A Very Merry Match--Includes a Bonus Novella

by Melinda Curtis

  * * *

  Mary Margaret smelled like paste when she showed up after school at the Bull Puckey Breeding facility for her job interview with Iggy King.

  But it wasn’t Iggy she’d been thinking of on the drive over.

  It was Kevin.

  When he’d shown up in her classroom, she’d been certain he was going to call her out on her performance as Foxy Roxy. She’d had to kneel next to Louise’s desk because her knees had given out.

  Apparently, Kevin hadn’t recognized her at the Hanky Panky. She should have turned down his invitation to be on the development committee. Serving would make it even riskier to dance her way out of trouble. The threat of exposure might just give her a heart attack.

  And yet, Kevin…

  Maybe it was her widow-versary on the horizon, or maybe Grandma Edith’s talk about dating and loneliness had penetrated her twenty-seven-year-old brain, but she was looking at Kevin in a different light. One that was just as dangerous as the Hanky Panky stage spotlight, because wow, he was datable—handsome, financially stable, beloved by Tad.

  Get a grip. A man who’d marry Barbara isn’t my type.

  Amen. Dad’s disapproving voice.

  Besides, whoever dated Kevin next was going to have a fight on her hands with Barbara. If she didn’t like you, that woman would rummage around in your closets until she unearthed all your dark secrets and bad fashion choices.

  Mary Margaret’s empty stomach did a slow churn.

  She got out of her car and greeted Iggy in the gently falling snow. He was about her age, a regular at Shaw’s, and what she’d consider a caution. He didn’t seem particular about the women he slept with and he was the type of man whose volume amplified as his beer intake increased.

  Iggy was unloading boxes from the back of his big black truck, made harder because he had a lift kit which added a good two feet to the height of the vehicle. He wasn’t as tall as Kevin, as broad-shouldered as Kevin, or, in fact, Kevin.

  Mary Margaret gave herself a mental head thunk.

  “You here about the job?”

  “Yes.” Mary Margaret had to stop thinking about Kevin. She had her résumé in hand and was wearing blue jeans, a thick green cable-knit sweater, and cowboy boots with a paisley pattern and silver trim. She’d put on the boots after school to make a good impression.

  Iggy looked her up and down and then gave her a half smile.

  Impression made.

  “Can you start now?”

  “Yes.” Her smile came more naturally.

  “Great. The Bodine twins called in sick.” Iggy transferred a cardboard box that clinked into her arms. “They have a bad case of high school senior-itis.” He slid another box out of the back. “Follow me.”

  He led her into a large, aluminum-sided barn with an unadorned wreath on the door, as plastic as her own. They passed bulls of all different breeds and colors in large stalls. Most were taller than she was.

  That was saying something since Mary Margaret was nearly six feet tall.

  Iggy unlocked an office in the back corner, and they set their boxes inside.

  The office was very large. There were a couple of cluttered desks and several waist-high containers that hummed with electricity like overworked refrigerators.

  “We have cryogenic units here to freeze the product.” He took another critical look at her. “Nice boots.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I wouldn’t wear them to work again.” He picked up something from the floor in the corner and shook it out. “Here’s a pair of coveralls.”

  She accepted the workwear with the tips of her fingers. The coveralls were stained and smelled worse than paste. “I thought I was helping you pack up goods for shipping.”

  “You are but I need to collect the goods first.” He picked up another pair of coveralls, removed his boots, and stepped into a similarly stained garment. “And as I mentioned, the Bodine brothers are a no-show.”

  Mary Margaret’s purse fell off her shoulder at the same time her jaw fell to the floor. “You don’t expect me to…”

  Iggy heaved a sigh. “I do. Everyone chips in where needed around here. But Samson is just a big kitten, and Jason said he’d be here despite his doctor’s orders. I usually give whoever helps me a buck a straw. Samson is young but he can produce a couple hundred straws at a time. Do the math.”

  “I guess this isn’t an hourly job.” Mary Margaret slipped off her boots and stepped into the coveralls, trying not to think about where the stains had come from. She zipped up and put her fancy boots back on.

