“My grandmother used to say true love is home, and home is where dreams are made.” Lola took the dream book and put it back on the dresser. Someday, she’d make new dreams. “Can you box up Randy’s shoes? I’ll finish the dresser.” And then all she’d have left was the shelf above it.
Lola sat on the carpeted floor and opened the bottom drawer. Mistake. The sweatshirts smelled of Randy. She used to love the clean way he smelled, as if he’d just showered and put on a set of freshly laundered clothes. Had his obsession with the shower and the laundry been a necessity to hide his lying lifestyle? Of course it had.
“I’m ready for another drink now.” Lola started to stand.
“You’ve got to earn it first.” Avery planted a hand on Lola’s shoulder and pressed her back down. “Or I’ll never get to Shaw’s by five thirty.”
“I hate that you’re right.” Lola emptied the bottom drawer of Randy’s sweatshirts. And then it was on to the drawers with Randy’s shorts: cargo (including a pair he’d worn on their honeymoon on the Gulf Coast), basketball (he’d played on the men’s team in Greeley on Thursdays), padded bike shorts (for that spin class he’d attended in Greeley on Monday nights).
Basketball? Spin class? And what about those late nights when he’d claimed to be at Shaw’s with the guys?
Questions, suspicions, and doubts filled Lola’s chest, causing more congestion than rush hour traffic in Times Square, making it hard to breathe. She couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.
Randy’s T-shirt drawer was next. Lola had to rise to her knees to empty it. The Playboy T-shirt he’d worn the day they’d met. Denver sports teams. Blue shirts advertising his business—Your Second Husband Handyman Service. A small white plastic bag from Valley Drug Store was stuffed in the back. Inside was a pair of dangly silver earrings that momentarily blinded Lola to infidelity and had her stepping back into the fantasy of a perfect marriage.
“Randy was always buying me little gifts and then forgetting to give them to me. I’d come across bags like this in the glove box of his car, out in the garage with his tools, and…” The earrings slipped through her fingers. They were clip-ons. Lola had pierced ears. She had to face the truth. None of those hidden gifts had been meant for her. “I hate him.”
“Attagirl.” Avery shoved Randy’s shoes into a box as if she couldn’t get rid of them fast enough.
The top drawer of the dresser was clear, having harbored Randy’s briefs and the condom box, which now sat on the floor in the corner. On top of the dresser was the teak box where Randy used to put his wallet and the love notes she’d written him. Lola opened it but other than the keys to the farmhouse they rented to Drew, there was nothing inside. She’d removed the paper trail of their romance soon after his death. The love letters were in a kitchen drawer downstairs. Sometimes she read them with her morning coffee.
Her stomach churned at her romantic naivete.
Avery finished with Randy’s shoes, took one look at Lola, and hugged her again. “Let’s forget about Shaw’s and the bachelorette auction. Let’s go to the theater. We can sit in the projection room, watch movies, and eat buckets of popcorn.” A privilege they regularly indulged in since her family owned the theater.
Broken Lola, the woman who’d believed in true love, wanted to put on a pair of baggy sweats, order pizza, and hide away from the world. Angry Lola, the woman who was discovering she had too much in common with her mother, wanted to flush every photo of Randy down the toilet, put on her sexiest dress, and paint the town red. But there was another Lola inside, one who was strong and scrappy and a survivor.
“No. I’m finishing this.” There was nothing more Randy could do to hurt her.
Lola stood on a footstool and reached for the last of Randy’s things on the dusty top shelf. She handed Avery yearbooks, the small safe containing Randy’s handgun, and then a bulky brown leather duffel.
“It’s heavy.” Avery dropped the duffel to the floor. “Can I open it?” Not waiting for Lola’s approval, she knelt beside it, releasing the zipper.
“What is it this time?” Lola didn’t want to look. “A supply of perfume? Chocolates? Lingerie for his lover?” Was it too much to hope that he’d monogrammed something personal for the other woman? At least then she’d have a clue about his mistress’s identity.
“Holy cow.” Avery sat back on her heels. “It’s a pair of adult blow-up dolls.”
