“Hello? Alicia?”
“Yeah, Mom, it’s me. I’m just checking in. Looks like I’ll be staying here for a while.”
“Oh? I’m disappointed you won’t be coming back right away. Is Sweetness as pretty as it sounds?”
Alicia absorbed the calming view and exhaled. “Yes,” she admitted. “Very pretty. But it’s also very humid, and there are lots of bugs.”
Candace laughed. “You always hated insects of any kind. Bo asked me to ask if his truck is okay.”
Alicia thought of the monogrammed panties that had rolled out from under the front seat. “The truck is fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Is everything okay there?”
“Sure,” her mother said cheerfully.
Too cheerfully.
“So, have you met any mountain men?” Candace asked, her voice breezy.
“My boss,” Alicia said idly. “I took a job in a diner to pass the time.”
“A diner? Are they aware of your little problem with pyromania?”
Alicia frowned. “I don’t set fires…not on purpose, anyway.”
“Is he cute, your boss?”
Alicia shifted her gaze to the diner across the street just as Marcus Armstrong himself emerged to lock the door behind him. Unbidden, her vital signs increased.
“No.” No one could accuse the man of being cute. After spending a couple of hours with him and the handful of waitresses he’d hired back, listening to his expectations for the eatery, she’d developed a list of adjectives for him—tough, opinionated and unyielding. But not cute.
“Oh, well,” Candace said, “there are other more important qualities in a partner.”
She turned her back to the window. “Mom, I’m not looking for a partner.”
“I know.”
Candace sighed and Alicia realized her mother was talking to herself as much as to her daughter, perhaps coming around to the belief that her “cute” boyfriend wasn’t all he was cracked up to be.
“How do you like your bracelet?” her mother asked.
Guilt seized Alicia. She touched her bare wrist where her mother had fastened the bracelet that morning. Sometime during the day she’d lost it, but hadn’t noticed until she’d undressed to take a shower.
“I love it,” she said, which was the truth. She only hoped it was in the pickup truck somewhere.
“Good,” Candace said, her voice infused with pleasure. “I’m asking because I’m thinking about starting my own jewelry business.”
“That’s terrific, Mom. You’d be good at it, and you have great contacts in retail.” She wet her lips. “What does Bo think about the idea?”
“I haven’t mentioned it to him yet.”
“Maybe it’s something you should keep to yourself for now,” Alicia suggested. “Until you work out all the details.” Or else Bo would probably plant doubts in her mother’s head. She hated that Candace was so easily influenced by men who didn’t have her best interests in mind.
“Maybe you’re right,” Candace agreed, her voice distant.
Alicia’s phone beeped. She glanced at the screen to see her boss, Nina, was calling. “Mom, I need to take another call. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Of course, dear. Good luck with your story.”
“Thanks, Mom. Goodbye.” Alicia disconnected the call. Worry over her mother niggled her stomach, but she’d learned long ago not to get involved in her parents’ relationships. Eventually, the players would change anyway.
She connected the second call. “Hi, Nina.”
“Just checking in to make sure you weren’t kidnapped…or worse.”
“No,” Alicia said with a laugh. “I got a job working in the town diner. I figure I can talk to a lot of people that way.”
“You’re a waitress?”
“I’m the manager and, for now, the cook.”
“You? The woman who set the microwave on fire in the break room?”
Alicia frowned. “That was a faulty bag of popcorn.”
“Right. Did you give your real name?”
“Of course not.”
“Won’t that be a problem when you provide your social security number?”
“I’ll figure out something to stall the paperwork.”
“No doubt. Have you met any of the Neanderthals?”
“I’m working for the head Neanderthal, Marcus Armstrong.”
“You’re kidding.”
“He’s overhauling the diner for an inspection from the Department of Energy. It has something to do with recycling and keeping their federal grant.”
“And is he horrid?”
Alicia turned back to the window and glanced down into the street. Marcus Armstrong was still there, talking to a young boy in a soccer uniform, and the man was…smiling? “He’s…hard to read,” she murmured.
“What’s your general feel of the place?”
She looked back to horizon. “I know I could never live here.”
“Are the conditions primitive?”
“There aren’t many luxuries for sure. But it’s just so isolated. The town is surrounded by mountains. It feels like civilization is far, far away.”
“So do you think something interesting is going on there?”
Alicia turned and picked up a sheet of paper that listed the resident rules, chief of which was no overnight male guests. Protective…or controlling? “Yes, I’m just not sure what to make of it all yet.”
“Okay, keep me posted.”
Alicia disconnected the call and looked back to the street. Marcus Armstrong was alone again, hands jammed on his hips, that perennial frown back on his face. He glanced up and down the sidewalks, as if to assess the town and its people. Tall and authoritative, he looked every inch the head of the community…a throwback to an earlier time, when a whole town could be held in one person’s hands.
But what exactly did he have in mind for this one?
He looked up in the direction of her window and Alicia shrank back, her heart pounding. Even at this distance, he had the ability to make her feel as if he could see through her, as if he knew she was here under false pretenses. She blamed it on his mesmerizing blue eyes.
