Last Chance Knit & Stitch

by Ramsay, Hope

  “No, but we can’t let Ryan Polk steal our car, can we?”

  CHAPTER

  6

  Molly hadn’t planned to attend tonight’s meeting of the Last Chance Book Club. She didn’t have anything nice to say about their book selection this time. Besides, she had planned to work on the Shelby.

  But the bank had screwed up that option. And when she got home from work, she found her lazy, no-account brother sleeping on the couch, dirty dishes in the sink, and laundry overflowing the hamper in the bathroom.

  She probably should have gone grocery shopping or tackled the laundry, but that would have ticked her off worse than she already was. So she took a shower, made herself a grilled cheese sandwich with the last remaining piece of American cheese, and headed out for her meeting.

  Thank goodness Savannah White was on refreshment detail this week. She arrived with the most amazingly delicious apple strudel.

  Molly found herself standing around the refreshment table with several club members including Jenny Carpenter, Arlene Whitaker, and Rocky deBracy, the wife of the English baron whose textile machinery plant was single-handedly creating an economic renaissance in Last Chance.

  “Honey,” Rocky said to Savannah as more members of the club trickled through the library doors, “you have to enter this strudel in the pie contest at this year’s Watermelon Festival.”

  Savannah gave Jenny a little smile, as if she knew that Jenny’s string of pie-baking victories was about to come to an ignominious end. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said sweetly. “It’s not my recipe. It’s my granny’s. And I think she already won a few blue ribbons at the festival.”

  Jenny maintained her composure. And why not? Jenny’s pies were as amazing as Savannah’s strudel. Molly was impressed by the baking prowess of both of them. When it was Molly’s time to bring refreshments, she always stopped at the doughnut shop.

  Jane Rhodes waddled in carrying her knitting bag and looking like an over-inflated hot-air balloon. “Hey, honey,” Arlene said, draping an arm around her niece-by-marriage, “when are you going to have that baby?”

  “I don’t know. I’m already three days past my due date, and I’m tired of people looking at me slant-wise and asking me why I’m still here. Like I’m going to disappear once baby Faith is born.” She ran her hand over her baby bump.

  “So you’ve settled on a name?” Rocky asked. The baby in question was going to be Rocky’s niece.

  Jane nodded. “Yeah. But I’m starting to think that she’s holding out until I finish this sweater.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a pink baby sweater that was missing one arm. Jane had been working on this sweater for weeks and weeks.

  She gave Molly a pleading look. “I’m desperate. How do I pick up the stitches around the armhole again? You walked me through it on the first arm, but then I forgot how to do it. And I was going to go ask your mother, but I saw the notice on the door. Where is your mom?”

  “That’s one of those unanswerable questions,” Molly said. “Apparently she’s gone to see the world. And she didn’t think she needed to take Coach with her.”

  “Well, good for her,” Arlene said. “Don’t get me wrong, Moll. I love your daddy. He’s a great football coach and all, but he’s been ignoring your momma for some time.”

  Molly didn’t respond to this. Because the more she thought about the situation, the more she realized there was blame on both sides. Coach had ignored Momma, but it wasn’t right for Momma to take off without a word and leave everything on Molly’s shoulders. She clamped her mouth shut and took Jane’s knitting into her hands.

  She immediately relaxed. What was it about knitting that always calmed her down? She felt the same way when she was working on a car. Whenever her hands got busy, her brain slowed down, and she could live in the moment.

  She was deep into a knitting lesson when Nita Wills, the town librarian, called the group together. Hettie Marshall Ellis had arrived. Hettie was the CEO of Country Pride Chicken, the second largest employer in Allenberg County. She had also recently eloped with Reverend William Ellis, the pastor of Christ Episcopal.

  No one in town, much less the book club, knew how to deal with this new reality. Hettie was often regarded as the Queen Bee of Last Chance, but that seemed like a very unlikely role for a minister’s wife.

