Ethan reached over the fence and rubbed the puppy’s ear. “He’s a cute one. What did you name him? He looks like a Butch to me.”
“Nope, I named the cutest puppy ever Krypton.”
“Krypton? The bad stuff Superman was allergic to?”
“No, that’s kryptonite. Krypton was the planet Superman came from.”
“Oh, yeah.” Ethan looked at Krypton, who looked steadily back, panting heavily, a strand of drool hanging from his bottom jaw. “Well, he’s a cute thing.”
“I just hope Dad thinks so.” She tugged on the lead. “Come on, Krypton, time to meet the old man.”
It took her ten minutes to get the puppy into the house. He had to smell and pee on every flower and blade of grass.
The drapes were pulled and Dad was stretched out in his chair. He saw her and started to rise. “Is it dinnertime already?”
She unhooked the lead and placed it on the table by the front door, then went to open the curtains, Krypton snuffling behind her.
“What’s that?”
Dad’s voice was sharp, so she met it with a sharp one of her own. “My new dog.”
“I’m allergic to dogs.”
“No, you’re not. That’s just something you say to keep from having one in the house.”
Dad pushed the ottoman out of the way and stood, hanging on the chair arm as he found his balance. He was still wearing a T-shirt and pajama bottoms. He squinted at the dog.
Krypton sat and stared back, his head tilted to one side as if trying his mind-control skills. Don’t even try, Susan thought. Dad’s not the kind to—
Dad’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute! That’s—that’s one of those dogs that carries a brandy flask!”
What is it with you men? She said primly, “They use St. Bernards as rescue dogs in the Alps.”
Dad eyed the dog with newfound interest. “Think we could teach your dog to carry a flask—”
“No.”
Dad put his hands on his hips, his old pajama bottoms crinkled and worn. She bet he had four new pairs in his dresser, all unopened. He refused to throw out any of his clothes until they were unwearable.
To Susan’s surprise, Dad reached forward and tentatively rubbed Krypton’s ear.
The dog just continued to sit, panting, looking as relaxed as if he’d been there his entire life. “I bet he would carry a flask if we asked him, wouldn’t you, boy?”
The puppy’s tongue lolled out one side and Susan would have sworn he grinned.
Susan had to smile. “Dad, I have to get to work. Do you think you could watch Krypton until I get back?”
Dad rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. What do I have to do?”
“Take him outside each hour, so he’ll learn to go there and not on my new floors.”
Dad looked leery. “Anything else?”
“Make sure there’s water in his new dish. I’ll feed him when I get home.”
“That’s it?”
“Don’t let him out without his lead. I don’t want him to run into traffic.”
Krypton yawned widely and lay down, as if to say running was completely out of the question.
Dad eyed him approvingly. “He doesn’t have much energy, does he?”
“Mitzi said Krypton was very laid back.”
“Seems to be.” Dad bent down and looked Krypton in the eye. “We need a better doggie name for you.”
“Dad, he’s my dog. You can’t just rename him.”
He blinked at her. “What? Oh, right. What did you call him again?”
“Krypton. After the planet where Superman was born.”
“I like Ricky better.”
“Well, he doesn’t. We had a long talk about it in the car and he agreed Krypton was a fine name.”
Dad chuckled. “He’s a talker, is he? Well, if he said that, then it must be so.”
“Thank you for watching him.”
“No problem! It’s good to be able to do something for you, for a change. Watching the pup will be fun. In fact, I was thinking of going down and playing some pool later on with the guys.” Dad tilted his head as he looked at Krypton. “He’s mighty big. Do you think he’ll fit in that basket on my bike? I’d like to take him to—”
“No. He’s not to go anywhere. You’re going to have to stay here.” At Dad’s crestfallen expression, she added, “When I get home from work, I’ll—”
Her cell phone rang and she pulled it from her purse. “Hello? Yes. Oh, hello! Ms. Woods, I appreciate your calling back. The reason I’m calling is— Yes, I understand, but— Oh! Sure. That would be perfect. In twenty minutes? Will that work? Good. See you there.” She hung up.
