“Yeah, join us,” Porter said.
“No, thanks,” Marcus said, less than thrilled at the idea of being the fifth wheel to their foursome…again. “And do you think the two of you could get rid of those pansy ringtones?” He gestured to the office door. “Maybe we should take the day off to look for the balls both of you seem to have misplaced.”
Porter grinned. “One of these days, brother, you’re going to meet someone who will inspire their own ringtone.”
“Someone you’ll be happy to hand your stones to,” Kendall added.
“Right,” Marcus said dryly. “That’s never gonna happen.”
Porter looked at Kendall. “Famous last words.”
Kendall made a rueful noise. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
“Can we get back to work?” Marcus barked.
Porter scoffed. “Lighten up, Marcus. We’ve made tremendous progress in the past few months. We can afford to relax a little.”
“I have to agree,” Kendall said. “The bank will be open any day now, that’s huge. Dr. Devine’s laboratory is underway, and he’s been written up in at least six national newspapers. The General Store has expanded, and now we have a pharmacy in the clinic. Our mulching business has doubled again in the last six months. The recycling plant is hiring. We’re breaking ground on the hotel today. We have a new fire truck and fire hydrants on the sidewalks my beautiful fiancée built for us.” He smiled a proud smile. “And our population is growing every month.” He pointed to the black chalk board next to the door exhibiting the number “845.”
“The hair salon is busy, too,” Porter added.
“Well, that’s a huge relief,” Marcus said dryly.
“I’m just saying that at this rate, the strip of retail stores we built will be filled in no time.”
“We have business applications now for a tax preparer, a real estate broker, a shoe store and a bakery,” Kendall added.
“Any applications for a Justice of the Peace?” Marcus asked. “Because we have to have a peace-keeper in residence before the deadline.”
“No,” Kendall said. “But Regina Watts, the recruiter who’s been helping us get word out about open positions, is working on it. The problem is, the salary we’re offering is a tad less than what the market is paying.”
“How much less?”
“The average salary for a Justice of the Peace is about fifty grand…and our budget only allows for fifty dollars. Regina’s hoping to find an attorney who’s retired…or independently wealthy.”
Marcus sighed. “Keep me posted.” He looked at Porter. “When will the church be completed?”
Porter squirmed in his chair. “The basement is finished. The building sections are supposed to be here by the end of next week.”
Kendall clapped Porter on the shoulder. “Does that mean a proposal is on the horizon?”
Porter frowned. “Nikki and I aren’t in a hurry to tie the knot.”
“Really? So you don’t mind if I mention it tonight at dinner?”
Porter’s frown deepened. “I’d rather you didn’t. Have you and Amy set a date?”
“Not yet,” Kendall admitted. “But she knows how I feel.”
Marcus grunted. “The whole damn town knows how you two fools feel—you spray-painted it all over our water tower!”
Kendall shrugged. “I couldn’t let Porter show me up. But at least I’ve already asked and gotten my answer.”
“I’m not worried about Nikki saying yes,” Porter said with a nervous little laugh.
“Then why haven’t you broken ground on your house?” Kendall asked.
“Why haven’t you broken ground on your house?” Porter retorted.
“Girls,” Marcus snapped, “can you save the chit-chat for later?”
Porter straightened in his chair. “There are plenty of other couples waiting for the church to be built. The place will be stampeded.”
“Then I guess you’d better be finding us a minister, too,” Marcus said to Porter.
Porter sighed. “Okay.”
Kendall smiled into his hand. “Before the marriages get underway, we’re going to have to turn one wing of the boardinghouse into a family wing. And we need someone dedicated to managing the house. It’s getting too much for the volunteers to keep up with.”
Marcus nodded and made a note of it on his list. “What else?”
“The tourist traffic to see the covered bridge has ballooned,” Kendall added. “I see more strangers in town every day.”
“Which brings us to our most pressing problem,” Porter piped up. “The diner. We aren’t prepared to feed tourists. Or the crowd we’re expecting for Homecoming weekend.”