  When everyone had settled down, Nita kicked off the book discussion. “I have a number of questions about our selection this time, but before I start, does anyone have a question of their own?”

  “Yeah,” Molly said, “why on earth did we pick this book?”

  A titter of laughter met this comment, but Nita wasn’t smiling. “I take it you didn’t like the book.”

  “Nita, the book is over a thousand pages. I got to page two hundred and threw the paperback against the wall. Honestly, this was the most depressing thing I’ve read since The Road. Why do we read these books?”

  “She’s got a point,” Arlene said. “I mean, I’m all for capitalism and freedom and all that, but honestly the author goes on and on about it. And she seems to think that anyone who gives to charity is either misguided or downright evil.”

  Lola May snorted. “Arlene, didn’t you know that the best way to help poor folks is to let rich folks get richer?”

  “Well, that is the morality that Ayn Rand espouses in this book,” Nita said.

  “Well, it ain’t very moral,” Lola May countered.

  Cathy Niles let go of a long, mournful sigh. “Can we read something light and fun next time? I really liked it when we read Pride and Prejudice. I’d like to read a love story that doesn’t involve the characters having long-winded conversations about original sin, morality, and free love. I don’t know about y’all but I don’t find any of that even remotely romantic.”

  “That’s the point,” Nita said. “We’re reading to—”

  “Nita, the book is just BS, and frankly someone should have edited it. It was boring,” Savannah said.

  Everyone looked in Savannah’s direction. The use of even abbreviated profanity was frowned upon, especially with a minister’s wife in attendance.

  Savannah faced them all with cool aplomb. “I’m sorry, y’all, but the ideas in this book are just mean. For instance, if folks followed Ayn Rand’s philosophy, The Kismet would have been torn down and replaced with a new, shiny, soulless multiplex. Instead, Dash helped Angel Development put money into the old theater, even though we all know it’s probably never going to show a profit. But having a theater will build up our community. And that’s important. Sometimes the community is just as important as the individual. And sometimes an individual needs help.”

  “Hear, hear,” Molly said. “If it weren’t for Ira Wolfe and his generosity, I wouldn’t be anywhere near getting my own business off the ground. Of course, I can’t say the same about his no-account son, or Ira’s brother-in-law. Did y’all hear about how the bank closed the dealership?”

  Everyone nodded except Savannah. She just stared at Molly, kind of the same way she’d stared yesterday at the Purly Girls meeting.

  “Savannah, I know I don’t have grease on my face this time. What is it?”

  Savannah blinked. “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking.” Savannah turned toward Nita. “We should stop reading dystopian fiction. It’s depressing everyone, especially since things are improving here in Last Chance. I know we talked about reading Hunger Games next, but I really don’t want to spend time with kids who are forced to kill each other for the amusement of the state.”

  “Me neither,” said Cathy. “And you know what? It’s kind of disturbing that every other book you pick up these days at the bookstore has a vampire or a werewolf or kids run amok. Doesn’t anyone read the sweet books anymore? You know, like Little Women?”

  “Little Women?” Hettie finally spoke. “My goodness, I haven’t read that since I was twelve. I did love that book.”

  “I’ve never read it at all,” Arlene said. “But I did see the movie. I loved Chris
tian Bale, but I could never understand why Winona Ryder threw him over for Gabriel Byrne.”

  While Arlene was speaking, Savannah stared across the table at Molly. Her gaze was intensely probing. Just before Molly was about to check to see if she’d spilled cheese on her T-shirt, Savannah turned toward Nita. “You know, I think we should read Little Women.”

  “Could we talk about this book first, before we select the next one?” Nita said.

  “No,” Hettie said, looking around the table. “Is there anyone here who finished this book?”

  Jenny Carpenter was the only one who raised her hand. But that hardly counted because Jenny had no life beyond teaching algebra at the high school. And, truth to tell, Jenny had been kind of depressed since Reverend Ellis had run off with Hettie. So of course she’d had time to read a book with a thousand pages.