Dad was eyeing her with interest. “Work?”
“Yes. The organizer for this year’s First Baptist Bake-Off.” Susan almost rubbed her hands together in glee as she smiled at her father. “When I come back, I’ll drive you down to the hardware store and Krypton can meet your friends.”
Dad sighed, obviously reluctant. “Meanwhile, I have to stay here?”
“Krypton needs you.”
As if to affirm this, the dog’s tail thunked on the floor.
A reluctant smile touched Dad’s scruffy face. “I suppose we can take a nap together, if things get too slow.”
An unexpected sparkle of hope danced through her. Maybe this would help Dad stay sober. She gave him a quick kiss. “Thank you. I’ve gotta go. I’ll call in a while and see how you two are doing.”
“OK. Just don’t call too often. You’ll wake us.”
Susan called the office, but Mark was on the phone, so she left word with Ray that she was on her way to Micki & Maud’s to meet with Jessica Woods. Ray took the message, said he’d send Mark toward the diner as soon as he hung up.
Ray was a much better receptionist than Pat, who rarely answered and often hung up right in the middle of a sentence. At least that seemed to be working out. Best of all, Ray seemed happier. The poor guy must have been lonely down there in the lobby.
Susan parked in front of Micki & Maud’s and made her way inside. The small diner was bustling with noise and people, a decided change ever since Micki’s daughter had come all the way from New York to run the kitchen. Connie was a certified Cordon Bleu chef, and wow, had she added something to the menu.
Micki wasn’t always happy with Connie’s selections, but even she had to admit that the customers were pouring in. Susan had even seen people from some of the nearby towns make the trek to Glory just to try Connie’s legendary peach cobbler.
Susan thought Connie’s lively presence added just as much to the little diner as her extraordinary cooking skills. Though the diner was plain—
linoleum floors, a long laminate counter, a scattering of diner-style tables and chairs, and a line of booths along one wall—it bustled with Connie’s creative energy.
“Hi, Connie!” Susan sat at the long counter. “Coffee, please, with cream and two sugars.”
“French vanilla, hazelnut, or Micki’s Original?” Connie flashed a wicked grin and brushed a dark brown curl from her forehead with the back of one hand. “Or a latte double whip?”
Susan groaned. “Don’t tempt me. I’ve put on ten pounds since you came to town. Aren’t you due for a vacation soon?”
“And leave Mom to ruin the place?”
“Ruin?” Micki, white haired and sharp as a tack, came breezing through the kitchen door, picked up a pan of dirty silverware, and headed back. “I ran this place just fine before you came, and I’ll run it just fine without you, missy!”
Connie chuckled. “Mom’s mad because the Asheville paper did an article on my peach cobber.”
Susan’s smile slipped. “The Citizen-Times came here?”
“Yeah, word’s getting out. Pretty soon we’re going to have to expand this place.”
“No, we’re not!” Micki stuck her head through the window separating the kitchen from the diner. “Where would we go?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Asheville.”
Micki’s gaze narrowed. “Micki & Maud’s started in Glory and it’ll stay in Glory!” She turned back into the kitchen.
“Mom doesn’t like that idea,” Connie said.
“I can tell. I thought you two were getting along better.”
“We were. She was starting to embrace some of the newer menu items, I agreed to let her keep making Micki’s Meat Loaf Madness, and it was working out. But then the paper came and didn’t ask Mom one single question—only me. Made her mad.” Connie frowned. “The reporter did sort of cut her out.”
“That must have hurt.”
Connie nodded. “She’s put her all into this restaurant. I don’t know what—”
The door opened and René walked in looking fine in his fireman uniform. The deep blue complemented his mahogany skin, his black hair was close cut and curly, and his eyes were the most gorgeous green.
He brightened when he saw Susan and ambled over to the counter. “I should warn you, ma chère, I’m feeling lucky this week.”
