LOVE in a Small Town

by Janet Eaves

  “Oh, great!” She stomped her black ankle boot on the pavement.

  “Your…um, your shirt is bleeding,” he said, his eyes flicking to the red spot, then quickly away toward the street.

  She looked up at him. From her five foot eight plus three-inch stiletto heels, it was still up. He was probably six foot two or three. Tall, dark, handsome.

  And just an idiot man, thank God. That should help quell the physical attraction she’d felt. Your shirt is bleeding?

  “Mr. McClain, this is my building, right? Can we go inside? Is the water turned on?” As she asked the questions, she scooped up her designer handbag and strode across the sidewalk from her car to the large oak-and-glass front door of her new building. The first building of any sort she had ever owned.

  He followed, taking several rings of keys from his pants pocket. “Here we go,” he said, holding the one marked “M. Shelby” out to her. She extended her open hand and he dropped the keys into it. Heavy. Solid. It was a good feeling.

  “It’s the large brass one there for the front door.”

  Midnight inserted it and the lock turned easily. She stepped inside, followed by the realtor, who reached behind her—too close—and flipped on the light switch. A subtle light filled the room. Large round, moss-green glass globes were suspended from the high tin ceiling. It was a large, amazing room, full of nostalgia and potential.

  Martin walked quickly behind the bar just a few feet to the left of the entry door, and turned on the faucet. Here was an encouraging sign: no rumbling pipes, just immediate water.

  “Great. Thank you,” Midnight said, checking the water temperature. “But I’ll have to take off my shirt. Hm.” She glanced at him, saw one dark brow rise a little higher. Turning off the water, she tossed her handbag onto the walnut bar top and strode outside, pulling her car keys from her front jeans pocket as she walked. In a moment, she was back with a long-sleeve black t-shirt, and found the women’s bathroom at the back where she changed. She ran cold water over the area till the spot was gone.

  Then she headed to the front of the building again, her stilettos making a gratifying no-nonsense sound on the scarred hardwood floor.

  “Nothing like a strong first impression. I don’t usually bleed from just a handshake.”

  “You… what?” He looked down at his own hands, searching for a way he might have punctured her finger.

  “Just kidding. I stuck it on a pin as you walked up. But not kidding about first impressions.” She sighed, looking up and around her at the bar. “Like this place. When I saw the virtual tour on your website, I knew I had to have it. Absolutely gorgeous, in spite of needing a lot of updating.”

  “It’s a special place. Lots of history, lots of memories here. It’s a shame the family doesn’t want to keep it. I hate to see them sell out.”

  “Especially to a newcomer, I’ll bet.”

  “I didn’t say that.” There was that frown again, the two vertical lines between his dark brows, marring an otherwise perfect face.

  “Not in so many words. But of course, you’d rather someone local had purchased it and continued the bar business as it always was. Right?” Men were so predictable. You didn’t mess with their sports teams, their bars, or their underwear drawers and not expect an emotional response.

  Martin McClain heaved a heavy sigh, much as she had seen his son do a few minutes earlier. Except this sigh strained the front of his shirt a bit, in an interesting sort of way.

  “Welcome to Legend, Tennessee, Miz Shelby. No reason for you and me to start off badly. We got along fine on the phone, now, didn’t we?”

  Midnight hated being patronized, and so many men did it without even thinking.

  “We got along fine, the deal closed, and here I am, owning this big beautiful building on Main Street, and enjoying status as Legend’s newest citizen. Now, do you have that list for me?”

  “List?”

  Of course, his wife had been the helpful one all through the process. His wife, whose mere existence was the best deterrent in the world to Midnight considering any action on the physical attraction thing with the hunky realtor. How had the wife even slipped her mind? Betsy—thank goodness for Betsy! “You know…the list I’ve been talking to Betsy about….”

  Martin groaned. “Oh yeah! No. I mean, no, I didn’t get here with it.” He blew out an exasperated breath. “Left the dang thing on my desk. She told me… She said I’d forget it. We can go over to the office and get it right now, though. Just take a minute. Office is just a couple blocks from here.”