  Hettie stared at Nita. “I rest my case. Who wants to read something sweet like Little Women next time?”

  All the hands went up. Of course, more than half the ladies of the book club were members of Christ Episcopal. So if their minister’s wife, who also happened to be the second largest employer in town, suggested a book, it was a lead pipe cinch that everyone would agree to read it.

  “Hold up a minute, Molly,” Savannah called. Molly was heading toward her canary yellow Charger, parked in the lot behind the library.

  She turned as Savannah hurried up to her. “What?”

  “Uh …” Savannah stood there for a moment looking awkward.

  “What the heck is it? Do I have BO or something?”

  Savannah shook her head. “No, it’s just that I have something I need to tell you.”

  “About what?”

  Savannah danced from foot to foot and continued to look awkward. When she spoke, her words came out like a racing freight train. “It’s a message from Aunt Miriam.”

  Wariness scrambled over Molly’s backbone. “From Miriam?” she asked. Crap, she didn’t need another surprise today.

  Savannah’s aunt was practically legendary. She was one part fortune-teller, one part busybody, and she’d made it her life’s work to find soulmates for every blessed single person in Last Chance. She’d been implicated in several recent weddings. Miriam also had a hand in matching Savannah up with Dash Randall. Molly glanced at the big, fat diamond on Savannah’s hand. The wedding of the decade was planned for the first week of June.

  Molly wanted nothing to do with one of Miriam Randall’s predictions. She didn’t believe in that crap, which put her in the minority. If Miriam made a forecast, the church ladies of Last Chance—and that was a majority of the female population—would be working overtime to get her hitched up to someone.

  Yuck.

  “Don’t look so astonished and petrified.” Savannah was actually wringing her hands, which seemed like a bad omen.

  “What is it? Are you about to tell me that I should be looking for a man just like my father? I’m not sure that’s what I want. I mean, look at where it left Momma.”

  Savannah frowned. “Uh, well, I’m not sure. He might be like your father. I mean, well, most men like football, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, I guess. What exactly did Miriam tell you?”

  “She told me you should be looking for someone who has known you for a long time. Since you were little.”

  The forecast was a little underwhelming. And also annoying.

  “Great. So every past member of the Davis High School football team is a possible match.”

  “Uh, well …” Savannah’s voice faded out.

  “Or are you trying to tell me that I belong with Les? Because if that’s what you’re saying, you can just forget it. Les is my friend. We are not romantically involved. In fact, he’s on a date right now with Tammy Nelson.”

  “Tammy? With the teeth and boobs?”

  “Yeah. I’m thinking the boobs are the main attraction. Les is a pretty simple and straightforward kind of guy.”

  “Uh, well, I don’t know,” Savannah said in a rush, like she was suddenly trying to get away from Molly.

  “Do me a favor. Tell your aunt not to repeat this crap, okay? I’ve already got problems out the wazoo. I do not need a bunch of busybodies trying to turn me into a bride. I am not bride material.”

  CHAPTER

  7

  Ricki Wilson tapped her right heel forward and then her toe. She crossed her right foot behind her left and rocked to the Wild Horses’ cover of “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” As always, she danced right near the stage where she could keep an eye on Clay Rhodes, the fiddler in the band and the man she let get away.

  The Wednesday crowd at Dot’s Spot wasn’t near as big as it would be on Friday, but it was big enough that she could dance without being alone. Which was completely ironic because she was as alone as a body could get.

  She had lost Clay years ago when she’d decided to dump him in favor of the richer and older Randy Burrowes, the talent scout for the record label Clay had signed with back when he was eighteen.

  Her decision had cost Clay a lot, because he’d walked away from that record deal. And she’d gone on to marry Randy.

  She’d lived a pretty high life for a while. And then she reaped the seeds of destruction that she’d sown. Randy started cheating on her with a younger woman. And then the bottom fell out when she (and the law) discovered that Randy had embezzled a whole bunch of the record label’s money.