Susan grinned. “You say that every week. And every week I prove you wrong.”
He chuckled. “Not this week. You’ll see.”
Connie leaned on the counter and smiled. “René, I hear tell that every time you go to Susan’s poker game, you lose your shirt.” Her gaze flickered across him. “Rumors like that make me want to take up poker.”
His smile widened as his gaze took in Connie’s pixielike charms. “Not every time. But close!”
Susan sipped her coffee. “René can’t bluff worth a bag of beans.”
“I can too,” he protested. He caught Susan’s
teasing gaze and laughed, a warm, delicious sound that rolled as melodiously as his Cajun accent. “Susan Collins, bring your money to the table. Let Uncle René relieve you of that burden.” He winked at her and headed to a small table in the back, where Steve Jenkins sat waiting.
Connie watched him go, admiration in her brown eyes. “If I ever burst into flames, send that man to rescue me. That Cajun accent … ooh la la. It’s sad that Katrina hit New Orleans, but it washed one of the loveliest fish upstream to Glory.”
“He still misses it, but says there’s nothing left for him to go home to.” Susan sipped her coffee. “I wonder if there’s more to the story.”
Connie’s gaze sharpened. “A woman, perhaps?”
Susan shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“All I know is that I need to learn to play poker. It’s not fair that every eligible man within twenty-five miles is in your garage, rain or shine, come Wednesday night.”
Right. They came to her house, but when the game was over, they all went home. It suddenly struck Susan that being surrounded by eligible men without having one to call her own was a very sorry state of affairs. Connie had already dated at least two of them and was working on a third.
But then, Connie knew how to flirt. Maybe she’d share some of her mad flirting skills?
The door opened again and Mark came in. Dressed in his usual khakis, blue button-down shirt, and loafers, he could have been a model for an L.L. Bean catalog. That heady combination of intelligence and rugged sexiness turned Susan to mush.
Connie apparently agreed. She leaned across the counter to say in a low voice, “If René doesn’t come around soon, I just may have a shot at your boss man.”
“He’s not your type.”
“I don’t have a type. I just like men.” Connie eyed Mark like she was judging a side of beef. “I’d like to have me my own accountant. I’d put him to very good use.”
“Oh? And what would you do with him?”
Connie’s eyes twinkled. “I’d make him do my taxes in the nude.”
Susan choked on a laugh just as Mark reached the counter.
Connie grinned at him. “Hello, handsome. What can I get you?”
He slid onto the stool next to Susan, and an instant hum of low excitement began to warm her stomach.
Mark nodded to Connie. “I’ll have a cup of coffee, please.”
Connie tucked a curl behind one ear and dimpled cutely. “No latte? Espresso? Double-whip mocha?”
“Just plain coffee.”
Connie glanced at him from under her lashes as she handed him a cup. “You’re one of those guys who like things straight up, aren’t you?”
Susan had to bite her tongue at Connie’s teasing tone.
Mark chuckled. “You could say that.”
Connie started to answer, but her mother rang the bell in the kitchen window. “Order up!”
“That’s my cue.” She winked at Mark. “I’ll be back.”
Mark grinned, which made Susan stiffen. Connie needed a bucket of cold water to calm her overactive libido.
Mark mixed creamer in his coffee. “Where’s this woman we’re to meet?”
“We still have ten minutes. She’s coming from Asheville.”
He drank some of his coffee. “How did the animal shelter interview go?”
“Great!” She hurried to change the subject. “About this interview—”
“And?” His blue eyes quizzed her. “Did you get duped into taking home a puppy?”
“Nope.” Though Krypton might be a puppy in looks, he most definitely was not a puppy in weight.
Mark regarded her steadily. “Really? Because someone might have called the newspaper office and left a message about the free vet checkup that came with your puppy adoption.”
Damn Mitzi Ketteringer and her frickin’ efficiency.
Susan smiled weakly. “Busted.”
