his energy on trying to grow Cedar Springs into the next Aspen or Telluride, despite less than enthusiastic local support. In fact, from what she’d learned, Arlen Thompson was mostly all about Arlen Thompson…and thought everyone else should be, too.

  What she couldn’t figure out is why they kept electing the guy, but that wasn’t her problem. Her mother marrying him was.

  But try to caution her mother that she might not be fully aware of some pertinent information about who she’d married…and all Lauren had gotten was a chilly blast in the ear about daring to dig as she had, about not trusting her mother’s judgment, and, well, that had just been the launch pad. It had swiftly devolved from there, until Lauren didn’t even recognize either one of them during even the briefest phone conversation.

  She mourned the loss of both a parental bond and the one true friendship she’d always counted on. Not only because it kept her from being a part of her mother’s new life, but also removed the one voice of reason she could count on when she really needed help. Like deciding whether or not to ditch the career she’d worked so hard for.

  She’d really tried to see it from her mother’s point of view, but that hadn’t stopped her from worrying. Or from continuing to dig. She’d finally had to face the fact that the only way her mother couldn’t avoid the topic was if she was standing right in front of her. They had to talk about this…aberration. So, she wasn’t entirely sure just how “excited” her mother really was to see her, but she hoped that they could get past their seeming inability to get through even the most rationally approached conversation about this, and move on to some kind of common ground. Or, at least, a peaceful détente.

  She really hoped she’d feel better after meeting Arlen, seeing them together. Her gut, and her reams of research, however, were telling her otherwise. What in the world did her smart, intellectual, witty, and wise mother see in this guy?

  “Open-minded,” she reminded herself. She’d promised herself she’d do her best, despite her predisposed opinions. Blame it on her workplace of the past eight years. An environment her mother also knew quite well, as both the daughter of James O’Grady, a well-known lawyer and eventual appellate court judge, and widow of Daniel Matthews, a very respected trial attorney, who’d also been Lauren’s dad. She just couldn’t fathom what had made her mom, who’d been courted plenty over the last sixteen years since her father had passed away, and by some pretty distinguished men…fall for this one?

  Yep. Apparently she had a little more work to do on her whole “unbiased” approach if she hoped to pull it off outside the initial handshake.

  Lauren continued her stroll down Main Street, looking at the window displays that alternated between mountain gear, mountain sportswear, and a surprising array of beautifully done art, sculpture, and hand-crafted jewelry, with the occasional bookshop and restaurant thrown in for good measure. Most of it immediately forgotten, as her thoughts continued to stray back to the impending dinner. She really wished she could get her mother alone, first to talk and, hopefully begin to smooth things over, before diving into the crux of why she’d come, much less meet the crux. But she didn’t see that happening.

  It was the beginnings of a tension headache that had Lauren impulsively pushing through the doors of a bike shop. The constant stress of her job had been taking its toll for some time, even longer if you counted in how long she’d stubbornly refused to accept the fact. Headaches had become the norm, not the exception, and, by the end of each day, her body had ached like someone twice her age. Her doctor—when she’d finally broken down and gone to see him—had given her solid suggestions on how to reduce stress. But his first suggestion had been to either manage her job better, or find another job. She remembered thinking he was over-exaggerating at the time, that if she simply followed a few of his other ideas, things would improve.

  Well, one of the other things he’d recommended was walking, swimming, or biking. She walked—ran, really—all day, every day, it seemed, for her job. And while she wouldn’t drown if she ever fell overboard, swimming for distance, or style for that matter, wasn’t ever going to be part of her repertoire. Bike riding, on the other hand, had sounded like fun. Between riding on the Mall, around the Tidal Basin, or all the trails through Rock Creek Park, she had plenty to choose from. She’d decided that would be her gift to herself, her way of distressing. She’d even looked forward to doing it, imagined herself pedaling around town. She’d just…never gotten around to finding the time to actually get a bike. It had been on her to-do list. Along with making time to ride it.

  She’d ceremoniously burned the list the day she quit her job. She didn’t need reminders now. Her c
alendar was wide open.

  “So,” she said, “no time like the present, then.” Because the present was definitely not the time to court a migraine-level headache. It could be the thin air, but more likely it was the only serious remaining source of stress in her life, which, when said and done, all boiled down to dinner. This evening. At seven.