“A pair? His and hers?” Had she thought Randy couldn’t shock her anymore? Whiskey swirled up Lola’s throat. With effort, she swallowed it back down.
“He had an adventurous side.” Avery opened the bag wider, revealing a box with a man’s and a woman’s cartoony faces. “Who knew?”
“Not me.” Lola’s words, like her spirits, were meek and beaten.
“Hey, it’s never been opened.” Avery squeezed Lola’s hand. “He could have bought it for you two to play with. You should be flattered.”
“I’m horrified.” Lola stared at the plastic faces, which looked drawn on with big markers. The smiley-face buttons at Walmart had more character.
“Well, maybe…” Avery opened the bag completely. “Maybe he ordered the wrong thing. These don’t have parts.”
“P-p-parts?”
“You know.” Avery glanced up. “Boy parts. Girl parts.”
“I had no idea life-size dolls came fully equipped,” Lola said weakly.
“These are definitely cheap,” Avery said, suddenly a sex-toy expert. “He could have gotten them as a wedding gift and been waiting to give them to someone else.”
“Randy wasn’t the regifting type.” Trouble was, Lola didn’t know anymore what type of man she’d married. “I’ll take that drink now.”
Avery nodded. “I think you’ve earned it.”
Chapter Three
Drew’s next stop after putting out Lola’s fire was Gigi Nelson’s place.
The octogenarian called at least once a week to report something. This time it was a rabid rodent in her backyard. If Drew had to guess, the rodent was a raccoon, wasn’t rabid, and would most likely be gone by the time he arrived. Not that it mattered. Gigi would have coffee ready. She was lonely, and those in the sheriff’s office, Drew included, didn’t mind a quiet coffee break with fresh-from-the-oven cookies.
But today…
His past had risen up to bite him in the butt.
“You said we could move to Nashville.” Six years ago, Jane’s words had been wooden. “You said marriage wouldn’t change anything.”
“But something else has.” Drew held Becky closer but her precious, swaddled body couldn’t thaw the ice forming around his heart.
“You said you’d support my dreams.” Jane had stared at Drew as if he’d just stepped off the express elevator from Hades and she didn’t recognize the loathsome demon he’d become.
“That was before we got pregnant.” An accident. “Before Becky was born.” Before he’d become a dad and they’d become a family. “Between my shifts as a sheriff and your gigs on the road, we need a support group.” His mother. His sisters. Her parents. “We wouldn’t have that in Nashville. Think about Becky.” He angled her cherubic face in Jane’s direction. “We can’t move now.”
Jane had looked away.
And she had never looked back. She’d filed for divorce that morning, signed over custody of Becky by noon, and left for Nashville before sundown.
Drew flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. He needed mind-numbing action today so he wouldn’t think about Jane. A quick search online after her call had found a startling statistic: more often than not, absentee moms won the right to visitation and partial custody. What did that mean for Becky? Would she go to school half the year here and the other half in Nashville?
Not if Drew could help it.
A skateboarder flew off the curb in front of the cruiser, narrowly avoiding being run down.
Drew slammed on his brakes, shoved the car in park, and hopped out just as another skateboarder did the same
thing. “Boys! Do you have a death wish?”
As one, the Bodine brothers, identical twins, stepped on the back ends of their boards and came to quick, noisy stops. The tall, lanky teens had shaggy brown hair that hung in their eyes and smiles that had charmed them into—and out of—trouble for most of their sixteen years.
“I had plenty of time to get across.” That had to be Steve. He was the more cynical twin.
Phillip slugged Steve’s shoulder. “Arrest him. He was going to skate in the town square.”
“Way to go, loser.” Steve slugged him back, but they were both grinning like idiots. “Now neither one of us can skate there.”
Because it was against a recently passed town ordinance.
Victor Yates drove his feedstore truck slowly around Drew’s cruiser, giving the Bodines a hard look before giving Drew one of equal intensity. He was on the Sunshine Town Council (had been for decades), had authored the skateboarding ordinance (among other fun-killing laws), and had the demeanor of a man with serious constipation issues (he cut no one a break). None of which endeared him to the town’s youth or Drew. Didn’t help that he was Jane’s father.
