Can't Hurry Love

by Melinda Curtis

  Moms drifted closer. They smiled at their children and Lola, who felt something she hadn’t in a long time—that she belonged somewhere besides the retirement home and the mortuary. She could have a place here, if only she twisted hair and applied makeup fast enough.

  Eventually, she ran out of time. Wendy called the cast for a run-through of their lines. Parents and children moved to the stage but not without thank-yous for Lola and a couple of exuberant hugs from the acting troupe.

  Lola collapsed onto her chair, feeling as drained as if she’d been called in at the last minute to work a wedding party with twelve bridesmaids.

  “That was cool.” Drew handed her a bottle of water. “Not at all what I expected when Wendy said you’d be doing makeup.”

  “I don’t like to be limited to tradition.”

  “Clearly.” His gaze drifted to the blue suede jacket hanging behind her and then toward Wendy standing on the side of the stage with her boring hair and her forgettable wardrobe.

  Lola sighed, stopped staring at Drew, and turned her attention to the stage to enjoy rehearsal.

  The kids in the chorus and the army were adorable. They sang, twirled their capes, and as time dragged on, yawned. Not surprisingly, Becky was a ham. She and Caden stole the show. Good casting on Wendy’s part.

  Lola could have left at any time but didn’t. This was her troupe, her tribe. She knew the texture of Soldier Number Four’s hair and who had dimples in the chorus. She knew that Laura, who played an owl, had recently battled chicken pox, and that Eric, Soldier Number Nine, had a new puppy.

  When rehearsal was over, Lola packed up her supplies. “Becky is a pistol. Her high school years are going to be fun for you.”

  Drew bristled like a commuter who’d been told the train was too full. “Becky’s not like you.”

  “Like me?” Lola did a double take. “I was shy in school. I sat at the back of the class and never said anything without a teacher prying it out of me. I never would’ve tried out for a school play.” She’d rejected the offer to be a tree one year in favor of working backstage. “Becky is nothing like me, and I think she’s wonderful.”

  “Wonderful…” Drew’s protests died out, and his guard slipped. There was longing in his dark-brown eyes, a yearning that called to Lola. “She’s just…She’s not a pistol, okay?” His guard came back up.

  “No,” Lola agreed, because he seemed to need her to. “Becky’s not a pistol.” And he thought Lola was. Heart heavy, she turned away.

  Wendy hurried down the stage stairs, Pied Piper to a string of children. She gushed her thanks to Lola. “You injected the production with a level of excitement the kids needed.”

  The unadorned, pink-cheeked faces of children who hadn’t received makeup clustered around Wendy and Lola.

  A little redheaded girl twirled her hair around her finger. “I want an evil face.”

  “You’re in for it now.” Drew had somehow managed to stand between Lola and Wendy, despite the crush of children. He pointed to a little boy with big brown eyes and a shock of black hair. “Try saying no to that.”

  Wendy added a pleading look of her own. “It would make them so happy.”

  Lola felt sucker punched. But she was a realist. “I can’t do makeup for forty kids.” It would take hours.

  “Then we’ll recruit assistants for you.” Wendy beamed and then looked at Drew, as if recruiting him.

  “I can’t braid hair.” He held up his hands. “Or do makeup.”

  “I can help.” Mary Margaret stood a few rows of children away. “And I can recruit some of the room mothers, if Lola can come up with a makeup design they can follow. It’ll be like coloring.”

  It would not be like coloring but before Lola could protest, several moms volunteered.

  They volunteered knowing they’d be working with Lola. A warm, fuzzy feeling enveloped her, silencing her protests.

  Wendy plowed through the crowd and hugged Mary Margaret.

  “That’s how you hug someone.” Drew grinned the way Becky had when she’d found her sword in the thrift store.

  That grin made Lola forget he’d said he needed a wife who wasn’t like her.

  It wasn’t fair. He could only ever be the staid, standoffish sheriff to her.

  Her heart ka-thumped anyway.

  Needing to gain emotional space, Lola angled her face toward Drew’s ear. “That’s how you hug friends. I was hugging a suspect.”

