A bit of grumbling greeted that announcement, but Lou silenced it with a look.
“As for the teams, the committee has decided to try something new this year,” she said, taking off her glasses, folding them neatly and setting them on the podium. “Instead of teams of six, we will be randomly choosing teams of two.”
The grumbling was a bit louder, and Lou raised a hand, waiting for it to stop before she continued. “I know this may be disappointing to some of you, but in the past, it was obvious that some teams had a rather unfair advantage over others—” Gage wasn't sure who she was directing that glare at, but he was glad he wasn't on the receiving end of it.
“We believe this will be fairer, and ultimately more fun, for all those involved. That's why we're all here, right? To have fun and raise money for charity.” She smiled and clapped her hands together. “All proceeds of the Hunt will be going to the food bank. And I don't need to say that all business owners and those in public office are highly encouraged to participate.” She glanced at Gage, and he got the message.
Obviously, he was supposed to be involved.
Lou wrapped it up with information on how to sign up and when the teams would be announced, then she thanked the mayor and headed back to her seat.
“Relax,” Alice said to him quietly. “It's a lot of fun. You'll enjoy it, I promise.”
Gage wasn't so sure about that, but he nodded and smiled anyway.
The mayor ended the meeting and Gage got to his feet, nearly falling back into his chair when the Merry Widows appeared out of nowhere.
The one with the black bob smiled, looking up at him from under her lashes. “Chief, so nice to see you again.”
He cleared his throat, searching fruitlessly for an exit. “Nice to see you too, Miss. . .” Why couldn’t he remember her name?
“Angela,” she said on a laugh, slapping his arm playfully.
“Right. Sorry.”
The other one—Veronica, his mind helpfully supplied—gripped his elbow, fingernails digging in almost painfully as she drew his attention.
“You’ll be signing up for the Hunt, won’t you?” A bit of red lipstick smudged her front tooth, and Gage tried not to stare at it. “Maybe we’ll be teamed up. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“Uh, sure,” he stammered. “I guess we’ll just have to see.”
“Excuse me, ladies.” Lou Chalmers gently inserted herself next to Veronica, who released Gage’s arm with an annoyed glance. “I need to speak to you both, if you don’t mind.”
“Actually—” Veronica began.
“I need to go sign up for the Hunt anyway,” Gage said quickly, backing up and nearly tripping over a folding chair. “Got to do my civic duty, you know.” He gave Lou a grateful look and her lips quirked in response. “Nice to see you, uh, all. Again.”
He didn’t look back as he made his way to the table where people were lining up to sign up for the Hunt. He only breathed freely once Vi took the spot behind him, and over her shoulder, he saw Lou leading the two other women out of the room.
“Don’t worry. They’ll move on eventually,” Vi told him with a sympathetic smile.
“I feel kind of bad,” he replied, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t mean to lead anyone on.”
“You’re not,” she said, patting his arm. “It won’t be a problem for long, anyway.”
He tipped his head. “What makes you say that?”
She smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “I think my mom’s taken pity on you. She’ll have a word with them.”
“You think that’ll do the trick?” he asked, skeptical.
Vi shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Gage had the feeling he was missing something, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he eyed the line. “Looks like your mom made an impression,” he said. “Just about everybody’s signing up for the Hunt.”
“Lou Chalmers doesn't let anyone get away with non-participation,” she replied, nudging his arm. “Not even the Chief of Police.”
Gage smiled. “She does seem rather formidable.”
Vi waved a hand. “All bark and no bite, I promise you.”
“Then why are you in line?” he asked, arching a brow.
“Touché,” she said with a little shrug.
Gage tucked his hands in his pockets, surreptitiously scanning the room. “Where'd Lena disappear to? I thought all business owners were strongly encouraged to participate.”
“She signed up earlier,” she replied, eyes narrowing. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
He felt a bit exposed as Vi stared at him. Like she saw something he didn't want her to see. He searched for a way to change the subject, but ended up saying, “Looks like she's going to get her way. About the alley, I mean.”
Vi grinned. “Yeah, well, Lena usually gets her way in the end.”
“You two been friends long?” he asked as the line moved forward.
“Since we were kids,” Vi replied. “I mean, I was gone for a while. I spent some time in New York, but yeah. We've been friends most of our lives. Grew up together. You know how it is.”
Gage nodded, but really, he had no idea how it was. The son of a career Army man, he moved around a lot when he was a kid, rarely in one place for more than a year or so. Friendships like Vi described were a foreign concept to him. The only constant he had in his young life was his father, a kind, but strict man who instilled in him the importance of order and honor. When he'd passed away ten years ago, Gage had felt truly lost, adrift in a world with no anchor.
“She doesn't hate you, you know,” Vi said, apropos of nothing.
“What?” Gage shook his head. “I didn't think—I wasn't—”
“I know she can come across as a bit—” Vi seemed to be searching for a word.
“Stubborn?” Gage offered. “Pig-headed? Impossible?”
Vi smirked. “I was going to say enthusiastic, but sure.” She pulled a pen from her purse as they reached the front of the line and scribbled her name on the sign-up sheet. “She loves this town, you know? She traveled the world trying to find herself, but she was drawn right back here. And I think it bothers her when she thinks people don't appreciate it.”