  Iggy scribbled something on a clipboard. “I’m assuming, since you haven’t run screaming from the room, that you’re interested in the job.”

  She nodded. Thanks to Derek’s gambling, she had no choice.

  A few minutes later, Mary Margaret stood next to the largest creature she’d ever been up close and personal with, feeling like a rookie Ghostbuster missing her proton pack. “What kind of bull is this?” She’d only ever seen bulls on television and that one time she’d gone to the rodeo with Darcy to watch Jason ride. “Has Jason ever ridden him? Is he dangerous?”

  Samson was black and more fidgety than Mary Margaret, refusing to stand still.

  Before Iggy could answer, someone came into the room behind her.

  Samson huffed and shifted so he could see around her.

  Jason hobbled in using one crutch. His free hand held the lead rope to another bull, this one brown. “Hey, Mary Margaret. Glad you could step in and help.”

  Iggy rubbed Samson’s big ears. And then he explained the process and Mary Margaret’s role. Unlike Jason at the bar, he didn’t use words like equipment or goods.

  Mary Margaret drew back, stomach readying a protest. “You want me to hold the artificial…” She swallowed, reluctant to say the term. “You want me to hold the artificial va-jay-jay?” She peeked at Samson’s equipment and tossed her hands. “I’m out.” She’d sell some of her shoes online. She had lots of shoes.

  The two cowboys protested and tried to reassure her of the procedure’s safety. Samson continued to be restless.

  “It’s not my safety I’m concerned with.” Although perhaps it should be. “It’s the ick factor.” All those stains on her coveralls. “Can I bow out gracefully and interest your business in a low-mileage quad?”

  “No.” Iggy repeated how much money she might make. “We’re in a bind, and so are you.” He smirked. “You know, thanks to Derek.”

  Jerk.

  Not Derek. Iggy.

  Mary Margaret was stuck, and not just with a quad. “Why can’t I hold Carl?” The smaller, brown bull.

  “Because I have no mobility.” Jason leaned on his crutch, proving his point. “Full leg cast. I could be trampled if Samson lurches to the side. Having already been trampled once this year, I’ll stick with Carl here.” He patted the smaller bull’s neck.

  “You get around well enough,” Mary Margaret mumbled, thinking of him being at the Hanky Panky. “I need more money than a dollar a straw.”

  “I’ll pay your bar tab at Shaw’s for a month,” Iggy offered, earning a double-take from Jason.

  “Are you sure, Iggy?” She wasn’t. “I have a feeling I’m going to need a lot of drinks to forget this.”

  “We can’t delay anymore.” Iggy brought Samson forward. “Samson’s ready. It’s a buck a straw and your bar tab. Man-up, girl.”

  She didn’t want to man-up. Quite the opposite. She wanted to be pampered and cared for. But those days were long gone.

  Mary Margaret held out the receptacle and turned her head. “I can’t look.”

  “You have to look.” Iggy was the kind of guy who’d probably been a bit of a bully in high school, always quick with a snappy comeback or snarky reality check. “You’re being paid to look.”

  Mary Margaret snuck a peek at Samson’s equipment from the corner of her eye and tried to line things up.

  The bull lurched forward and stepped on her foot. She scre
amed. The bull grunted. Iggy and Jason’s much-needed product spilled on Mary Margaret’s other foot. She heaved.

  And just like that…

  Her boots were ruined.

  And she was fired.

  * * *

  “Is she ready to launch?” Clarice pulled her shopping cart even with Edith’s at the sweet onion display in Emory’s Grocery.

  The chorus of “White Christmas” almost covered the pleas of the McEwen children for ice cream one aisle over.

  “Is who ready?” Edith glanced around, clutching a yellow onion to her chest. “Me?” She had no idea what Clarice was talking about.

  Frowning, Clarice fiddled with her hearing aid. She wore bell-bottoms that seemed to be held together with seam binding tape embroidered with green apples. Her gray braids fell over the front of her bright yellow jacket like service bell pulls, and her wooden walking stick thrust out of her cart like a jousting pole. “I said, is she ready to launch? She.” Clarice glanced about but they were alone in the produce section. “Mary Margaret,” she whispered.