  Drew frowned, the austere sheriff once more.

  A few reminders of rehearsal schedules later, the auditorium was nearly empty. Wendy disappeared backstage. Lola finished packing up and reached for her jacket. The air in the gym was chilly from everyone opening the door as they left. She needed an extra layer to keep warm.

  “Daddy-O, I’m tired.” Becky rubbed the side of her face on Drew’s pants, creating a gold streak next to the brown stripe on his sheriff’s uniform.

  “We can leave as soon as Ms. Adams is ready to go.” With an almost reverent touch, Drew stroked the updo Lola had made with Becky’s hair. “We don’t want her walking out to the parking lot alone.”

  Wendy poked her head out from behind a stage curtain. “Drew, I’m going to stay here another hour. I need to rearrange the lights with Edgar and make adjustments to the scenery.” She beamed at Lola. “But you can walk Lola out.”

  Lola’s arm got stuck in her jacket sleeve. “No need.”

  Despite her protests, Drew and Becky walked her out anyway. The parking lot was nearly empty, and the High Plains wind had picked up, ruffling Lola’s hair and the suede fringe on her jacket. She wheeled her kit behind her. The case made more noise on the asphalt than a red wagon with squeaky wheels.

  “I’m looking forward to the play next week,” Lola said loudly, feeling the need to make conversation.

  “Me too.” Becky was a limp noodle in her father’s arms. Her toga billowed from beneath her purple windbreaker.

  “Where’s your car?” Drew reached his cruiser.

  “I walked here.” Lola stopped to say her goodbyes and noted his questioning look at her high heels. “Remember, I’m a city girl. I grew up walking everywhere.” It was only six blocks or so. Nothing by New York City standards. Not even in heels.

  “We don’t walk at night in Colorado.” Of course Drew overrode her. “I’m giving you a ride.” Of course Drew commanded her. “Get in front.” He opened the cruiser’s back door and deposited Becky in a child seat. And when Lola continued to protest, he stopped her. “Get in the front seat and quit arguing.” Drew opened the front passenger door and quirked an eyebrow.

  Attraction shimmied down Lola’s spine, flooding her veins with adrenaline. Her heart should have been keeping its cool, not pounding in her chest.

  “You’ve been on your feet all day.” Drew swept his hand toward the passenger seat. “And it’s getting chilly.”

  If he’d smirked…If he’d frowned like giving her a ride was an obligation…If he’d only been annoying, Lola would have refused. But he was being nice, which meant he might make a joke and she might see a hint of that smile, which she liked.

  And then I’ll be in colossal trouble, heart at risk of falling.

  Too late.

  She got in the car.

  “Why do I feel like I’m about to give you a root canal?” Drew telescoped the handle of her case and stowed it in the trunk, presumably with his big guns, bulletproof vest, and fire extinguisher. He slid behind the wheel. “You really don’t want to be friends, do you?”

  “A little less talk, please.” Lola looked out her window.

  Drew brought the car roaring to life.

  “Everybody gets to ride up front but me,” Becky mumbled sleepily from the back seat.

  Lola turned to smile at little Athena but her eyes were closed. “I think she was talking in her sleep.”

  Drew didn’t say anything.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked.

  “I thought I wasn’t allowed to talk,” he whi
spered.

  Lola made a frustrated noise. Five blocks to go.

  Drew glanced in the rearview mirror. “She’s dozing. Kids that age burn out quick.”

  Kids. She ran her fingers through her jacket fringe and watched Sunshine through the window, seeing it the way she had when she’d first come to town. Quaint older homes. White picket fences. The promise of Norman Rockwell and the small-town American dream. Babies with walnut-brown hair, serious brown eyes, and hard-won smiles.

  That isn’t right.

  Babies with blond hair, blue eyes, and charismatic smiles.

  Lola sighed. “Did you always want to have kids?”

  His hand drifted up the steering wheel and back without turning it. “Maybe not in the way women envision having a family, but I love my kid.”