Gage took the pen she offered and added his name to the list. “And when they mess with her parking place.”
“Well, yeah. There's that,” Vi said with a smile. “She can get a little carried away, but she means well. And I think you guys can work it out.” Her sly smile made him a bit nervous.
“Work what out, exactly?” he asked slowly, as they headed toward the door.
Vi gave him a knowing look and shrugged. “Whatever,” she said with a nonchalant wave of her hand.
“Oh, there's no whatever, at all,” Gage said on a huff.
“You sure?” she asked, studying him. “I think you two could have something.”
“What?” Gage sputtered. He shook his head, confused. “But she has a boyfriend.”
“She does?”
“She doesn't?”
“I think if Lena had a boyfriend, I'd know about it,” Vi said.
“So, that big guy—Braden—isn't her boyfriend?” Not that he cared, because he didn't.
Not at all.
“Braden?” Vi burst out laughing. “Braden's her brother.”
“Brother?” And suddenly, everything made a lot more sense. “Ohhh,” he said slowly.
“Right.” Vi smirked at him. “I've got to run. See you around, Chief.”
“Bye,” he said faintly as she walked away.
Her brother. Gage wasn't sure how to describe how he felt about that. If he had to give it a name, he'd have to say . . . relief.
Which made no sense at all, did it?
He was stopped a few times on his way out the door by well-wishing townspeople, but eventually he emerged into the cool, but clear night. He took a deep breath and walked through the parking lot toward his car.
Sure, it was a bit cliché, but the car was one of
the joys in Gage's life. The first thing he'd bought once he got a real job and could save up the money. Something he'd dreamed about as a kid, and the most beautiful thing he owned.
A 1970 Chevelle SS with a 454 V8, painstakingly restored over more than two years of weekends and late nights. He ran his fingers along the side as he approached the driver's side door, smiling as the blue paint sparkled under the streetlights.
He got in and was about to start the car when he saw a piece of paper tucked under the windshield wiper. Gage figured it was a flyer advertising something, so he grabbed it quickly and tossed it into the passenger seat. Then he realized it was a handwritten note and started the car so he could read it under the dome light.
I'm so sorry I hit your car. The damage doesn't look bad, but I'm late for an appointment. Please call me and we'll figure it out.
The phone number scribbled at the bottom was so smudged he couldn't make it out.
“Oh no,” he mumbled, grabbing a flashlight from the glove compartment.
* * *
In the shadows on the other side of the parking lot, Lena McKenna stood watching as Gage ran nervous hands over his car, then dropped to the ground, shining a flashlight on the undercarriage. She could hear him mumbling to himself as he searched for the non-existent damage, and Lena actually felt a little bad for the prank.
A little.
But then she remembered the words spoiled, privileged, and above the law.
And she didn't feel so bad anymore. She headed to her own car, smiling smugly, and feeling for the first time like she'd won a victory, no matter how small and petty it might be.
Lena grew up on an idyllic farm about five miles out of Holiday Junction. Her parents raised chickens and dairy cows, and she picked fresh berries, peaches, and apples every summer. The McKenna's Creamery tagline wasn't only a slogan, it was Lena's life: Fresh, local ingredients, mixed with love.
When she came back to Holiday Junction after traveling the world, Lena moved back into her old room on the farm. But things were different, and eventually, she decided to move out and get her own place—a rental cottage on the other side of town, in a little neighborhood unofficially dubbed Weaver's Row, since it was once used to house workers at the old textile factory.
But once a week or so, she and Braden would head back to the farm to join her parents for dinner. Lena made the trip more often, of course, to pick up ice cream ingredients or have coffee with her mom, when time allowed.
On Thursday evening, Lena left Mrs. Katswopis in charge of the shop and drove out to the farm, stopping to pick Braden up at the Shamrock. He lived in an apartment above the pub, a true bachelor pad from the worn furniture to the oversized television taking up the majority of the living room wall. She pulled up to the front doors and honked twice, then twice again—a code they'd used ever since she'd come back to HJ.
Braden emerged from the pub and locked the door behind him before getting into the car. “Hey, Meena.” When Lena was born, Braden had only been two years old and had trouble pronouncing Malena. The nickname stuck to this day—but only for Braden.
“Hey, B,” she replied. “How's everything?”
“One of my taps is broken and the shipment for the Cèilidh's been delayed by a week,” he said, yanking off his beanie and scratching his head. “Other than that . . .”
Lena winced. “Sorry. You think it's going to get here in time?”
“If it doesn't, I may have to get creative.” He grinned at her, waggling his eyebrows. Braden had some contacts that on occasion would skirt the law in order to bring in goods that might be impossible to otherwise obtain. Lena wasn't sure how they did it, or who they were, really. She preferred not to ask, and Braden preferred not to tell.
“Well, as long as you have a good stock of Guinness and whiskey, you should be set,” she said.
Braden hummed in agreement and reached over to turn on the radio. They argued good naturedly about the selection of music and pulled into the driveway of the farm a few minutes later.
