by Lori Wilde
“Go ahead and spout. That’s what I’m here for.”
“I’m too hard on Carrie.”
Jesse nodded. “She’s not like you, Flynn.”
“I know that. What’s wrong with me? Why do I keep expecting her to live up to my standards instead of accepting her for who she is?”
“You have high ideals.”
Flynn wrinkled her nose. “You make me sound like Beau. I don’t want to be like Beau. He’s too rigid. Am I too rigid, Jesse?”
“You’re not like Beau.” He slipped a hand to the back of her neck, and she melted against him. “And you’re not the least bit rigid. You simply expect too much out of yourself.”
A nurse appeared in the doorway. “The doctor has finished examining your sister. Would you like to come in now?”
Flynn shot to her feet. “Let’s go.”
Jesse took her hand, and her spirits lifted. Maybe everything would be all right after all.
They followed the nurse into the examination room. Carrie lay on the gurney, her face pale, her injured arm suspended from a sling on a rolling IV pole. Flynn plastered a cheerful smile on her face.
“Oh no,” Carrie said. “I know that look.”
“What look?’ Flynn asked brightly.
“That everything’s-gonna-be-A-OK smile you always fished out for Mama’s sake. It’s bullshit, that smile. It doesn’t convince anyone. Not Mama, not me. I must be dying.”
“You’re not dying.”
“So why the perky smile?”
“I’m just trying to be positive. Rainbows, unicorns, kitties in a basket, all that upbeat stuff.”
“Well stop it. My hand hurts like hell and it’s my tray-carrying hand. You’re going to have to find someone to fill my shifts at Froggy’s. That should put a kink in your perk.”
“Okay, this sucks. It’s a nightmare. It’s a disaster. The sky is falling. Does that make you feel better?”
“Actually,” Carrie said, struggling with one arm to scoot herself up higher in the bed, “it does.”
Flynn scurried over to help her sit up. Maybe fluff her pillow, offer her a sip of water.
Carrie’s glower stopped her in her tracks. “I can make it on my own.”
Flynn raised her palms. “Sor-ry. Just trying to help.”
Carrie eyeballed Jesse. “He was holding your hand.”
“What?”
“When you came in, he was holding your hand.”
“Mmm, was he?”
Carrie snorted.
“What?”
“It’s okay to admit you’re with Jesse.” She kept trying to wrestle her pillow with her good hand, but every time Flynn tried to help, she quelled her with a look.
“I’m not with Jesse.”
“Because that would signal the end of the world,” Jesse muttered.
Flynn spun to meet his gaze. “Well, I’m not with you.”
He didn’t say another word, just drilled her with his patented sexy stare, the one that made her itch and sweat and long to strip off her panties.
The doctor strode into the room, followed by a nurse pushing a big metal cart behind him.
“What’s that?” Flynn eyed the cart.
“Cast cart,” explained the nurse.
“Cast? Why does she need a cast?”
“Her wrist is broken. See here.” The doctor stepped to a gray box mounted on the wall. He flicked a switch and the box was backlit, showing off the set of X-rays clipped to the front of it. It was an arm. Apparently Carrie’s arm was broken, and anyone with half a brain cell could tell from the jagged line running across the base of the bone.
Flynn plastered the fingers of both hands over her mouth. “No, no, broken wrist. She can’t have a broken wrist.”
“She has a broken wrist,” the doctor insisted.
“If she has a broken wrist, she can’t knit.”
“That’s right. No knitting for our girl here for many weeks to come.” The doctor held out his hand. The nurse opened up the cast cart, fished out supplies, and started slapping them one by one into his waiting palm.
“But there’s knit-a-thon going on.” Okay, she was officially sounding like an idiot, but the realization that she was totally screwed was finally sinking in. She met Carrie’s gaze.
His sister shrugged. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“But this is the knit-a-thon. We have over a hundred entrants and dozens of sponsors and most of the town will be there and we have tons of tourists and—”
“And everyone will finally find out that perfect, infallible Flynn has a deep dark secret.”
