LOVE in a Small Town

by Janet Eaves

  There was really only one reason she wanted to go to the barn anyway, and that was to see if that was where Jack hid the negatives or maybe even the actual pictures of her, inside his darkroom. But she couldn’t make herself leave the house except to leave the farm, which was the reason Tom Green’s presence was so welcome. Once he was there and she was sure the coast was clear, she’d search the barn, destroying anything Jack had created to humiliate or sicken her.

  If she was lucky, Tom would want to buy the farm as soon as it was released from probate. That way she could leave it all behind her, and try to start all over again. Only this time, she would make sure she didn’t place her life in any one else’s hands.

  It was wonderful to finally be free.

  Chapter Six

  Tom watched Winifred as she quietly followed the instruction of his hostess. Everyone else was busy taking notes, listening to one funny anecdote after another from Suzie as she chopped, diced, sliced, and periodically sent Winifred another set of instructions, though at this point the widow was only punching the rising dough in one or another of the four large bowls lined up on the counter.

  While others laughed at the punch-line of Suzie’s jokes, Winifred merely smiled, and kept her eyes lowered to the assortment of vegetables Suzie chopped with quick efficiency. Occasionally she’d peek up and flash a smile, he could only assume, at someone she made eye contact with, before her cheeks flared with color and her gaze returned to the chopping board. The woman seemed completely out of place being in front of a crowd, and he had to admire the guts it took for her to stand there.

  He’d spent the past two weeks looking into the first wife Jack Butler married, only to find she’d died soon after their wedding thirteen years before. Since neither Jack nor the late Karen Hawkins Butler came from Legend it had taken a lot more digging, but had resulted in very little information. She was orphaned at five, and still a ward of the state when she’d married Jack on her eighteenth birthday. She was still only eighteen when she died from extensive injuries acquired when she fell off a natural rock bridge while visiting a Kentucky state park. The death was classified as an accident, so short of being a straight A student in school, she left no traceable mark on the world.

  The rest of the time he’d spent looking into the life of Winifred Jane Miller. There wasn’t much information on her, either, before she married Jack. The phone records showed there was no one she called except for a local doctor and pharmacy. About once a month she called in for Chinese, or pizza, both foods coming from restaurants that delivered. He received authorization to check her bank accounts, which showed she tithed to her church on a monthly basis, purchased groceries at the Piggly Wiggly, paid a Sammi Jo Masterson weekly for deliveries, and approximately once every other month filled-up her car at a local gas station. That was it.

  From the gossip he’d picked up at the funeral, he’d already learned that she’d lived a life of servitude taking care of an ailing father, and with the information he’d uncovered, he was starting to believe the shy, unassuming woman incapable of the crimes he’d come to investigate. But he was here and if she hadn’t changed her mind about giving him daily access to the farm, he was going to do his best to uncover what had gone on while Jack Butler was alive. Chances were even pretty good he might find evidence of illegal guns since the untimely death of the man wouldn’t have allowed him to cover-up what he’d been doing.

  “And that’s it. The pies will be ready in about a half an hour, so please feel free to step through there. Macy will be happy to pour each of you a glass of merlot while you wait,” Suzie said, placing her arm around Winifred’s shoulder. “I’m so happy to have Winnie here helping today, so if you would, give her a hand.”

  The light smattering of applause obviously embarrassed her. Winnie, a name that suited her so much better than the more formal Winifred, glanced up and caught his gaze, before lowering hers back to her tightly held hands. As the crowd broke up and headed to the enclosed patio, which stood just off the kitchen, he approached her.

  “Mrs. Butler. It’s good to see you again.”

  She looked up at him, a tentative smile touching her pretty, naturally pink lips. “Mr. Green.”

  “Tom,” he reminded her.

  She bit her lip, then nodded. “Tom. I’d rather you call me Winnie.”

  Pleased, he took her hand, making startled violet eyes dart back to his face. He had to admit to being a little started himself, as he’d made the move before thinking. He changed the clasp into a shake. “It’s good to see you again, Winnie. Have you given any more thought to my proposal?”

  “Proposal?”

  Tom released her hand. “Yes, about allowing me to run the farm for the next month or two.”

  Relief relaxed her stance. She nodded. “Of course. In fact, I have a request to make that I think may even make the experience more authentic for you.” She took a shoulder-raising breath then continued, her words spoken quickly. “I have extra room at the house and you could have a room there. I’d cook and clean for you, and you can run the farm until you buy it, or if you decide you don’t want it, as long as you are willing.”

  What an incredible opportunity she was handing him. He’d have complete access to all parts of the farm, as well as the house itself. He’d actually thought it would be hard to search the house while taking care of the farm, but Winnie was handing it all to him on a silver platter. “Thank you. That would be great. But you don’t have to cook or clean for me. I’m a big boy and used to taking care of myself.”

  Her cheeks turned crimson. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry.”

  Tom felt like a creep. She’d obviously thought this through and he’d rejected her offer. He was just used to women who didn’t cook or clean for themselves, but hired others to do one or both. He’d have to remember that she was more of a homebody. “Unless you just happen to cook enough for two.”

  She smiled up at him, a timid, nervous smile. “We’ll see,” she said, before sidestepping him to join the others.

  Good for you, Tom thought, glad she hadn’t fallen all over herself at his awkward attempt to make amends. Maybe she was learning a little independence.

  Chapter Seven

  Attending the cooking class again, for the first time on her own, was so much more fun than it ever was with Jack Butler looking over her shoulder. But life in general was so much more fun, especially now that she could relax.