  The streetlights in Sunshine were few and far between, which made it seem as if they were sitting in the dark, sharing secrets the way lovers did late at night.

  It means nothing. I mean nothing like that to him.

  “I always wanted to have kids.” She was fishing for more from him. “I hated being an only child with a stepsister I rarely saw and didn’t know.”

  “Are you trying to prove your dad once loved your mother by proving Randy loved you?”

  “You think that’s what my search is about?” Lola did a quick gut check. “I don’t think so, Dr. Freud.”

  He’d gone silent again and been waiting too long at a deserted four-way stop.

  “Anyway,” she continued, because when she got home, she’d have no one to talk to but Randy and Candy, and they weren’t much for conversation. “I thought when people got married, part of the attraction included having the same goals about life and family.”

  He slowed as he approached her street. “My marriage…Turns out we had nothing in common. She was looking for a helping hand to get away from Sunshine, and I was looking to build a family.” He took the corner at a safe speed, a welcome change from Clarice’s driving.

  “I thought Jane wanted to be a country-music star.”

  “That too.” Drew came to a smooth stop in front of Lola’s house.

  “Would you take it wrong if I told you this conversation made me feel less depressed about my marriage?” Because it had. Hanging around with widows who worshipped their departed spouses had made her feel she’d bombed at marriage, big time.

  He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and made a noncommittal noise.

  “Good night, Drew.” Lola reached for the door handle.

  “Wait.” He touched her arm, so lightly she almost missed it.

  And just like that, her heart was rattling its cage.

  He gave her a wry smile. “Your case is in my trunk.”

  Be still, you stupid heart.

  “Don’t forget a good-night kiss, Daddy,” Becky mumbled.

  Lola’s hand froze on the door handle. Her eyes flew to Drew’s.

  “Kids,” Drew said but he was looking at Lola’s mouth. “Can’t control what they say.”

  Lola’s body parts began to tremble. It took her two tries to work the door handle. And once out of the car, she had to make a few adjustments to her stance to handle the heave and roll of the concrete beneath her feet.

  Meanwhile, Drew got out of the car, retrieved Lola’s case from the trunk, and headed toward her door. His longer legs had him waiting on her porch when she finally caught up to him.

  “I’ll take that.” She reached for the case.

  He didn’t release the handle. “Open the door first.”

  And what would come second? A good-night kiss? A friendly handshake? Extreme disappointment?

  That will happen regardless.

  Despite fingers that shook, Lola managed to open the door. She stepped inside and stared at Drew. At his warm brown eyes and ruffled brown hair. At that starched uniform with a streak of gold makeup on the pant leg. At broad shoulders and a broader moral code.

  Wendy would make him a good wife. She’d probably never burn his skivvies in anger or engage in a cupcake war. Wendy would give Drew beautiful, boring babies, who’d look up to wonderful, colorful Becky in awe without ever truly understanding her.

  Drew set Lola’s case down just inside the door with barely a glance toward her window display. “Good night, Lola.” He leaned in, perhaps propelled by the wind.

  Lola couldn’t move. Not. One. Inch. She held her breath, knowing that whatever happened, she wouldn’t sleep easy tonight.

  And then Drew pressed a kiss to her cheek, so soft, so tender, so gut-wrenchingly disappointing.

  As quick as her sigh, he was gone.

  Lola closed the door.

  She looked at Randy and Candy. The couple stood on their heads in a moving box, their world as upside down as Lola’s life had been since she’d discovered Randy’s secret life.

  Wanting to uncover those secrets had nothing to do with her parents and everything to do with last straws. So what if Sunshine had had enough of Lola? Lola had had enough of Sunshine. She’d ask only one more thing of the town before she left—the who and the why. And then she’d be able to sleep at night.

  Her knees locked. Her shoulders lifted.

  Wendy would have Drew.

  Lola would have the truth.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The drive to the farmhouse seemed longer than usual that night.

  The open High Plains seemed to stretch forever beneath the full moon.

  Drew had kissed Lola’s cheek.