“I’m not perfect, I’m not infallible. I’m very fallible. That’s why we’re in this fix. I failed. I was staring at Jesse’s butt and getting jealous over all the other women who were staring at his butt and I should have been holding the ladder when you needed me most, but I wasn’t because I was staring at Jesse’s butt. That’s how fallible I am.”
“You were staring at my butt?” Jesse straightened.
“Don’t get cocky. You know your butt looks good in those jeans.”
“You think my butt looks good?” He smirked.
“Actually, now that I think about it, this whole thing is your fault. For crying out loud, man, wear looser fitting jeans.”
The nurse stepped back to check out Jesse’s backside and made a she’s-got-a-good-point face.
The doctor pulled Jesse aside. “Your friend sounds close to losing it. Maybe you could escort her back to the lobby.”
“I heard that,” Flynn said. “I’m not losing it. I don’t lose it. I’m the thread that binds everything together. The twine, the string, the yarn. If I’m not there, it’s all a tangled mess.”
Kind of like your knitting.
Okay, so she was ranting, and Jesse had her around the waist and he was dragging her off and she was just, well…What was she going to do about the knit-a-thon?
“Come on, Dimples, let’s give the doctor some breathing room,” he coaxed. “Let’s go to the cafeteria for a Coke while they finish patching up Carrie.”
Yeah, okay, he was right, no need to have a meltdown in the middle of the ER.
“What am I going to do?” she moaned when they were seated in the cafeteria. She sank her head in her hands. “Here I am the ringleader of this knit-a-thon. How am I going to compete? We had it all figured out. Carrie was going to be knitting the exact same garment I was supposed to be working on. When I took a break, the plan was for me to go across the street to the Yarn Barn, leave the piece I was working on and pick up the one she’d been knitting. Then she was going to come over, visit me with a knitting bag just like mine, and we’d swap out totes. Now everyone is going to know I’m a fraud and here I just opened up a yarn store. Seriously, who’s going to buy yarn from a woman who can’t knit?”
“Look at it in the grand scheme of things. Maybe it’s a good thing this is happening.”
“What are you talking about? This is a total disaster.”
“People were bound to find out sooner or later.”
“No they weren’t. Carrie and I have had this going on for over ten years and nobody guessed a thing.”
“So for the rest of your life you’re going to pretend to be a perfect knitter while Carrie has to pretend she’s got no talent for it? That’s not fair to either you or Carrie.”
“But I never did any of this for me. It was all for my mother.”
Jesse shifted in his seat. “Isn’t it about time you did something for yourself? You’ve been putting everyone’s needs before your own and look, it’s got you doing some goofy Lucy and Ethel scheming to pull it off. Do you really want to live your life like a 1950s sitcom?”
“No, of course I don’t, I just—”
“Don’t want to let people down.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“How about if I help you?”
Flynn laughed. “Please don’t tell me you know how to knit baby booties.”
�
�Not my specialty, Dimples, but causing a commotion, yeah I can do that. What if I make a distraction, or somehow destroy your projects. Big bottle of red wine dropped by your knitting basket?”
She laughed. “Okay, you made your point. I see how ridiculous I’m being.”
He reached over and chucked her under the chin. “I got your back, MacGregor, all you’ve gotta do is say the word.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, her skin tingling from his touch. “I appreciate the offer, but you’re right. I guess this is fate’s way of telling me I need to stop lying about my knitting abilities and just take my lumps.”
“How do you intend on handling it?”
“I’ll set up and start knitting. When everyone sees my work with the dropped stitches, backward stitches, and accidental increase, and asks what happened, I’ll just fess up.”
“Okay,” he said, “but if you change your mind and need me to bail you out, just give me the word and I’ll be there.”
It felt good knowing he had her back, but there was something in his eyes she couldn’t discern, something wistful and sad that made her want to crawl into his lap and wrap her arms around his neck. Then he blinked and the look was gone.
