Love in a Small Town Box Set 1

by Tawdra Kandle

  Giving myself a mental shake, I finally made my way back to the other side of the parking lot and maneuvered to the exit. No one else was trying to leave, so it didn’t take long for me to turn onto the road toward home. I glanced at the club in my rearview mirror, surprised by the sudden sense of longing I felt. I had no desire to go into a bar. Did I? Why would I want to be in room full of loud music and drunken people? I didn’t. Probably not. On the other hand, how I could I know until I tried it?

  I shoved that thought away and focused on getting back to the farm. I was late. Seriously late, as in missing the start supper, and Dad was not going to be happy. My stomach began to turn, and I pressed down on the accelerator a little harder.

  Once I made the turn onto the dirt driveway, I slowed down, letting the car bump along until I reached the back of the house. I took a deep breath, climbed out and hurried inside.

  The kitchen was dark except for the light over the table, where Dad and Gram were sitting. My grandmother met my eyes over my father’s head, and she shook her head just slightly.

  I didn’t say anything right away. Stopping only briefly to hang my purse on the hook just inside the door, I went right to the sink, washed my hands and slid into my seat.

  “I’m sorry I’m late.” I kept my voice even, although part of me was screaming a warning. Apologize! Grovel! Beg for forgiveness! For the first time in my life, I ignored that voice.

  “Just where were you, Marilla?” My father was calm, which I knew from experience meant he was beyond furious.

  I sighed and unfolded my napkin, dropping it into my lap. “We were super busy at the stand today, and I stayed a bit after we closed to talk to Meghan and Sam. And then, I don’t know. I just felt like driving a little. I needed some air. It’s a beautiful night.”

  “You went for a drive? When you knew that your grandmother was here making dinner and needing your help? Beyond that, you know that meals in this house are served on a schedule. You deliberately decided to neglect your responsibilities and just ... go for a drive.”

  I served myself a piece of chicken. “Yes.”

  He brought his hand down on the table so hard the silverware rattled and Gram’s glass turned over. I froze with my hand on the spoon in the vegetable bowl. Gram made a tsking noise and mopped up her water with a napkin. After a few seconds, I moved again, scooping up the green beans onto my plate. My face felt hot and my heart was racing, but I wasn’t going to let him see it.

  “I knew this was going to happen.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “I knew that letting you work at that stand was going to lead to disobedience and—and sinful ideas. I let you try it, and you see the results. Well, no more. You call Sam Reynolds tomorrow and tell him you won’t be back.”

  “I will not.” I struggled to moderate my voice, to hold back the tears that threatened. “This is my job and my decision, and I’m not quitting. Not after I’ve just got the campaign for the stand running so well, and I’m good at working there, too. I like seeing people and talking to them. You can’t keep me hidden here forever, Dad. I’m an adult.”

  “As long as you live under my roof, you’ll speak to me with respect, and you’ll obey my rules. You’ve disappointed your grandmother and me—”

  “Oh, no, don’t drag me into this.” Gram stood up, too, picking up her plate. “This is between you two.” She set the dish on the counter with a clatter and then turned and pointed at my father. “But Emmett, you need to stop and think about what you’re saying. Some things can’t be taken back, you know.”

  Before I could appreciate the idea that Gram was sticking up for me, she turned to me with her hands on her hips. “And you, young lady, if you’re going to be an adult, which I agree you are, have the courtesy to let people know when you’re going to be late. I expected you for dinner, and when you didn’t come in on time, I worried. Along with the freedom of adulthood comes responsibility. And you were raised to know better.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I bowed my head. “I’m sorry, Gram. Time really just got away from me, and I didn’t mean to be so late.”

  She patted my shoulder. “I appreciate that. I also appreciate that you’re going to do clean up after you finish eating, since I cooked without you. That’s not punishment, it’s just consequences.”

  I nodded. “No problem.”

  “This doesn’t solve anything.” My father, still glowering, looked from Gram to me. “I stand by what I said. You need to stop working at the stand.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad.” I broke off a piece of chicken, popped it into my mouth, chewed and swallowed. I was so anxious that it tasted like sawdust, but I couldn’t let him see that. “I’m not going to stop working. As a matter of fact, I picked up another client today.”