“Right,” Kendall said. “Plus the Department of Energy representative will be back any day for another inspection, and we need to pass with flying colors. If we could make sure there’s no food fight in the diner this time, that would be a plus.”
Porter laughed. “We’ll have to keep Colonel Molly and Rachel Hutchins at opposite ends of town.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Kendall said. “I noticed Rachel’s been hanging around Devine’s laboratory quite a bit since he moved in.”
“Much to Dr. Cross’s consternation,” Porter added.
Marcus frowned. “What does one thing have to do with the other?”
“Didn’t you know?” Porter said. “Dr. Cross has a huge crush on Rachel.”
“But he’s got to be a foot shorter than her,” Marcus said.
Kendall splayed his hands. “The man is ambitious.”
Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. Now even he was being pulled into the soap opera the town had become. “Can we get back to the D.O.E. report? All our recycling initiatives passed on the last inspection except for the dining hall. But since then, we converted it into a bona fide restaurant, and we’re recycling ninety-five percent of the restaurant waste.”
“But the food is still terrible,” Kendall said, “and the service is lousy. They can’t handle a big crowd. Colonel Molly is impossible to work with—the waitresses don’t last long.”
Marcus frowned. “I’ll talk to her.”
“The diner stands to make or lose a lot of money as the town grows,” Porter pressed. “It needs your business know-how behind it.”
Marcus bit down on his cheek. “Let’s keep our eye on the goals for the federal deadline. In addition to a Justice of the Peace, we need to show we have adequate emergency response systems in place—fire and rescue. We have to break ground on a housing development, a jail, a library and city hall before cold weather sets in. Then we have to prepare for elections and buy polling machines.”
“We’re on track for all of those things to happen,” Kendall said calmly, making a steeple of his hands.
“But we can’t afford for anything to go wrong at this point,” Marcus said. “An explosion at the laboratory, or the discovery of something toxic where we want to put the housing development, would sink us.”
“We know, Marcus,” Kendall said. “But our first priority is still the diner. It’s the key to making everything else we have planned go smoothly.”
“So I hope you’re ready to do battle with Molly,” Porter said.
Marcus frowned. “I can handle her.” But he’d have to tread carefully—they were indebted to the retired U.S. Army colonel. She’d fed their original crew of two hundred and fifty men three meals a day for the first several months single-handedly.
Those were the days, Marcus thought. Before the women from Broadway, Michigan, had arrived, bringing with them their Northern attitudes and their endless high-maintenance demands—not the least of which was insisting the town charter include provisions that key positions be held by females, including the manager of the diner. The next thing he knew, they’d be unionized.
“Speaking of the diner,” Kendall said, “don’t forget we have a meeting this afternoon with Rachel for an update on plans for Homecoming weekend.” He arched an eyeb
row at Marcus. “I understand she has lots of parties planned, so you’d better line up a date.”
“I already have a date,” Marcus said.
“Who?” they demanded.
“Mother,” he said. “Remember, she’s moving back Homecoming weekend.”
“How could we forget?” Porter asked. “She only reminds us every time she calls.”
“Amy is taking Tony down to help Mom pack a few of the heavier things,” Kendall said.
Marcus nodded. Kendall’s son was an Armstrong, through and through. Marcus loved the boy like he was his own. The thought of having a son sent a shot of longing through his loins…until he thought about having to deal with the child’s mother. Women were just too much trouble.
To confirm his point, Porter’s and Kendall’s phones started singing with their telltale “baby” ringtones.
“Are we finished?” Porter asked.
“Oh, yeah, you’re both finished, all right,” Marcus muttered as he headed toward the door. He planned to spend the morning at the recycling plant, then fish over his lunch hour…and count his lucky stars he wasn’t tied to a pesky, demanding woman.