  He headed out the front door and Midnight followed, the sound of her boots’ heels bouncing off the empty bar’s walls and ceiling. She quickly turned off lights and locked the door behind her. I’ll be back, and soon.

  “Oh, and you’ll want to park your car in the back,” the realtor was saying when she turned away from the door. “There’s a garage. It’s small, but it should be big enough for a little car like this. I’ll show you.”

  “No need for that. I’ll be able to find the back of the building on my own.” Midnight was nearly certain she hadn’t rolled her eyes at his comment, but it was difficult. “Now, let’s go to your office and pick up the list. Get in and I’ll drive.”

  She saw the look. He didn’t ride while a woman drove. Lord, give me strength. Midnight walked around and got in, started the powerful engine. She saw his eyes widen a little when he heard it. He opened the passenger door and folded his tall frame into the seat, then let the door close with a soft click.

  ****

  “Nice,” he said, looking at the tachometer and other instruments, resting his right arm on the door frame as she backed out of the parking space and into the sporadic traffic. “Very nice.”

  Martin watched her pale, slender hands turn the wheel and shift gears like a pro. Her short, neatly filed nails shone with clear polish. Glittering on the index finger of her left hand was a single ring, diamond-and-emerald in a gold setting. Her porcelain skin was even more beautiful in the sunlight than it had been indoors, and her gleaming black hair shone almost blue. He’d never seen hair as black as hers, and recalled—even though she wasn’t looking his way now—that her eyes were black, too. Like those black holes in outer space, where things could get sucked in and disappear. Oh yeah, a man could get lost in those eyes. He’d have to be careful.

  Martin McClain was a simple man, “salt of the earth” as the saying went. But he was human after all. The exotic beauty sitting next to him was definitely one of the finest surprises to enter his world in a very long time. Not that he was interested in getting involved with her. But he could enjoy looking. And he could spend a few seconds thinking about what those beautiful long-fingered hands could do. He inhaled the subtle feminine fragrance….

  “Where is it?”

  “What? Where’s what?” he asked, startled out of his near-fantasy.

  “Your office.” She sounded exasperated.

  He gave directions and they covered the short distance in a moment. Sooner than Midnight had expected, because when he yelled, “This is it!” she immediately swerved into the narrow drive to the parking lot and slammed on her brakes. Something shot out from under the passenger seat and punctured his ankle.

  “Yeeeow!” He reached down and picked up what looked like a doll; a pearl-tipped pin was still stuck in the place where its hand would have been. A few pieces of stuffing fell out of the crotch onto Martin’s navy Dockers. “What. In. The. Hell.”

  “Um. Is that a question?”

  “Hell yes it’s a question! What is this thing that just stabbed me?”

  Midnight rescued the doll, sweeping it out of his grasp as he shook it rather roughly.

  “That seems obvious. It’s a voodoo doll.”

  “Oh yeah, right, of course. What was I thinking? Doesn’t everyone drive around with a voodoo doll under the car seat? Or at least every woman? And to think I was…” He climbed out of the car, slammed the door, stomped into the real estate o
ffice and slammed that door too.

  ****

  And they say women are flighty. Midnight entered the office quietly. A pretty blonde looked around. She’d obviously been watching Martin stomp through the front office. Both women flinched a little as a door toward the back of the building slammed. A framed certificate fell off a wall near Midnight, shattering the glass as it hit the floor.

  Midnight forced a tight smile. “Hi. I’m Midnight Shelby. Mr. McClain said he left a list here for me.”

  Recognition lit the blonde’s pretty face. “Oh, hi! It’s good to meet you at last! I’m Betsy McClain.”

  Well, of course she was Betsy. How could she be anyone else? She was the perfect picture of what a Betsy should look like. Curly golden-blond hair outlined her head like a halo. She had big blue eyes, a round face with a little turned-up nose and a pretty mouth shaped like a red bow on a Christmas package.