The house was white, two stories tall, with a wraparound porch and an attic that Lena used to think was haunted. A belief that Braden did everything to encourage during their childhood, by the way. The barn sat off to the left, a long, low building that housed a dozen dairy cows. A chicken coop encircled by a low fence was closed up for the night, under a lean-to on the far end of the barn, the occupants settled in to roost.
When her parents retired and Lena took over the shop, they hired someone to help out with the farm animals. They also bought the adjacent twenty acres, and the reindeer farm that came with it. Now, they offered hayrides in the summer and fall, and sleigh rides once the snow arrived. Not to mention the tours at Christmas time, when her father would grow out his beard and don a red suit to play Santa.
Lena wasn't sure who enjoyed it more, the children or her dad.
They climbed the steps and walked in the front door, calling out a greeting as they slipped off their coats.
“Come on back. Dinner's almost ready,” their mom replied.
The house looked the same as it always had; white painted shiplap walls, comfortable furniture covered by soft, warm quilts, a fire in the wood stove, and the TV playing the news at a low volume, even though nobody was watching it.
They passed through the dining room—only used on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter—to the kitchen at the back of the house. Braden immediately went to peck their mom on the cheek, and peer over her shoulder to see what was cooking on the stove. He dipped a finger in a pot and Chelsea slapped his hand. “Use your manners!”
It was a refrain that they'd both heard countless times over the years.
Lena's dad came in the back door a few minutes later and washed his hands at the kitchen sink before they all sat around the table to a meal of pot roast, potatoes and carrots, and homemade biscuits.
Lena's mom made the best biscuits. Light and so flaky they melted in your mouth.
“So, how are the plans for the Cèilidh?” Sean asked, as he sliced his meat.
Braden shot Lena a warning look, and said, “Fine. It'll be grand,” he said, putting on an Irish accent. He obviously didn't want to discuss his concerns with his parents, and Lena could understand that.
“Did you hear that they're changing the Hunt this year?” Lena asked no one in particular. “Teams of two. Isn't that strange?”
Chelsea buttered her biscuit. “Not that strange to me. Seems like it's a good idea to shake things up a bit.”
“Well, I think it stinks,” Braden said. “Our team was a shoe-in to win this year—”
“Because you cheat.” Lena pointed her fork at him.
“We don't cheat.” Braden said through a mouthful of potato. “S'nothing in the rules that said you couldn't use a wheelbarrow!”
“I bet there will be this year,” Lena muttered.
“Children,” Chelsea chided. “It's hardly worth arguing about, since Braden's team won't be competing together.”
“Still say it stinks,” Braden grumped.
“Anyway,” Lena said, ignoring her brother. “I'm sure it will still be fun, and it's all for a good cause, anyway.”
Chelsea cleared her throat and took a sip of water. “Anyone you're hoping to be paired with?” she asked.
Lena shrugged. “Not really. Anyone but Braden,” she joked, laughing when he stuck his tongue out at her.
“You should be so lucky,” he said. “We would kick a—”
“Braden!” Chelsea exclaimed.
“Aspersions,” Braden said, blinking innocently. “It means a false or damaging accusation or insinuation.”
“Word of the Day Calendar?” Lena asked.
Braden shot her a glare.
“Well, I think it would be nice for you two to team up,” Sean said, wiping his mouth. “Bring some glory to the McKenna name.”
Lena snorted.
“I don't know,” Chelsea said. “I think it'd be nice to reach out to some members of the comm
unity who might not be as involved.” She poked a potato on her plate, pushing it around. “Perhaps someone new to the area who might not know many people. The new Chief, for example.” She looked at Lena expectantly, and Lena choked on a carrot.
“Me? I'm the last person he'd want to be partnered with,” she said. “He thinks I'm spoiled and privileged.”
Sean bristled at that. “That's ridiculous.”
“I know!” She held out a hand toward him.
“Well, from what I've heard, you haven't exactly been welcoming to him,” Chelsea said, giving Lena a disappointed look.
And didn't that just let the wind out of her sails. Lena could take a lot of things. Disappointing her mother wasn't one of them.
“I don't think he's so bad,” Braden said, scooping up another portion of potatoes and carrots. “He seems to know his beer, so that's something. Nice enough guy. He's going to come by and watch the game this weekend.”
Lena gaped at him, betrayed. “I can't believe you would do that.”
Braden stopped his fork halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“Have that man in your house. After—he's—” She floundered, then slapped her napkin on the table.
Chelsea patted her hand. “I know you two got off to a rough start, but he really seems very nice.”
“They always seem nice at first,” Lena snapped.
“What do you mean, sweetie?” Chelsea looked equal parts confused and concerned, and Lena really didn't want to get into it. Not now. Maybe not ever.
“Nothing,” she said. “He's just so pushy. Controlling. He thinks he knows it all.”
“Reminds me of someone I know,” Braden muttered, and Lena didn't even hesitate to throw her napkin at his head.
Chelsea let out an exasperated breath. “All I'm saying is he's new in town. He's making his way and trying to do the best job he can, can't you see that?”
Lena’s Lucky Charm: Love in Holiday Junction, Book 2 Page 6