3
“Thank you for the clothes, Mother,” Alicia said as she exited Candace’s house wearing and carrying a suitcase full of blue jeans, T-shirts and other clothes that were, in her opinion, too flashy for her mother to be wearing. Since leaving New York, her mother’s style had changed dramatically…presumably to appeal to her much-younger boyfriend, Bo.
What her mother saw in the bonehead of a redneck, Alicia couldn’t fathom. She supposed it had something to do with his sexual prowess, but she didn’t want to go there in her mind.
“And for the car,” Alicia added, then came up short in the driveway at the sight of an old blue pickup truck sitting next to the rental car she’d offered to trade for her mother’s sedan so she wouldn’t roll into Sweetness looking like a temporary visitor.
“Oh, I meant to tell you,” Candace said, her voice animated. “While you were packing, Bo said it would be better if he took my car to work and you took his truck to the mountains. It has four-wheel drive.”
Alicia tucked her tongue into her cheek—she supposed he’d meant it as a generous gesture.
She glanced up at her mother and felt a pang of sympathy. Candace Randall had met her idiot boyfriend in Atlantic City. Still slim and beautiful with creamy skin and dark hair, Candace was hanging on to her youth with both hands. She was obsessed with her exercise and beauty routine, constantly fussed with her hair and makeup. What little time Alicia had spent with her mother and Bo, she was glad she’d opted to stay at a hotel because the man—and she used that term loosely—fed Candace’s insecurities with sly, denigrating remarks.
It left Alicia feeling sick at her stomach to see her mother so desperate for affection. Worse, her mother seemed at loose ends, playing housewife in a small rental house in a shabby subdivision while her sweaty boyfriend worked landscaping jobs—a skill he did not put to use around their own residence, Alicia noted wryly, stepping over tall weeds in the seams of the concrete driveway.
And Jesus, it was hot down here. The temperature was at least a hundred degrees, and the air was as thick as cream. The sweet-scented breeze her mother had promised seemed to have died, along with the luster of her whirlwind romance.
“That was nice of him,” Alicia said, then took the keys her mother offered. She’d never been behind the wheel of a truck before, but it couldn’t be much different than any other vehicle. And maybe a pickup would help her blend in better once she arrived in Sweetness. She opened the passenger door and stepped back as a wave of pent-up heat rolled out.
“So you’re doing a story on Sweetness?” Candace asked.
“Maybe,” Alicia said vaguely as she lifted her suitcase into the seat. The cab of the truck was an oven. “I won’t know until I get there.”
“Since you borrowed my wardrobe, I assume this is for your Undercover Feminist column? Is something strange going on up there?”
“That’s what I intend to find out,” Alicia said mildly.
“I remember reading something in the newspaper about the town building a covered bridge. It sounds like a very pretty place,” her mother said, her voice wistful.
Alicia closed the passenger door, then reached forward to squeeze her mother’s hand. “Are you okay, Mom?”
Candace hesitated, her dark eyes troubled. Standing in the unforgiving sun, she suddenly looked her age. She glanced back at the small house in the little neighborhood, a far cry from the posh home she’d once shared with Alicia’s father. Then Candace conjured up a smile. “I’m fine.” She pulled something from the pocket of her worn jeans and extended it to Alicia. “I made something for you.”
Alicia took the item, a bracelet made of braided leather and silver wire, with a metal charm in the shape of a blossom. “You made this?” Her mother had always admired and acquired beautiful jewelry, but Alicia had never known her to be artsy.
Candace nodded and helped her fasten the clasp. “The charm is a magnolia blossom. It stands for beauty and strength, fitting for my successful daughter.”
Alicia was touched. “It’s lovely. Thank you.” She admired it, then looked up. “Mom, are you sure everything is okay?”
“I’m sure.” Candace wet her lips. “Have you talked to your father recently?”
Alicia hesitated. Was her mother in a funk because she’d heard about the upcoming nuptials? “He sent me an email the other day.”
“I heard he’s getting married again.”
Bingo. “So it would seem.”
“I’m sure the girl is your age,” Candace said, studying her manicure.