“Ms. MacGregor?” the ER nurse said from the doorway. “You can take your sister home now.”
Two hours into the knit-a-thon, Flynn had managed fifty rows of knit stitches. They were sloppy, they were loose, but dammit they were perfect. No dropped stitches, no accidental increase, nothing looped backward. It was a glorious accomplishment and she couldn’t share it with anyone.
The only two who could appreciate her victory were out of range. Carrie was snoozing at home, gorked on Demerol. Jesse manned his lemonade booth across the street. Flynn peeked over and saw him gabbing with middle-aged businessmen—doctors, lawyers, stockbrokers, playing at being badass bikers in their do-rags, chains, leather pants and vests, motorcycle boots, and wrist studs.
One gray-haired dude with a ponytail to the middle of his back wore a tattered black T-shirt that proclaimed: “Ride Hard, Die Young.” Clearly he’d missed the boat on the dying young part.
“Uh-oh,” Marva said. “Look who’s headed our way.”
Everyone glanced over to see Beau sauntering up the sidewalk toward them. Oh geez. Flynn ducked her head and concentrated hard on making a fresh row of stitches.
“Afternoon, ladies.” He greeted them with a tip of his Stetson.
“Afternoon, Beau,” the Sweethearts answered in unison.
Flynn felt his gaze on her, but she didn’t glance up.
“You’re looking fit, Sheriff,” Terri said.
“Thank you, Mrs. Longoria. I’m feeling fit.”
Go away! But of course he didn’t. He just kept standing there right next to her rocking chair. She could see the tips of his boots.
“Flynnie?” His voice was soft.
“Yes?” Realizing she had no choice, Flynn raised her head and met his gaze.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Quickly she dropped her hands into her lap to hide her knitting. “Um…nothing’s wrong, Beau.”
“I know you, Flynnie.” He lowered his voice. “Something’s bothering you.”
“No. Nothing.” You, you’re what’s bothering me. “I’m fine. Super, in fact.”
“You know, just because you broke up with me doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. I still care about you.”
“And I still care about you.” It was true, she did. She cared about a lot of people. She tried her best not to glance over at the lemonade stand to see what Jesse was doing. She plastered a big fake smile on her face. “But honestly, nothing’s wrong.”
Beau cleared his throat, but didn’t budge.
Seriously? Was he going to stand there all day?
“You can’t lie to me,” he said. “I see the signs.”
“Nope, no signs.” The smile was frozen on her teeth.
“It’s in your knitting.” He leaned over and tugged the scarf from her lap. “Look at this.”
Yeah, isn’t it cool? I did it all by myself.
He clicked his tongue. “Flabby stitches. That’s not like you. Not like you at all. Normally your stitches are tight and controlled, just like you.”
“I’m not tight and controlled,” she snapped, feeling decidedly waspish.
“Sure you are, it’s one of the things I admire most about you.” Beau rested a hand on her shoulder, and it was all she could do to keep from swatting him away. “You’re distracted. What’s up?”
Irritation flared along her nerve endings like a bad case of shingles. “Yeah, okay, I’m distracted. Satisfied?”
“I knew it.”
“What can I say? You’re all-seeing, all-knowing. We oughta call you Beau the Omnipotent.”
“I’m going to ignore that little bit of sarcasm, Flynnie, because obviously something’s upset you.”
“It’s Carrie,” supplied Dotty Mae, who was sitting to Flynn’s right, purling a row of stitches on her afghan. “Poor girl broke her wrist putting up the papier-mâché yarn ball display. Flynn and Jes—” Dotty seemed to realize who she was talking to and finished with, “Um…Flynn took her to the hospital.”
Beau’s eyebrows dipped downward. “I’m sorry to hear about Carrie.”
“Thanks for the sympathy, I’ll let her know.” Flynn ducked her head again, picked up her knitting, squinted hard at the stitches, hoping he’d get the hint and vamoose.