“Now what are we supposed to do?” Phillip rubbed his shoulder.
As one, they turned to Drew, waiting for him to make a suggestion.
Drew could think of lots of places they could skate—the old boat launch at Kismet Lake, the courtyard at the Methodist church, the loading platforms at the idle grain mill. None of which were legal either, but all of them tended to be deserted on Saturdays. Drew had been hoping the teens would outgrow their affection for skateboarding over the winter and go back to bull riding. No such luck. But the day was clear, and there was nothing going on in town to distract them. If they were going to skate, he’d rather they did it where no one would complain. “Try the grain mill.”
Whooping, they hopped on their skateboards and set off.
“Be careful,” Drew called after them, most likely too late.
A white Subaru wagon pulled up next to Drew, blocking the traffic going the other way.
Flashing that determined smile of hers, Mims leaned over the steering wheel so she could see Drew through the open passenger window. “Sheriff, we just heard from your mother that you’re looking for a good child-custody lawyer.”
Kudos to Mom for holding out four hours with the news.
Drew kept his voice carefully neutral. “Do you have a recommendation?” There were only two law firms in town, each run by one of Judge Harper’s sons.
“We do.” Clarice smoothed a gray braid over her shoulder and said in complete seriousness, “You should get married.”
Drew clutched the cruiser’s doorframe.
“No judge will take Becky away from her married, upstanding father,” Bitsy added from the back seat.
A truck turned onto Main Street and headed toward the Subaru.
“Not for a woman whose only claim to stability for six years has been a post office box.” Mims gave the slowing truck a finger—her index finger—as if to say, Just a minute.
“And we have the perfect woman for you,” Bitsy said in that soothing voice of hers.
Drew wasn’t soothed.
“We called Wendy Adams,” Mims said in a rush, causing Bitsy to frown. “She’s interested.”
“Bring cash to the auction tonight.” Clarice jabbed a finger in his direction. “And don’t be late.”
The approaching truck honked. The widows promised to see Drew later and drove out of the way, leaving him standing in the middle of Main Street.
Get married?
Get real.
Except, a small voice in his head whispered, it makes sense on paper. To protect Becky.
Drew shook his head, sliding behind the wheel and putting the car in drive. It didn’t matter that he’d been thinking about putting himself back in the dating scene now that Becky was older. If he’d learned anything from Lola and Randy, it was that whirlwind romance did not make for a happy, stable marriage. When he got married again, it’d be to someone who’d be a great mother for Becky. Someone generous and kind. Someone predictable and stable. Someone who’d value their marriage vows and who loved Sunshine and never wanted to leave. Someone like…
Wendy Adams.
Wendy was a secretary at the elementary school, taught Sunday school to tots, was a member of the quilting club, and had never drunk herself under the table at Shaw’s. She was a few years younger than Drew and a Sunshine native. And okay, she was pretty, a petite blonde with subtle curves and a soft voice. She didn’t dress as if she were going to a New York City nightclub, but she didn’t dress like a nun either.
His cell phone rang through the cruiser’s console.
“Dad, Daddy, Papa, Padre!”
His daughter’s enthusiastic greeting always made Drew smile. “What is it, honey?”
“Granny says we’re getting married.” Becky giggled and giggled and giggled some more, as if she were being mauled by a small, overly affectionate puppy.
“Granny is jumping the gun.” Drew clenched his jaw, turning down Gigi’s street. “Put her on the phone, honey.”
“Granny Susie!” Becky’s cowboy boots clumped on hardwood. “Granny! Daddy’s on the phone.” And then her voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t tell her I called you.”
“Hello? Drew?” When Susie Taylor came on the line, she sounded innocent. Too innocent. Which usually meant his mother was guilty of more than she was willing to admit. “What’s up?”
“Marriage? Am I not the only one of your children who’s provided you with a grandchild?”
“Oh, but Drew—”
“And what did I say the last time you set me up on a blind date?”