“Younger,” Alicia confirmed. “Only a young woman could put up with Robert, you know that.”
“You shouldn’t call your father by his first name,” her mother chastised. “Are you going to the wedding?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought.” Alicia pushed aside the hurt she felt for her mother and smiled. “And you shouldn’t either.”
Candace’s smile was slower, fainter. “You’re right, of course. You’re always right. Drive safely, my dear.”
Alicia clasped her in a hug. “I’ll call you after I get there and get my bearings—who knows, I might be back tomorrow.”
Her mother brightened. “Then maybe we could dress up and go into the city, have a nice dinner.”
So her mother was well aware she’d taken a big step down in her expectations by shacking up with Bo. And she was obviously still pining for her ex-husband, who had married four times since their divorce twenty-five years ago.
Alicia wondered how it was possible to love someone for so long, although she conceded that her parents hadn’t dealt with their feelings at the time of their split. They’d lost a baby to miscarriage, her mother had told her later, when she was old enough to understand. Candace hadn’t been able to shake herself from the melancholy, didn’t want to be a wife anymore…and hadn’t been too keen on mothering Alicia either. Now in the afternoon of her life, she was nursing regrets.
All the more reason to avoid the complications of a relationship in the first place, Alicia thought.
“Going into the city would be nice,” she agreed, then gestured to the truck. “I’d better get on the road.” She shouldered her purse, opened the driver’s-side door of the pickup truck and pondered how to get up into the stained cloth seat.
“There’s a handle,” her mother said, pointing to the top of the door frame, then down to the bottom. “And you can step on the running board.”
Alicia reached for the handle and put her foot on what she assumed was the running board, then swung awkwardly into the seat. She crinkled her nose—the interior was filthy and smelled like cigarettes. She’d definitely be turning on the air conditioner full blast.
“The air conditioner is on the fritz,” her mother said. “Sorry.”
Alicia gave her a tight smile. “I’ll roll
down the windows.”
“Only the passenger window goes down,” her mother said, then winced. “Halfway.”
Perfect. “Anything else I should know?”
“Um…Bo said you might need some gas.”
Alicia reconsidered her rental car still sitting in the driveway, with a working air-conditioner and a full tank of gas. But the last thing she wanted to do was drive into the small town and advertise the fact that she was a reporter on an expense account. Besides, this was an adventure, she reminded herself.
So she closed the door and after wrestling with the seat belt and the manual seat adjustment, she started the engine. Bo’s muffler, it seemed, was also questionable. Alicia waved to her mother and pulled out of the driveway.
By the time she reached a convenience store with a gas pump, her thin T-shirt was already stuck to her back. The heat was unbearable—she wasn’t sure how she was going to make the four-hour drive without some kind of ventilation.
Inside the convenience store, she was startled to realize men were openly ogling her legs. She already felt self-conscious in the short denim skirt and white sandals her mother had lent her, and the attention was unsettling. She usually didn’t garner a second glance in Manhattan, where she blended in with all the other thirtysomething women who wore dark business suits and blister-inducing stilettos. Besides, all the men in New York had their faces buried in the financial pages.
Were Southern men really as sexually assertive as their stereotype? The intense gaze of Marcus Armstrong rose in her mind, stirring unbidden desire in her stomach. She squashed the sensation, attributing it to feeling like a fish out of water.
Pulling her mind back to her objective, Alicia removed a large bottle of water from the refrigerator case. She was hungry, but the breakfast sandwiches were wrapped in grease-soaked paper, so she passed. The other offerings were pastries and packaged fare with names like “honey claw” and “cow pie,” none of which she found appetizing. If she were in Manhattan, she’d be having an egg-and-avocado sandwich on sunflower-seed bread and the world’s best coffee from Alfred’s café a block away from her office building.
She was definitely a city girl, she mused. If Sweetness was more primitive than this area, she hoped her visit would be of short duration.
Baby, Don't Go Page 2