  Gram had been on her way out of the kitchen, but she paused in the doorway. “Oh, really? Good for you, Rilla. Who is it? Another farmer?”

  “Uh, no, actually. It’s the owner of a-a restaurant. He’s adding new hours, and he’d like some help promoting that. I gave him some information when he stopped by the stand today, and I’m going to meet with him this week.”

  “What restaurant is that? All I know in Burton is Kenny’s Diner. Or is it out of town?” Gram smiled, and I quaked a little inside. My grandmother was trying to be supportive, but I wasn’t sure even she would be able to get behind me promoting a bar.

  “It’s out of town a little. It’s called The Road Block.” I became very absorbed in getting the last few green beans on my fork, not daring to look up at my father or Gram.

  “That’s not a restaurant.” Dad sat down in his chair, almost slumping. “It’s a bar, Rilla. I’ve heard about it. They have loud music and wild dancing. And they serve alcohol. How can you even think about working for such a place, let alone advertising it?”

  “It’s a business, Dad. And I’m not really going to promoting that part of it. Mason’s adding lunch hours next week, and that’s what I’m going to be publicizing. Not the bar, just the restaurant.” I stood up and carried my plate to the sink and began running the water over it.

  “That’s nitpicking, and you know it. What do you think the people at church are going to think if they find out? Will they assume you’re only working for the non-alcohol part of the business, or will they think you’re promoting the enemy’s work?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. And you know what? I really don’t care.” I threw my fork into the water in the sink. “You’re talking about people who’ve known me my whole life. If they’re going to immediately jump to conclusions about what I’m doing and who I am, then maybe I don’t want anything to do with them.”

  I heard my father’s quick intake of breath. “You’d better take a minute and consider your words, Marilla Grace. You’re skirting seriously close to blasphemy.”

  “No, Dad, I’m not.” I rinsed my plate and slid it into the dishwasher. “If I were saying I didn’t want anything to do with God or that I didn’t care what He thinks, you’d have a case. But we’re talking about people at church. They’re hardly saints, any of them. Half of them don’t pay any attention to what you and the other elders say. They might be pious on Sundays, but on the days between, they’re off doing whatever they want.”

  “And just how would you know that?”

  I dropped a pile of silverware into the basket of the dishwasher. “When I was in youth group, I heard the other kids talking about what happened at home. Very, very few of them live like we do, Dad. You’ve buried us out here to keep us away from the world and make us look better to all those church folks, but most of them could care less. They think we’re weird.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Rilla. And ...” He rose again. “I’m finished with this discussion. I’ve made it clear what I expect from you. You need to take my words into consideration and prayer.” He stalked past Gram out of the kitchen, and I heard his heavy tread on the steps a moment later.

  I finished the dishes in silence. Gram came back in, and
her chair scraped against the linoleum as she sat down again.

  “Well.” She spoke slowly when I closed the dishwasher and dried my hands on a faded old tea towel. “You’ve stood up for yourself at last. I was waiting for this day. Feared it, because I knew by the time your father pushed you into finally speaking your piece, you’d have a lot to say. And you did.” She sighed and leaned her head against her hand.

  “I’m sorry, Gram.” I sat down next to her and took her free hand. “I’m not trying to make Dad angry, and I don’t want to disappoint either of you. But if I live my whole life trying not to do that, I’m never going to live.” I touched her thin gold wedding band, the one piece of jewelry that my grandmother wore without fail. It hadn’t left her finger in the last forty-six years, even though Gramps had been gone for almost half that time. “I don’t think I want to marry Jonathan, Gram. Actually, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to marry me, either.”

  “Is there someone else you want to marry, Rilla?”

  I shook my head. “No. I just want to be able to make the choice myself. I don’t want to get married just because it’s convenient for Dad and for the church. And I know this probably sounds sinful, but I don’t want to come second to a congregation. When I do find someone to marry, I want him to be so happy about the idea that he’d move heaven and earth to make it happen. You know?”