When she chanced another glance, he was walking away, his head and shoulders back. She watched his big body until he was out of sight.
Alicia bit into her lip. Marcus Armstrong seemed like an intelligent man. She was going to be disappointed if she discovered he was unstable, or some kind of religious zealot. The town didn’t have a church, but she’d noticed postings downstairs about “services” on Sunday in the great room. While she wasn’t a particularly religious person, she planned to attend to make sure nothing kinky was going on.
Because something strange had to be going on. A town where the women and children lived in a boardinghouse and the men lived in barracks and a water tower supplied hot showers and the General Store sold live bait and haircuts were five dollars and everyone honked and waved…well, that was just…crazy.
Wasn’t it?
Alicia sat down and booted up her notebook computer, then opened a new file and began to type.
Undercover Feminist by Alicia Randall
A little more than a year ago, the Armstrong brothers, ex-military men, banded together to rebuild their hometown in the North Georgia mountains. Sweetness, Georgia was a tiny map dot decimated by an F-5 tornado just over ten years ago. The Armstrongs secured a federal grant to rebuild the town on the platform of recycling and alternative energy and set about reconstructing Sweetness. But to attract women to their fledgling remote town, they took the novel approach of placing an ad in a newspaper in economically depressed Broadway, Michigan, for women with a “pioneering spirit” looking for a fresh start. The ad promised lots of single, Southern men, although it wasn’t clear what was expected of the women in return. I decided to go undercover in Sweetness to see how the matchmaking and town-building experiment is working.
When I drove into town in a borrowed pickup truck, I felt as if I’d gone bac
k in time fifty years. A covered bridge over a picturesque stream welcomed me to the outskirts of town. A water tower straight out of the movies stands watch over visitors driving in. The drivers of cars I passed honked and waved, as if we were old friends. In my mind I could see someone phoning someone else that they’d just spotted a stranger driving into town and to pass the word.
At first glance, the town looks like a movie set. The hair salon, for example, is named simply Hair Salon. But at second glance…well, the town still seems to be out of some zombie movie plot because I soon learned that the men and women don’t live together. The women and children live in a boardinghouse, and the men live in a barracks reminiscent of a military facility. And strangely, no one seems to think the living arrangements are odd. Methinks I will stay awhile and investigate further.
I walked into the town diner carrying a help-wanted sign and walked out with a job as manager. I figure it will give me the opportunity to meet some of the women who came to Sweetness in search of a new life, and find out if the experience has been all they expected it to be. The bonus? My boss is one of the Armstrong brothers—the eldest, in fact, and he appears to be the de facto leader of the community. He’s an imposing figure, single and about as approachable as a grizzly bear. I’ve been told that “he doesn’t like women.” (Although he’s infinitely straight.) In between slinging hash and dishing up apple pie, I hope to gain some insight into what he has in mind for the town, and what part he sees women playing in the future of Sweetness. Stay tuned…
8
“Still waiting on bacon!” Sheila shouted toward the grill.
Marcus flagged that he’d heard her, then turned a half dozen fried eggs and glanced around for Alicia Waters, his alleged cook. She stood at the opposite end of the counter chatting with Susan Sosa. Irritation ballooned in his chest—the woman seemed more interested in talking to the customers than tending the grill. Considering that she’d already caught a stack of menus on fire this morning, he was inclined to let her float around chinwagging, but his skills gained in KP duty in the Marines were limited, and he was falling more and more behind.
“Alicia!”
She looked over and he bit down on the inside of his cheek. When would those enormous brown eyes stop sending a jolt through his system?
“I could use some help over here.”
She held up a well-manicured finger. “I’ll be right there.”
A waitress named Terri scooted past him with a coffeepot. “Are the biscuits done?”
Marcus peeked into the oven to find it empty. Damn—he’d forgotten to put them in. “Not yet.”
A third waitress named Gina walked up and extended a half-empty plate of food. “The guy at table six said his steak was too well-done—he ordered medium rare.”
Marcus noticed it hadn’t kept the man from eating half of the T-bone. He tamped down his frustration and glanced toward the cook-wanted sign in the window. “Gina, can you cook?”
“No,” she said definitively.
“Do you know anyone who can?”
“No.”
He frowned. “Somebody in this town must cook—what does everyone eat at the boardinghouse?”
“Mac and cheese, frozen dinners, pizza and Crock-Pot stuff.” She gestured to the crowded tables. “Why do you think this place is so packed, especially now that everyone knows it’s under new management?”
He grunted.
“Still waiting for bacon!” Sheila called.
“And the biscuits,” Terri added.
“What about the steak?” Gina asked.
He massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’ll fix another one.” This time, he’d leave it bleeding.
He sent another glance toward Alicia, only to find the woman bent over retrieving a pen from the floor. He hardened his jaw. She wore a pair of red shorts that were too short, in his opinion, no matter how nicely they hugged her derriere. And who wore high-heeled sandals to work in? Sure, they made her long legs look great, but they weren’t very practical. And thank goodness the apron she wore covered the T-shirt that was tight enough to remind him of the display he’d seen yesterday at the creek.