“Oh, but Drew, I haven’t—”
“I said give it time.” He parked in front of Gigi’s white picket fence. “I said give Becky and me both time.”
“Ah,” his mom said, lowering her voice. “You saw Mims.”
“After you called her. Yes. And then Becky told me I was getting married.”
“Well, that exploded in my face pretty quickly, didn’t it?” His mom sighed. “I called Mims because her grandson went through a custody battle last year. I wanted some advice for you. Mims mentioned how Carl’s being engaged helped him in court. And then she suggested the bachelorette auction.”
Drew closed his eyes. “And…” There had to be more.
“And Wendy Adams. She mentioned how Wendy Adams would be perfect for you.” His mom’s tone took a defensive turn. “If you know these things, why do you interrogate me?”
“Because cops love confessions.” Not that it made him feel any better about the situation. Drew opened his eyes to face his next call.
Gigi had the front door open. She was thin and frail and made a really good pot of coffee. If she’d been fifty years younger, he might have considered marrying her.
“I’m sorry.” His mother didn’t sound apologetic. “Becky overheard me on the phone with Mims so I tried to make a joke of it.”
“I’ll get a good lawyer.” If not one of the Harpers, then someone in Greeley.
“Yes, but could you keep an open mind about Wendy?” His mom wasn’t going to let this go easily. “Jane has always been very determined once she makes up her mind.”
“I’m hanging up now.” Because his mother was starting to make sense.
Chapter Four
After his shift, Drew dropped Becky off at Mia Hampton’s house with her sleeping bag and a pizza and then arrived at Shaw’s Bar & Grill, hungry and tired.
Besides Lola’s bonfire, Gigi’s raccoon search, and checking on the Bodine boys at the mill, Drew had impounded a rooster named Marvin (no livestock allowed in city limits), settled a dispute at the retirement home (between two siblings vying for their father’s affection and bank account), and investigated reports of gunfire near the high school (traced to Bob Lumley’s backfiring ’57 Chevy). That was nearly triple the number of calls he responded to on an average da
y.
Drew blamed it on spring-thaw madness, which in Sunshine was like a full moon, only it lingered for weeks instead of one night. It was May, and suddenly the temps were creeping up to seventy. That change in temperature put folks on edge. By June, things would settle back to normal. Hopefully, Jane’s custody demand would disappear just as quickly.
Shaw’s had a big stage and a dance floor on one end, balanced on the other side by padded booths and large wooden tables around a well-used pool table. In the middle was a long, narrow bar with seats on both sides. There were license plates on the walls instead of photos or mirrors. Old saddles were mounted on the rafters. And on Saturday nights, the shells from free peanuts littered the floor. It was man-vana.
Drew settled in at the bar and ordered a beer, contemplating his options pertaining to Wendy. He’d told his staff he was showing up to make sure things at the auction didn’t get out of hand. It was one of the town’s favorite spectacles, resulting in more drunk and disorderly arrests than at the county fair. Last year, Paul Gregory had a few too many daiquiris with the date he’d won at auction, and boot-scootin’-boogied across the bar. Topless.
Drew studied the crowd. It was the typical auction mix of women dressed for date night and cleaned-up cowhands from ranches up and down the valley. He couldn’t spot a petite blonde, perhaps because there were so many cowboy hats. It seemed like every yahoo within a fifty-mile radius was sardined on the dance floor.
Noah Shaw slid a tall, frosty beer and a bowl of peanuts in front of Drew. His family had owned Shaw’s for three generations. The big man had never met a stranger, at least not one who paid their bar tab. “You bidding tonight?”
“I haven’t decided.” It wouldn’t hurt to test the waters with Wendy if she decided to participate. Drew took a sip of his beer and then started shelling peanuts.
“This is a first.” Noah leaned on the bar. “Which woman finally caught your eye?”
Before Drew could answer, Mims took the stage with all the command of a general in front of her troops. She’d traded in her hunting vest and boots in favor of a blue dress and white sandals. “Thank you all for showing up to the Date Night Auction to benefit the Sunshine Valley Boys & Girls Club. The bachelorettes for auction tonight—”
Can't Hurry Love Page 3