  The fact that she was Martin McClain’s Betsy was what made the introduction surreal. To be married to him, the woman must be a saint. The halo would be a requirement.

  Midnight walked over and held out her hand. “Betsy! I’m so glad to meet you! I feel like we’re friends already.”

  In the weeks since Midnight’s first discovery of Legend, the real estate agency, and her ideal building, she had spent a lot of time on the phone with McClain Realty. Most of that time was with Mrs. Betsy McClain, who’d seemed excited about helping Midnight start her new business. The Emporium would sell locally produced arts and crafts. The walnut bar would no longer serve draft beer, but rather, specialty coffees and teas. Midnight also hoped to have a lunch special each day. Although Legend was in a financial slump, with the new factory coming in, there was hope in the community that fortunes were changing for the better.

  “Miz Shelby….”

  “Please. Midnight.”

  “All right. Then, can I ask about your name? I just think it’s so exotic. But with your black hair and eyes, I can see it really suits you.”

  “Just what my parents thought when I was born. ‘Alabaster skin, hair like midnight.’ That’s the first line of the poem my mother wrote when I was a baby. She’s very artsy, my mother. Irish. My dad’s artsy too, but he’s Navajo. Skin like Mother’s, hair like Dad’s. Not an artistic bone in my body, but I love arts and crafts. Which is how I got the idea for the shop. I’ll sell some of my parents’ work along with the local people’s.”

  “It’s exciting!” She clasped her small hands together in joy. “And everybody else thinks so too. I told you I’d call the people I could think of that do wood carving and painting and weaving and pottery and such. Well, there were so many, and of course, a lot of them are cousins of mine or my husband’s, and then they started telling other people. The list got longer every day. I kept it on the computer and kept adding to it, and today I printed the latest copy. And of course, Martin forgot to take it with him.” She sighed. “What would he do without me? I don’t think I’ll go back there,” she tipped her head toward the back of the office, “so let’s just print another copy.” She winked at Midnight, clicked a few computer keys, and paper started coming out of the nearby printer. Betsy stood up carefully, sort of waddled to the printer and retrieved the pages, stapled them together and handed them across the desk. She was an even more perfect picture of “Betsy” now. Midnight guessed her at about five feet tall and extremely pregnant. What a cute little thing. And what a mismatch to Martin McClain.

  “They start coming tomorrow at nine a.m.”

  “They do?”

  “Yes. Every half hour all day for the next three days. You’ll be busy.”

  Midnight looked at the top sheet. The first line read: 9 a.m. Wednesday Augustine Abell

  The whole sheet was filled, as were the rest of the sheaf. She would, indeed, be busy.

  Chapter Two

  Midnight realized sometime during the first day of interviews that Legend didn’t run on the same time she did. This was The South, and life moved more slowly. Much…More…Slowly. People arrived when they arrived, didn’t mind waiting, and were glad to sit and talk a while. Midnight had to stop herself from tapping her pen, or shaking her foot nervously as she heard yet another story detailing the evolution of someone’s craft. Or the person’s house, health, or pet dog. Living in Mayberry would require some adjustments.

  Friday night at 5:30, Midnight closed and locked the big oak-and-glass doors. The sign painter had done his thing earlier in the day. Gold-and-black letters arched across a large plate glass window advertising THE EMPORIUM, and a placard hung over the doorway, perpendicular to the building, with the name in smaller letters. It looked like a business, and a successful one at that. Midnight felt a surprising swell of pride.

  There seemed no end of local artisans, and no end of the variety of wares they created. Short of voodoo dolls, she’d have nearly everything under the sun available for sale. At least she thought that would happen, eventually. In spite of the long, drawn-out discussions she’d had with the stream of artisans, not a single one had committed to anything. Midnight had put together a fair agreement that would make money for the vendors and a profit for herself too, but no one came close to signing it. They’d all taken a copy to read again, talk over with a spouse, etc., etc. Midnight was exhausted from the three straight days of interviews. She pulled on her white fake fur jacket and white leather gloves, turned out the lights and locked the door with a sigh. Nothing sounded better than a long, hot bath and a soft bed.