  She’d come crawling back to Last Chance, utterly broke and looking for a second chance with the only man who’d treated her with respect. But by then, Clay was in love with someone else.

  Ricki knew it was stupid and ugly to hate Jane Rhodes, but she couldn’t help herself. Jane was just so sweet. And Ricki was not that kind of woman. She never had been.

  Well, at least she wasn’t waiting on tables anymore. When she took that job at the Kountry Kitchen a couple of years ago, she thought it might be a nice place to meet men. Like that old Suzy Bogguss song about “Eat at Joe’s.” But it hadn’t worked out.

  Plenty of men ate at the Kitchen, but very few of them were unattached. And the best of the bachelors, like Bubba Lockheart, Stone Rhodes, and Dash Randall, had up and gotten the marriage bug. Sadly, none of them had chosen her.

  She wasn’t ever going to find Prince Charming at the Kountry Kitchen. She wasn’t going to find him at the Knit & Stitch either, but at least working there would be easier on her bunions.

  In fact, tonight she wasn’t at all footsore, and that made line dancing so much more fun. Line dancing was just about the most fun a woman could have by her lonesome.

  Just then, as if to point out the sorry state of Ricki’s life, the Wild Horses changed tempo. Clay started singing a soft, sad ballad and playing a truly weepy violin.

  Damn him.

  All the line dancers headed for their tables. One or two couples stayed on the floor. She turned away and headed toward the bar, where the usual cast of characters were hanging out. She took the open seat next to Roy Burdett, who was telling a long and involved fishing story to Arlo Boyd. It was kind of amazing how Roy and Arlo could talk fishing twenty-four seven.

  Dot put a glass of tonic and lime in front of Ricki and leaned in. “So, I heard T-Bone is in a snit because you left.”

  “I got a better offer.”

  “Yeah, honey, but what happens when Pat Canaday comes back?”

  Ricki didn’t want to think about that. “Who says she is coming back?”

  Dot frowned. “Pat loves Coach.”

  “Well, if she loves him so much, why’d she walk out on him?”

  Dot rolled her eyes toward Roy and Arlo. “Maybe because he took one too many fishing trips,” she whispered.

  “That’s just dumb. If I had a husband, I wouldn’t get mad at him for going fishing. A man needs his hobbies.”

  “I reckon,” Dot said and moved down to refill a few drinks.

  The band took a break, and Ricki was thinking about doing something heinous, like flirting with a married ma
n, when Les Hayes came through the front door looking like the last pea at pea-time.

  He stepped up to the bar right beside her and ordered a longneck Bud.

  Les was nice looking when he cleaned himself up. He was wearing a pair of new blue jeans and a striped golf shirt. His nails were cut down to the quick, and they looked remarkably clean for a man who worked on cars for a living.

  Of course, Les was easily seven years too young for a woman Ricki’s age, but a cat could always look at a king, as her momma used to say. And looking at Les was not a strain.

  “Hey,” she said. “How’s it going?”

  “Lousy.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He gave her a long gaze. And damned if Ricki didn’t feel like it was the first time Leslie Hayes had ever really seen her. A slow smile touched his lips. His mouth was just a tiny bit crooked. And he had a set of very sexy laugh lines.

  Not to mention the sky blue eyes.

  “Well, thanks, Ricki.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Ryan Polk and the First National Bank sent Wolfe Ford into receivership, which means me and thirty-nine other people just lost our jobs.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “And then Tammy Nelson stood me up.”

  “Tammy Nelson? What were you doing with her? I thought you and Molly Canaday had a thing going.”

  He shrugged. The movement said more than his words. “Nope. No thing with Molly. And Tammy said she wanted a man with a steady job. She said she was getting too old to waste her time on an unemployed person.” He tipped up his beer and demolished it in several long swallows.

  “Tammy couldn’t be more than twenty-eight,” Ricki said, staring down at her tonic water so that she wouldn’t get mesmerized by the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swigged his beer.