  “I do, honey.” She smiled at me. “I’m proud of you for realizing that. Just try not to be too hard on your father. Remember that no matter what he says, he loves you, and that’s why he’s so protective.” She squeezed my hand. “He’ll come around. Give him time. Just you wait.”

  I didn’t want to disagree with my grandmother, but I had a feeling it was going to take more than time for my father to accept that I was ready to live life on my own terms.

  “HEY, BOSS, WE NEED to bring up another flat of bottled water and a case of shiraz.”

  I glanced up at Darcy from my tablet, where I was skimming a website. “Hmmm? Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll have Ryan grab it next time he goes past.”

  “Thanks.” Darcy paused and leaned her hip against the bar. “Mason, you all right? You’ve been kind of out of it since you got here.”

  “I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.” I forced a smile. “I had a crappy morning.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  I studied her, considering. Darcy had been my first hire after Rocky once I hit town and had the building for The Road Block mostly up. She’d worked in restaurants and bars in Savannah, Jacksonville and Hilton Head until she’d fallen in love with contractor who brought her to his tiny hometown in Georgia. The two of them raised a family, but after her youngest started high school, Darcy had found herself bored and itching for something to do. It’d been around that time that I’d announced I was opening my bar. When she walked in that first day and I’d asked her why she wanted a job, she’d fixed me with a stare.

  “I need something to keep me out of trouble. I’m the best damned waitress in the state of Georgia, maybe in the whole southeast. I’ve just been in temporary retirement for the last eighteen years. Now I’m ready to come back. If you don’t hire me, I’ll be forced to talk my husband into building me my own bar, and I’ll be your competition. I figure if you let me work for you, it saves all of us a lot of time, energy and heartbreak.”

  Saying yes to Darcy was a decision I hadn’t regretted. She was on time, responsible and professional. She’d also become a sort of mother hen to everyone else at the Block, keeping her eye on the younger wait staff and making sure everyone was behaving.

  “No.” I answered her at last. “I don’t think so, Darce. Just keep doing what you’re doing here, okay? It means a lot to me to know that if something happened and I couldn’t be here all the time, you and Rocky could keep things running smooth. For a while, at least.”

  “Sure thing, Mason.” She picked up her tray. “Just remember, if you need a shoulder or an ear, I’m around. And I give damn good advice. Just ask my kids.”

  I laughed as I turned back to the task at hand. Not that I was getting anywhere but frustrated. Not for the first time, I silently cursed leukemia and the health care system.

  The door opened, and I glanced up out of habit and then did a double-take. I recognized the slim blonde who stood at the hostess stand, speaking to Niki.

  Damn, I’d forgotten this was Wednesday. And that she’d promised to come by today to check out the restaurant.

  Rilla Grant was more dressed up today. In the place of the denim skirt, she wore a simple black dress that hit her just above the knees. The short sleeves skimmed the tops of her pale arms, and the neckline came all the way to her collarbones. I guessed it was about a size too big, as it was nearly as shapeless as the shirt she’d had on last weekend.

  Niki pointed over to the bar, and Rilla’s eyes followed the gesture. I knew the moment she spotted me, because her lips tightened into a line and her gaze dropped to the floor. When she stepped around the podium, I saw that her legs were covered with sheer black stockings and her shoes were plain black pumps.

  Her hair was down today, though. No ponytail; instead, she’d caught the sides up, fastening them in the back with some sort of hair thingy. I didn’t remember what it was called, but Lu used to wear them every once in a while. Loose curls danced over her shoulders, making me think of Piper’s hair. It was almost exactly the same shade as my daughter’s.

  I watched her walk toward me, her face set and grim. I remembered her words about the bar, and I wondered if I should’ve just had Niki show her to a table in the lunch section. But it was too late now; she was almost to me.

  I fully intended to greet her civilly and suggest that we talk at a table, but when I spoke, completely different words came out.

  “Did you come from a funeral?”