  Fifteen minutes later she was riding what they called the “townie” model, which essentially meant it had a bigger seat for her bigger caboose. One look at the narrow, rock-hard wedge that served as a mountain bike seat had her quickly swallowing any vanity she might have had on the subject, which had been ever-so-gently broached by the guy at the rental desk, and opting for the biggest, softest townie model in stock. It was pink. Very pink. She’d been trapped in navy blue and pinstripes for so long, she’d just instinctively pointed at it. The rental guy couldn’t possibly know how un-pink her life had been. But he didn’t laugh, or even look at her funny. He’d merely smiled as if it made perfect sense for her and handed her a matching helmet and water bottle. She decided the rental guy was her new best friend.

  After a wobbling start in which she almost took out a sidewalk rack of fleece vests and an entire folding table lined with Crocs, she finally managed to find her pace, only to have to stop at the first corner as the one and only light in town turned green for cross-moving traffic. So, she took the opportunity to check out the map her new BFF had given her. He’d explained which trails were accessible to her on her “townie” and which were steep, mountain-bike-only trails. She didn’t bother to even look at those. This was supposed to be fun and pleasurable, after all. And she’d already risked death today in the gum-wrapper-size plane she’d flown out here in. No need to taunt fate twice.

  There were various points of interest on the map as well. The ski resort, of course, along with the Olympic training grounds, the Nicklaus-designed golf course, the rodeo and county fairgrounds—just west of town—and a wee bit farther up…hunh. “McKenna Flight School,” she read out loud. “What do you know. He’s a town landmark.” Or his school was. She wondered again about what role he played, if any, in local politics, or just as a local businessman. She’d had him pegged as the sort who kept his focus on his own work and out of others’ business, but then, what did she really know about him? “Other than he didn’t throw you under the bus when Arlen’s secretary had come calling.” And if that was all she had to go on—okay, that and the fact that he was lust on a stick—then she’d extend him the benefit of the doubt. For now.

  She glanced back over her shoulder and realized she’d come farther down Main Street than she’d thought. Another glance at her watch showed she still had more than an hour before she was to report for dinner. Which felt more appointment than social engagement. She toyed again with the idea of trying to call her mother to break the ice a little, but she really wasn’t ready for all the variables that action might lead to.

  She purposely hadn’t gone into any of the shops, either. Other than the rental guy, Melissa, and Debbie at the motel, she hadn’t talked to any locals. “So much for your plan of playing super sleuth.” She had a whole list of questions she’d planned on asking folks once she got into town, find out what kind of man Arlen Thompson really was, especially to the people who knew him best. Riding herd on the media during Todd’s campaign had taught her a great deal about the dogged persistence of journalists and how they wheedled information out of even the most taciturn delegate. She’d always loathed their whatever-it-takes mentality, but now that she was on the fact-finding end of the stick, the education she’d inadvertently picked up was quite useful. Or would have been if she hadn’t landed in Cedar Springs as some kind of pseudo–local celebrity.

  She looked up as the walk light came on, and tucked the map back into her pocket before setting off again. The fact that she happened to be heading in the direction of the flight school was strictly coincidence. Jake had been kind enough to get her into town, then leave her be. She thought about their “date” and wondered if he’d even remember it come Sunday. That was days away from now. Or, perhaps after hearing the buzz of gossip spreading about the mayor’s estranged stepdaughter being in town, he might decide she was too much trouble.

  It should bother her, or at the very least be a red flag of some perspective-giving sort, that the idea he might back out on the date disappointed her the way it did. But, at the moment, he was the only person here she felt she could trust, ridiculous as that sounded. And now his school was on the map. She usually went with her gut, and she was rarely wrong. But maybe all the stress, combined with her rather abrupt, life-altering decision, had diluted her instincts. After all, she still had no idea what she was going to do with her life. Not exactly an instinctive move on her part.

  Still, she continued pedaling without turning back.

  Chapter 5

  Jake hung up the phone and raked his hand through his hair. Again. It was amazing he hadn’t pulled it all out. He’d spent the better part of what was left of his day after returning from Holden, talking to the guy he hoped was going to be his first corporate sponsor, then updating his crew, who were all chomping at the bit on whether or not to plan on being ready and available for the National Air Races next month. To which he, yet again, had to tell them, he didn’t know.