  Since arriving in Legend, she’d been staying at the Legend’s Landing Bed and Breakfast, where proprietress Suzie Schul pampered her with a wonderfully comfortable bed in a feminine bedroom, fluffy towels and creamy scented homemade soap in the bathroom. She served a delicious breakfast and supper each day in the large dining room. Suzie didn’t serve lunch at the B&B, but Midnight had approached her about preparing lunches for The Emporium and Suzie seemed interested in the idea. Suzie was one of the cheeriest, most energetic people Midnight had ever met. She’d surely been born to run a bed and breakfast.

  It was early December, and the B&B looked very festive with her old-fashioned decorations. Due to Suzie’s nearly-constant baking, it smelled like Christmas, too. Midnight had even helped string popcorn for the tree. She felt cared for, and welcome, there.

  Rounding the corner of The Emporium, Midnight heard the honk of a horn, and instead of automatically ignoring it as she would have in the city, she glanced around wondering which vehicle it had come from. Maybe the white Sunbird with the dented passenger door, maybe the dark green sedan with the tinted windows. Without doubt, even if the person hadn’t been honking at Midnight, it was someone she’d interviewed in the last three days. Or their spouse, cousin, brother, sister, neighbor, boss, or employee. Everyone seemed to talk to everyone about everything in Legend. So far, Midnight hadn’t run into distasteful gossip, but there was sure a lot of chatter. A lime green Volkswagen Beetle pulled over to the curb as Midnight continued down the sidewalk, and she looked over to see Betsy McClain.

  “Hi, Betsy!” she called as she rounded the front end of the car and stopped at the driver’s side window.

  “Hey, Midnight. Wow, you look great! How’s it going with the interviews?”

  “You’re sweet. I feel tired instead of great, but thank you. On the interviews, as you no doubt know, I just finished. As of about ten minutes ago. I really appreciate you putting that scheduled list together. I couldn’t have met all those people without you.”

  Betsy turned a becoming shade of pale pink. “Oh sure you could have. I guess it might have taken longer. So, are a lot of them going to sell their stuff in your store?”

  “Well, not yet. Everyone seemed interested, or I thought they did. But they’re all hesitant to actually sign anything, or even make a verbal agreement. Frankly, that surprises me. I mean, if people need money, and I’m creating this opportunity…”

  Betsy smiled. “You’re new. People need to get to know you.”

  Didn
’t I just spend the last three days of my life getting to know pretty much everything about pretty much everybody in the entire county? Midnight didn’t dare say what she was thinking. Better to take up the topic sometime when she wasn’t tired and frustrated.

  Betsy continued, “I think your store is a terrific idea, and it’ll be good for the town’s economy, too. Who knows what will happen with that new factory. There’s so much red tape and controversy about that whole thing. I’m not even sure what I think about it.” She shook her head, as if getting rid of the topic. “But let’s don’t talk about negative things. Are you headed back to Suzie’s?”

  Midnight hadn’t needed to tell Betsy she was staying at the B&B. Word had simply gotten around.

  “Yes, I’m there until I get the upstairs apartment in my building fixed up. The B&B is a great place to stay, but if I’m there much longer I’ll have to buy elastic waist jeans. Suzie’s quite a cook.”

  “Oh yeah! My poor husband wishes I was like that. For a while I did Suzie’s cooking school on Saturdays, but lately I haven’t felt all that energetic about it. After working all week at the office, I want to do my nesting thing on weekends. And sometimes I nap. I know my napping days are coming to an end.” She patted her tummy affectionately. “When Junior gets here, I’ll be lucky to sleep at all. Sometimes I can’t now because he kicks and wakes me up.”

  “What will you do when the baby comes, Betsy? Stay home or go back to work?” Midnight hoped Martin McClain would let Betsy make that decision, and hire someone if she wanted to stay home and raise their baby. Evidently his teenage son had a different mother, because Betsy was clearly too young for that.