  She frowned, her light brows drawing together. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re all in black. In the middle of the day. I thought maybe someone died.”

  Rilla looked down at herself as though surprised. “No. I didn’t come from a funeral. This is business attire. I’m here to discuss advertising and promotion, and I’m dressed as I should be when meeting a client.”

  I shook my head. “Darlin,’ you’re at a bar. Well—” I hurried to amend what I’d said before she turned tail and ran. “A restaurant. But a casual one. You could’ve worn jeans. I still would’ve taken you just as seriously. Maybe more so than looking like you’re playing dress up in your mama’s clothes.”

  Her mouth dropped open for a heartbeat before she shut it with a snap. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not playing dress-up. I’m sorry if you’re not used to dealing with people who know how to dress for the occasion, but I won’t apologize for doing what I know is right.” She glanced off to the side before she added, “Besides, I don’t own a pair of jeans. Even if I did, I wouldn’t have worn them here today. I understand you’re more used to women who dress in micro-mini skirts and tight ripped jeans—”

  “Whoa, whoa there, darlin.’ I’m not used to women who dress that way. What the hell gave you that idea?”

  Her face turned an intriguing shade of pink, and yep, there went the thumb to her lips. “I’m just making an assumption based on what people wear to bars like this. And please don’t swear. I don’t like it. A gentleman doesn’t swear in front of a lady.”

  Holy shit, was this chick from some kind of time warp? I tried to remember the last time a woman other than my mother had scolded me for cursing in front of her. I couldn’t. But here stood Miss Prim and Proper in my bar trying to tell me how to talk.

  Darcy rounded the corner in time to hear her last words. The waitress glanced from Rilla to me, and a slow grin grew on her face. “She’s right, Mason. A gentleman doesn’t use those kinds of words in mixed company. If you were my son, I’d slap you upside the head.”

  My eyes widened. This from Darcy, who could out-swear the worst of us when challenged? I opened my mouth to say as much, but she folded her arms ove
r her chest and stared me down, one eyebrow raised, until I finally shook my head and sighed.

  “Okay, fine. No swearing.” I ran my hand over my face. “Darcy, we’re going to sit at number twelve. Can you tell Niki?”

  “Sure.” She pivoted to face Rilla. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Darcy Hade, and I head up the wait staff here.”

  “Hi, Darcy, nice to meet you.” Rilla stuck out her hand. “Rilla Grant. I’m going to be handling advertising and promotion for The Road Block.”

  “No sh—no kidding.” Darcy didn’t even blink at her near-slip, and neither did Rilla, I noticed. “That’s cool.”

  “If I decide to hire you.” I felt the need to reassert my control of this situation.

  “Oh, you’re going to hire me.” Rilla turned her head and for the very first time, she smiled at me, full on, without a hint of shyness or self-doubt. My breath caught, and my stomach felt as though I’d just stepped off a rollercoaster. What the hell ...

  I didn’t have any interest in a girl like her. When I needed a woman, she had to understand that I wasn’t looking for more than a night. Not at this point in my life. Probably not ever again. This one didn’t fit the bill by a long shot, but my body was reacting like it’d just met the answer to my prayers. No way.

  I came out from behind the bar, and Rilla met me, pausing to see where I was leading her. Without really thinking about it, I pressed my hand to her lower back, just to guide her toward table twelve. She stiffened at my touch, but when I didn’t move my hand, I felt her draw in a deep breath before she started walking.

  I pulled out her chair for her and was rewarded with another slight blush and a murmured thanks. Going to the opposite side of the table, I spun the chair and straddled it, propping my elbows on the back and leaning my chin into my hands.

  “Okay, darlin,’ let’s talk numbers here. I looked at the information you gave me the other day, and I’ll be honest. I was impressed. You identified businesses that were very close to where I am, and you made interesting parallels. Your suggestions and ideas were things I wouldn’t have thought of doing. Offering regular lunch tables to the Women’s Club and the quilting circles, with special pricing? Brilliant. We’re getting them to identify The Road Block as place they’d want to eat lunch, even beyond the regular meetings.”