  He’d been about to press his lips to hers when he came to his senses and veered toward safer ground.

  If only he’d discovered Lola’s big heart sooner, before she’d found out about Randy and before he’d heard from Jane. He might have been a calming influence on her. And she might have been an asset in his fight against his ex-wife.

  Drew turned down the long gravel driveway to his place. There was a beat-up small red sedan parked in front of the farmhouse.

  A slight, familiar figure with short, choppy blond hair got out of the car.

  Jane.

  Drew wanted to back out of the driveway and pull away but retreat implied weakness. And he couldn’t afford to be weak with his ex-wife. He got out of the car and leaned on the doorframe, facing her.

  “Hello, Drew.” Under the exterior lights, she looked like country royalty in her rose-colored boots, black jeans, and shearling coat. She’d always been good at presentation, just not at being present. “Is that her in the car?”

  Her. As if Jane couldn’t remember their daughter’s name.

  Anger burned in Drew’s veins, making it hard to move slow, hard to close the door quietly to shield Becky from the argument that was about to ensue. “You’re trespassing, Jane.”

  “I have visitation rights,” Jane reminded him, although she’d never used them before. She wore heavy makeup. But whatever she’d slathered on her face to smooth over the lies she told herself didn’t fool him.

  “She’s asleep. Come back…” He bit back the word later. Rethought about the word tomorrow. And settled on “another time.” No way was she—a stranger to Becky—going to wake her up and start playing at being Mommy.

  Jane moved close, possibly to catch a glimpse of Becky, more likely to rattle him. Up close, she looked thinner, exhausted, tense.

  She was tense?

  Drew gritted his teeth, refusing to be rattled yet unable to shake the tension.

  Jane set her boots down in front of him and nodded toward the farmhouse. “I thought I could stay here.”

  “You thought wrong.” Was that Drew’s voice? He hardly recognized the sharp edges. “Stay with your parents.”

  “It’s late.” Her gaze fell. “And I’m worried I don’t have enough gas to make it into town.”

  Drew wanted to tell her to write that worry into one of her songs. Instead, he glanced toward her car. He couldn’t see through the rear windshield to the front. There were boxy shadows filling the empty spaces. She’d said she was coming back,
but he’d hoped that was an idle threat or a ploy for money. “Why?”

  Why here? Why now? Why the sudden desire to be a mother?

  “It wasn’t my time.” Jane’s husky voice hitched. Her gaze slid to the skirting around the house. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  Hell to the no!

  “You aren’t moving back in with me.” He couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

  “But Drew.” She sidled closer, reaching for his shoulders, smiling at him the way she used to when he’d first returned to Sunshine, like he was all she needed to keep her happy. “You haven’t gotten married again. That must mean—”

  “That I’m a devoted father. One who doesn’t have time to date.” He brushed her hands away. “At least, not until recently. I found someone.” Lola’s bright face and brighter-colored clothing came to mind.

  His jaw ticked as he tried to pull forth an image of Wendy and failed.

  Dang it. He’d never had trouble making the responsible choice before. Never.

  “We could work it out.” Jane’s words were laden with promises. “And then in a year or so, we could move to Nashville, just like we planned. Maybe the timing will be better industry-wise.”

  And there it was. Her real reason for returning.

  “I’m not your fallback plan.” Drew knew how Jane’s mind worked. She took risks, sure. But she also covered her bases. Her weakness had always been her lack of patience. “I haven’t been pining for you. I can barely stand the sight of you.”

  Jane dropped back a step. “But—”

  “Becky deserves better than you.” There. He’d said it. The harsh words that he’d kept inside all this time.

  “But—”

  “Becky deserves someone who loves her and understands her and…” Lola’s face came to mind again, grinning at Becky in the thrift store. “She deserves better than you!” He shouted it this time and had to swallow twice before he could go on with any control. “Leave. Leave before I arrest you for trespassing.” And before his shouts woke up their daughter.

  Jane’s face paled. Not even Lola’s magic with the dead could have brought her color back. She backtracked with stumbling steps.