“Can I get you anything?” Beau asked. “Cold beverage?”
“I’m fine,” Flynn said. Go away. So much for the tiny little pleasure she’d taken in knitting a flawless—if somewhat flabby—partial scarf.
“I’d love a glass of lemonade,” Dotty Mae said. “Thank you so much for asking, Beau, you are a regular knight in shining armor, coming to the aid of thirsty damsels.”
“Anybody else?” Beau asked the rest of the Sweethearts, who were gathered in a circle, knitting as a team.
“I’ll have a lemonade as well,” Marva said.
“I’m in, temperature’s climbing and I’m already sweating.” Terri fluffed the front of her white cotton blouse for effect. “Thanks, Beau.”
“Raylene?”
Raylene held up a silver flask. “Got it covered.”
“Ray!” Patsy said, “It’s only three o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Get your panties out of a bunch, Patsy. It’s five o’clock somewhere in the world, and if I’m expected to sit here and knit for two and a half days I need some liquid incentive.”
“Patsy?” Beau asked.
“What?”
“You want some lemonade?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’d like one too,” Belinda said, going for her purse. “How much is it?”
Beau put out a restraining hand. “Knitters drink free. I’ll be right back, ladies. Flynn, you sure you won’t have one?”
“I’m sure.” She nodded curtly and didn’t glance up.
“I still don’t understand why you broke up with him, Flynn,” Belinda said when Beau was out of earshot. “How many men would get lemonade for all of us?”
“Yeah, that’s just what I want in a husband, a man who waits on other women hand and foot.”
“Their breakup won’t last,” Terri predicted. “It never does. What’s the longest time you two were broken up?”
“The four years he was in Iraq,” Flynn supplied.
“But the minute he came back all wounded with that Bronze Star strapped to his chest, it was smoochie-smoochville again. Whatever is going on between you two, it will blow over. It always does.”
“Not this time,” Patsy muttered.
“Oh.” Marva leaned in close. “What do you know?”
“Jesse took Flynn and Carrie to the hospital,” Dotty Mae whispered.
“So is it Jesse?” Marva prodded Patsy. “Did he come between them?”
“People,” Flynn exclaimed, “I’m sitting right here!”
“Yeah, but you won’t tell us anything.” Terri angled her torso toward Patsy “So, Pats, what’s the scoop? Flynn and Jesse?”
As uncomfortable as the conversation was, it did take the focus off her knitting. Maybe she could stuff the scarf in her purse while no one was looking and pretend she’d finished it. Slyly she slipped the half scarf from her lap, and she was just about to drop it in her tote bag when her father came loping across the courthouse lawn.
Floyd wore a dark green apron emblazoned with the Froggy’s logo, and he smelled of fried chicken. He looked good, really good. The best he’d looked since her mother died. His skin had lost the sallow cast and his face no longer looked bloated. His hair was neatly trimmed, his chin freshly shaved.
“Hey, honey.” He greeted her with a kiss on the forehead.
“How’s Carrie?”
“She’s sound asleep.”
“Selling a lot of chicken?”
“Swamped.”
“That’s great.”
“Not so good, we’re running out of chicken.”
“You need me to go to the market?”
“I can’t ask that, you’re in the big middle of knitting. I thought maybe you could call Carlos—”
“That’s fine, I don’t mind.” Flynn was already up and out of the rocking chair, happy to have a bona fide excuse to abandon the knitting. “Be right back, ladies.”
“If you feel your ears burning,” Marva called out, “you know we’re gossiping about you.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Flynn said, and made her escape.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Trainer, sleep with one eye open.
—Jesse Calloway, yearbook entry, 1999
Sheriff Trainer trod across the courthouse lawn, littered with knitters in rocking chairs, and headed straight toward him. A bad feeling trickled down Jesse’s spine. He squared his shoulders, looked Trainer in the eyes.
“How much did this bad boy set you back?” A ponytailed tourist caressed the Harley’s fender with his fingertips.