  “Mary Margaret?” Edith quit squeezing her onion. “Ready for what? She’s been looking for a part-time job.”

  Clarice gripped her shopping cart handles as if they were throttles on a motorcycle and she was gunning it. “Is she ready to date? You’re supposed to be greasing the wheels to the idea of a new man.”

  “Oh. That.” Edith bagged her onion. “Of course. I bought her mistletoe for her foyer.” Edith was rocking the vice presidency. “Mary Margaret said she didn’t want to date—she’s got the idea in her head that she needs a part-time job more than a man—but all I need to do is find her a man or two at the poetry slam and—”

  “Edith. That is not the way it’s done.” Clarice shook her head. “The success of our endeavors hinges on careful prep work. Testing the waters discreetly. Uncovering any objections Mary Margaret might have to loving once more. Dating is irrelevant.” She gripped Edith’s shoulder and leaned down to whisper. “You can’t be on the board if you don’t do the work.”

  Can’t be on the board?

  Panic tingled its way up Edith’s legs. “No one told me any of this.” And her granddaughter had been acting oddly, perhaps an indication that she really wasn’t prepared to test the romantic waters. Mary Margaret hadn’t put up the mistletoe Edith had brought her. For heaven’s sake, the wreath on her front door was plastic. “Oh, my goodness. She’s not ready.”

  “I figured as much.” Clarice pushed her cart to the prepared salad section, mumbling incoherently along the way to a bag of cut kale.

  “What do I need to do?” Her position on the board was at stake. And she’d told everyone she was on the board. Everyone.

  “Find Mims.” Clarice tossed the salad bag in her cart. “She’ll know what to do.”

  “Of course.” Edith texted Mims a quick: Where are you? And then hurried to finish her shopping.

  Darkness had fallen, and it was snowing outside. Edith flung her groceries in the trunk of her car, trying not to connect Elvis crooning “Blue Christmas” through Emory’s outside speakers with her fate. She’d be blue if she was kicked off the board.

  Edith plopped into the front seat and called Mims. It had been nearly ten minutes since she’d texted, and Mims hadn’t answered her.

  She didn’t answer the phone either.

  Edith had many friends but her absolute best friend was Mims.

  Edith often overlooked the fact that they’d both been in love with the same man, mostly because Edith had won that contest by marrying Charlie and Mims had found a man of her own. But both their husbands were dead and buried. They were back to being friends who relied on each other.

  Good friends.

  The best of friends.

  They shared everything, except…

  Mims was keeping something from Edith. She hadn’t been coaching her in matchmaking. And she hadn’t gotten back to Edith in the past few minutes. Not a peep.

  Maybe Mims had suffered a stroke. Maybe she’d fallen and couldn’t get up.

  Edith drove to her house.

  No Mims. Her Subaru wagon was gone.

  Edith drove around town—past the movie theater, past the Saddle Horn coffee shop, past the emergency clinic, past Prestige Salon. Finally, she drove to the mortuary because, if Mims wasn’t answering, someone might have died. Maybe even Mims.

  No luck. The funeral parlor was dark. The parking lot empty.

  They’re going to kick me off the board for not doing my job.

  Edith’s heart raced. This wasn’t something she could just sit and ignore, an objection she could outlast. Edith had to produce or there’d be no more Sunday morning breakfasts with the board, no more weekday breakfasts with the board, no pre–Widows Club meeting conferences. She’d be…

  Just like everyone else.

  Or worse—the woman no one wanted to sit with, the woman who never fit in without a popular man on her arm. It was high school all over again.

  “Where are you, Mims?” Edith wailed because her one friend must have driven off the road somewhere. She’d be stuck in a ditch, helpless, crying out for Edith to come save her. Edith sat behind the wheel of her car, working up the courage to contact the sheriff and report Mims missing.

  And then, like the proverbial light bulb, the Christmas lights at the retirement home up the slope flickered on.

  There she was! There was Mims in the retirement home parking lot, carrying a picnic basket, practically skipping toward her car in black snow boots and a camouflage jacket, looking like Dorothy if Dorothy had been heading down the yellow brick road during hunting season.