“Hey, I like dogs. Used to have two.”
“What happened to them?”
“I lost them in the divorce. Even when you’re glad the divorce is happening, you lose things you never expect to. Dogs. My favorite easy chair. The coffeepot that made the perfect coffee.” He looked down at the cup in his hand. “Although this is pretty close, so I shouldn’t complain.”
“I don’t know much about divorce. I’ve broken up with a man or two in my time, and I dated a guy in Asheville for a long while, but—” She shrugged. “He owned a grocery store.”
“You dumped him?”
“After I caught him in bed with one of his cashiers.”
“Ouch.”
“No. I could have married him and then found him in bed with a cashier.”
Mark’s gaze darkened. “You’re right. It’s easier before you get married. I was a fool. I married a woman who gave out every signal that she was irresponsible, immature, and wild.”
“You thought you could tame her?”
“I thought I could at least housebreak her.” He chuckled, but there was a hint of sadness to it. “You can’t make another person change.”
Susan sighed. “No, you can’t.”
He sipped his coffee. “What kind of puppy did you get?”
“A St. Bernard.”
He choked on his coffee. “No!”
“I know, I know. You warned me. But for some reason, the phrase I was wrong gives me the hives.”
“I’ve noticed. I have the same allergy.”
“Maybe it’s contagious.”
He laughed. “Maybe.”
She shifted on her seat, aware that his broad shoulder was brushing hers. “I suppose I should give you the scoop on Jessica while we’re waiting.”
“Shoot.”
“She’s a counselor in Asheville, but she takes her grandmother to church here every Sunday and somehow got roped into being the chairwoman for the Bake-Off this year.”
“Why did you arrange to meet her here?”
“No one can keep a secret in the presence of Connie’s incredible peach cobbler.”
He quirked a brow. “Is that going on the newspaper’s expense account?”
“Of course.” Susan flipped open her purse and pulled out a folder and placed it on the counter. “The background information on Jessica Woods is the usual—where she’s from, about her job as a counselor, all of that stuff. And here”—she pulled out another, far thic
ker folder—“is the information on the Bake-Off, along with past articles we’ve done.”
He looked through the folders, amazed at the information she’d collected. Good God, all of this for a church bake-off?
Susan flipped through her notepad. “I have several questions already. If you think of any as we go, feel free to ask. It’s important that we really listen to what Jessica says and how she says it. Sometimes you get more clues from the how than you might think.”
Mark nodded. She was absolutely fascinating when she was serious.
Her brows knit. “Traditionally, someone from the church board fills the position of chairperson, yet this year they called in Jessica. She’s really nice and I know she’ll do a good job, but why didn’t they use one of their regular organizers?” She frowned. “It’s as if I keep finding more pieces to the puzzle instead of matching the ones I already have.”
“I don’t see why—”
The door opened and a tall, elegant blonde walked in, her hair pinned in a bun, her business suit appealingly short-skirted. She drew the eye of every man in the room—except Mark.
“That’s her,” Susan said under her breath, hopping off her stool and heading for the blonde.
While Jessica was certainly attractive, all Mark could think about was how Susan’s ass looked in her snug jeans as she crossed the diner.
Susan brought Jessica over and introduced him, and the three of them found a booth where they could discuss the Bake-Off. Over the course of the next hour, Mark was given an entirely new picture of Miss Susan Collins. Even he, a complete novice, could recognize good investigative work when he saw it, and she’d done her homework well. She knew the history of the event, the players involved, and had already seen the possibility for a number of stories.
Jessica Woods was hopelessly outmatched. She was obviously trying not to say anything controversial, thereby proving Susan’s theory.
When Susan’s insistent questioning shook Jessica until she accidentally let slip that she’d undertaken the chore of chairperson only because her grandmother had forced her into it, things got a bit tense.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t answer all these questions. I’m the chairperson for this one year and—I don’t know anything about past years.”
Lois Lane Tells All Page 15