As if he needed a reminder.
The images had kept him awake most of the night, grinding his teeth against his body’s reaction.
She straightened, then headed his way, tucking her notebook into her pocket. Her hair was still in those silly pigtails. She walked up, then wrinkled her nose. “Something’s burning.”
He glanced down at the eggs and at the sight of the blackened edges, muttered a curse before scraping them all into the food waste canister.
“Someone’s not paying attention,” Alicia teased.
The words leapt to his tongue that his attention span had been fine before she came to town and started taking baths in the wild and wearing short shorts. Marcus closed his eyes. His lack of sleep—also her fault—was wearing on him. He opened his eyes, but averted his gaze.
“I need another dozen eggs from the kitchen, plus a T-bone steak and a tray of biscuits.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
He tucked his tongue into his cheek. His workers called him “boss” all the time…so why did it sound mocking coming out of her curvy red mouth? He tried to force his mind away from the woman and concentrate on the orders that were coming in. The three waitresses were tossing around slang he could barely decipher.
“Flop two, over easy.” (Two fried eggs, runny yoke.)
“Heart attack on a rack.” (Biscuits and sausage gravy.)
“Two pigs in a blanket.” (Sausage links wrapped in pancakes.)
He was on the verge of throwing up his hands when Alicia returned with the promised food from the kitchen. She glanced over the food orders written on tickets posted over the grill. “I’ll do the eggs and pancakes if you’ll take care of the meat.”
Her closeness unnerved him.
She looked supremely annoyed. “Do you want my help or not?”
He frowned. “Okay.”
She stepped next to him and, bristling, they worked practically hip to hip. Marcus was aware of every inch of her…and how was it possible that her light, sweet perfume cut through the strong odors of the food cooking?
He’d never thought of arms as sexy, but hers were—long and shapely, ending in pretty hands that seemed better suited to office work than the harsh environment of handling food and detergents. Her slim bare wrist reminded him of the bracelet he’d found in the creek, the one he was still trying to find a way to return to her without raising a red flag.
She sighed. “What?”
He turned his head, a mistake because this close, her big brown eyes were so deep, he almost tripped. “What?”
Alicia frowned. “You’re staring at my hands, so I’m obviously doing something wrong.”
He scrambled for an excuse. “You shouldn’t turn pancakes more than once.”
Her shoulders went back. “Really? Is that another town rule? I’ve never seen so many rules in my life as this place has.”
He frowned. “No, it’s not a rule. It’s just something my mother always said.”
Her shoulders softened. “Oh.” She turned back to the grill and loosened the cooking eggs with a metal utensil. “Is your mother still living?”
“Yes.”
“Does she live here?”
“No.”
Alicia gave a little laugh. “Getting information out of you is like pulling teeth.”
He squinted. “Why do you want information?”
“I don’t. I mean…I was just making conversation.” She looked away, and Marcus felt like a jerk.
“After the tornado, she moved north of Atlanta to live with her sister,” he offered. “But she’s moving back to Sweetness Homecoming weekend.”
“That’s nice,” she mumbled.
He’d hurt her feelings—Jesus, women were sensitive. “It’s sort of a milestone for all of us,” he added, turning the sausage. “One of the reasons we wanted to rebuil
d the town was so my mother could come back home.”
Her expression turned wistful. “Your family must be close.”
“We are,” he conceded. “My father passed away when I was a teenager, but my brothers and I are close to our mother.” He kept turning the food, and suddenly missed her conversation. “Do you have family?”
She took her time responding. “I have my parents. They divorced when I was young.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, unable to imagine a life where his parents hadn’t lived together and loved each other.
Another shrug. “Some people just aren’t meant to be together. Besides, marriage is an outdated institution.”
Marcus agreed that these days marriage seemed to be more of a gamble than a promise, but the truth sounded bleak coming out of the mouth of a young, attractive woman.
“You’ve tried it?” he asked. “Marriage, I mean.”
She looked horrified. “No.”
He frowned. “Yesterday you seemed to be looking for a man.”
She blanched and seemed to catch herself. “Yes, but I…I don’t necessarily want to get married.” She seemed nervous. “Have you ever been married?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “Not me.”
“Ah, so we agree on one thing.”
They did, yet for some reason it rankled him. “No brothers and sisters?” he asked to change the subject.
“Nope,” she said in a way that closed the topic. She transferred two pancakes to a plate and handed it to him to add the sausages.
He rolled the hot pancakes around the links, then secured them with a toothpick and passed the plate off to Sheila. Alicia served up the eggs on another plate, but seemed preoccupied. He felt a pang for her, that she’d never experienced the security of a close-knit family.
The door opened and Porter and Kendall walked in, shooting grins in his direction.
Sometimes, though, he felt as if his family was too close. He plated the steak and handed it to Gina, then turned to face the firing squad.
“I like the apron,” Porter said as he bellied up to the counter.
Marcus brushed at crumbs on the front of the camouflage-print apron he wore. “Shut up.”
“What, no hair net?” Kendall asked as he slid onto the stool next to Porter.
Baby, Don't Go Page 5