  She’s fine.

  Happy, even.

  Edith heaved a sigh of relief. Her pulse slowed.

  And then she wondered: Why is Mims picnicking in the winter? During the dinner hour? At the retirement home?

  Edith narrowed her eyes, remembering an afternoon last week when Mims hadn’t answered her phone at all. And Edith had tried—repeatedly—to get her on the phone because she couldn’t remember what worked best as a substitute for butter in a low-fat oatmeal cookie recipe. Mims had been at the movies. A cartoon movie, no less. Mims wasn’t the cartoon movie type. She packed heat. She appreciated a good shoot-’em-up, happy ending optional. And now she was incommunicado at the retirement home?

  Something wasn’t adding up.

  The retirement home had three levels of residents—independent living, acute care, and hospice. No one came skipping out of there after visiting the sick or the dying. That meant Mims had visited someone in independent living.

  But who?

  Edith remained idling in the mortuary parking lot until Mims left. And then she drove over, parked in a visitor’s slot, and marched inside. “Gosh, Beatrice. What are you still doing here? It’s late.” But thank heavens she was still here to help Edith solve the Mims mystery.

  “I know.” Beatrice was a wiry woman with two kids in college down in Denver and a fondness for tacky holiday sweaters, if Rudolph’s blinking red nose on her chest was any indication. “I was decorating the rec room for your club’s poetry slam this week and lost track of time.”

  My club…

  The mourning for Edith’s vice presidency began.

  “To that end…” Edith drew a deep breath and considered her fibbing options. “I was supposed to meet Mims here. Do you know where she is?”

  “She was with David Jessup.” Beatrice dug in her purse for her car keys. “But you just missed her.”

  “Oh, that’s right. David Jessup.” Edith drew another breath. “I should stop by and apologize for being late.”

  “That’d be nice.” Beatrice provided Edith with directions to his room and bundled up to leave.

  Edith marched down the nearly deserted halls of the residential section. Televisions blared from behind closed doors. Walkers and mechanical wheelchairs were parked here and there along the way.

  David Jessup. His wife had passed around the same time Charl
ie had died. His adult kids lived in Greeley. He’d refused to move there but they’d convinced him that moving here would make his life easier because he wasn’t good in the kitchen.

  And there had been Mims’s picnic basket.

  How nice of her to bring David a housewarming gift.

  How nice…

  Edith didn’t believe that for a moment.

  She reached David’s apartment and knocked. He didn’t have a television on at full volume. He didn’t have a walker or a scooter waiting next to the door. There was a small bulletin board above his unit number. It was filled with greeting cards welcoming him to the neighborhood. Someone had even made him a heart from pink construction paper. It looked like it wasn’t just Mims who was courting him.

  David opened the door, and Edith forgot all about Mims.

  He was taller than most men in their seventies. He didn’t have hunched shoulders or a ski-slope belly. His eyes were still a sharp blue, and his tightly curled hair wasn’t completely gray. He wore a crisp green turtleneck and khakis. But most importantly, he wore fine leather loafers that weren’t orthopedic. “Edith. What a surprise.”

  He was the surprise. Just the sight of him tugged a string connected to the flutter fan in Edith’s chest. He was handsome. He had all his marbles. And he wasn’t deaf.

  He was a catch!

  Edith’s smile felt soft and warm. She stepped into the doorway, smile broadening when he didn’t step back. “I was just in the neighborhood and remembered I’d never stopped by to see how you were doing. I know how lonely it can be to lose”—the love of your life—“your spouse.”

  Something akin to guilt tried to smother the flutter in her chest. It was the memory of Charlie. She ignored it, darting past David and inside. It was a lovely little unit with a kitchenette, a small living area, a bedroom and bathroom. Everything looked modern and new. The countertops were granite. The floors oak. Who knew people could live like this?

  David knew.

  He was smart, probably smart with his money too.

  Edith turned and smiled at David some more, wishing she’d remembered to freshen up her lipstick. “We should get together sometime. Have coffee or…catch a show.”