  The most recent debate was on how, exactly, the corporate sponsorship of the Betty Sue would be marketed. Jake was not going to slap their company name on Betty Sue’s perfectly restored and historically accurate skin. He’d agreed to a whole raft of corporate swag they wanted to hand out during the races, but he balked on plastering anything on the plane itself. Betty Sue had always been, and always would be, true to her original paint job. This was not NASCAR.

  The corporate boys—bankers and stock traders mostly, all connected with the same investment firm, but more important, decade-long frat brothers—were still, at heart, a bunch of kids. Really rich kids, in this case, who were really excited about having a part in one of the fastest races on earth, and just happened to have a whole lot of spare change between them to make their latest dream come true. But they couldn’t agree on anything to save their damn lives. Jake wouldn’t put himself through it, and realized why his grandfather had balked at ever allowing someone’s checkbook to dictate how he was going to take care of his baby, much less race her.

  But Jake was more pragmatic about it, and more realistic. Patrick McKenna—Paddy to his friends and grandchildren alike—hadn’t minded the side show aspect of the fair and air show circuit, and had made enough doing them to just barely maintain Betty Sue and, along with his old war buddies, get her race ready each year. Jake didn’t really have a love for that part of the flying culture. He just wanted to fly. He loved the history of the planes, and the restoration work was very fulfilling for him. That it all culminated once a year in a week filled with heart-pounding racing…that was enough. And, for all that, he wanted to win, dammit. He knew she could do it. And now, he finally had a chance to put Betty Sue at the front of the pack. With a little—okay, a lot—of help from Roger and his investment banker–stockbroker frat buddies.

  “I miss you, Paddy McKenna,” he grumbled. “I hope I do you proud. But enough already with this crap.” He understood now more than ever why his grandfather had balked at allowing others to dictate anything having to do with Betty Sue’s upkeep. Before he’d begun sticking with the show circuit as his only funding, Paddy had organized fund-raisers and even taken on one of the local banks as a partner for a short, ill-fated time way back when Jake was in grade school and the annual race had just been created in Reno. Paddy had naturally wanted to show off his baby, and Jake couldn’t blame him. He’d bought the beat-up World War II fighter in 1955 and had spent almost every second of his spare time, along with all of his spare money, restoring it. Taking on his two grandchildren hadn’t helped his hobby, but he made up for it by instilling the same love he had for flying, and old planes, in his grandson.

  It had been his grandfather’s dream
to win the Gold Medallion race in Reno pretty much from the year they’d introduced the event, and given the dreams he’d made come true for Jake, it was the very least Jake could do to see it through. But after five long years spent just getting back in the race, and another five trying to do it Paddy’s way, and failing, Jake had caved and finally looked to outside sponsorship as the only way to put Betty Sue in real contention. “And goddamn, Paddy, you’re right. They’re a major pain in my ass, but I’m trying.” He shoved away from the small desk crammed into the makeshift office in the corner of the secondary McKenna Flight School hangar, the one Paddy had built to house only one plane, and walked back over to Betty Sue.

  “You are a pretty, pretty lady,” he said, still just as in awe of her now as he’d been at age six, when he’d gotten his first close-up look at her. “And every bit as high maintenance as one, too,” he added as he bent over to start throwing tools back into his tool chest.

  “Well, on principle alone, I should argue that, or the Secret Society of Women Who Can Take Care of Themselves might revoke my membership.”

  Jake was fighting a smile, even as he tossed the last wrench into the drawer and turned around. “If I said present company excepted, would that keep me from having to register for the Misogynists of America Club?”

  She braced her hands on the handlebars of the pinkest bike he’d ever seen and tilted her head, as if giving serious assessment to the question. “I’d have to get to know you better before I can make a judgment like that.”

  “Well, at least only one of us is making sweeping generalizations.”

  She smiled, and suddenly the frustration over the phone call with Roger was forgotten. “True,” she said. “Someone needs to keep things grounded in reality.” She glanced at the plane as she slipped her helmet off. “Clearly, that wouldn’t be you.”