  True, she didn’t know Tom Green from Adam, but there was something about him that allowed her to be herself, which wasn’t at all normal. It was better than normal. Instead of being Daddy’s daughter, or Jack’s wife, now she was just Winnie. And Winnie was going to make some major changes in her life.

  She’d already started during her self-imposed lockdown at the house. All the rooms, except the one she was using as storage for the others, were now stripped of all the old furniture. In the next week she was expecting a brand new sofa, recliner, end tables and a large ottoman, to rest her feet any time she decided she wanted to.

  The old kitchen appliances could stay for now, she decided as she inspected Suzie’s commercial grade, six-burner stove, since there was a good chance she’d be updating a new kitchen somewhere else once she sold the farm. Then Tom Green, or whoever bought the farm, could update the kitchen to their own taste.

  The bedroom furniture would have to be replaced immediately since she was in the process of burning it all. So she’d have Tom go with her to The Emporium first, to look at exotic and local crafts and other decorative items before deciding what overall theme they wanted for their rooms. Afterwards they’d hit furniture stores and pick out new sets. As tall as he was, Winnie fully expected to have to buy Tom a Super King, and she was going to have something she’d never had, an entire room color coordinated with matching, or mismatched if she decided that was better, furniture, and a lovely rug to step on first thing in the morning.

  Best of all, everything was going to be her taste. Not her mother’s from
half a century before and not Jack Butler’s former wife’s. It would be hers, and hers alone.

  “I’m ready. Do you want me to follow you?”

  Winnie turned to Tom, startled anew that she found him so attractive, when the last thing she expected was to be attracted to any man. He held a large suitcase in one hand and his small toiletries bag in the other. “Yes.” She looked at his luggage. “Is that all you have?”

  “No. The rest is in my car.”

  “Oh, okay. But before we head to the house we need to do a little shopping for furnishings.”

  Tom’s brows rose. “I don’t need anything special. What’s there will be fine.”

  Smiling at that, she led the way to the front door. “I doubt it. Your room has no furniture at all.”

  Since he didn’t question her statement, she went to her car and waited while he put his luggage in his. Over the hood of the little black Celica she’d bought, used, just that morning, she waited. “Why don’t you ride with me then we’ll come back and get your car when we’re done.”

  Tom closed the door on his car, the beep of it locking as he strode towards her. He looked over her car then at her. “Nice.”

  Winnie smiled. It wasn’t just nice. It was wonderful. Once she’d gotten around to counting the cash Jack had hidden between the mattress and boxed springs, she’d felt rich beyond her imagination. Better still, she’d found stashes of cash all over the house in the past two weeks as she’d dismantled each room. Apparently the man hadn’t believed in banks, as he had to have been hording that money for years, and she felt more than entitled to take it. It certainly didn’t pay for his sins against her, but it made her new life a lot easier to start.

  “Thanks. I hope you can fit.”

  Tom looked it over dubiously. “I might be able to fold myself in.”

  Once in, Winnie opened the sunroof, backed out of her parking spot, drove down the tree lined lane then turned right onto Lake Road. As they left the gorgeous grounds of the Bed & Breakfast, she popped in a CD and turned to Tom. “I love this car.”

  Even with his seat all the way back and slightly reclined, it was obvious the car was too small for him. “It looks brand new.”

  Winnie nodded. “I know. I bought it from a guy I used to go to school with. He’d bought it new in two thousand-two, but hardly drove it. He’s into his motorcycles, so it was mostly garaged.” She flashed Tom a smile as she sped fifteen miles above Lake Road’s speed limit.

  “This baby is fully loaded.”

  He laughed. “You act like a teenager with her first car.”

  “I feel like a teenager with my first car,” she agreed, slowing to take the next left onto Second Street. She cruised the few blocks west to Main Street, bobbing to the sounds of Alicia Keys. Once at the corner of Main and Second, she took a right into the parking lot.

  Gold and black lettering arched across the large plate glass window at the front of the building confirming that she’d come to the right place. The Emporium was one of the largest freestanding buildings in Legend, and had, for most of her life, been a bar. She hadn’t even been aware the bar closed or that the building had changed hands until after her father’s passing. But there was a lot that had happened in Legend in the last decade that she’d missed out on.

  According to Suzie Matthews, the building was bought by a woman named Midnight, which Suzie felt appropriately exotic since the woman herself could also be considered exotic, both in looks and manner. Since it was Winnie’s first visit to the store, as well as Tom’s, she took her time studying the richly appointed, masterfully displayed arts and crafts section immediately upon entering the large oak and glass door, before moving on.

  Colors abounded, textures and shapes mesmerized, paintings–abstract, impressionist and realistic–hung everywhere, and blended in with freestanding art of every imaginable medium.

  “May I help you?”

  Winnie tore her gaze from a statue of an armless–extremely well-endowed–naked man, to the tall woman beside her. With her hair as black as midnight and irises in her wide-set eyes to match, the woman should have looked spooky, but she didn’t. She was as gorgeous as a porcelain doll with alabaster skin, and as Suzie had mentioned, she fit the space she’d made her own to perfection.

  Subtle light radiated from large, moss-green glass globes suspended by pewter colored rods from a twelve-foot high, forest green ceiling, giving the room a cool, relaxed feeling. The same could be said of the woman whose name fit her so well. She smiled at them both, her eyes resting a little longer on Tom.

  Winnie took a step closer to him without thought, until Midnight turned those depthless eyes on her, sending her a knowing look. Embarrassed that she’d think there was anything between them, Winnie stepped back and cleared her throat. “I’m looking for ideas, actually. I’m redecorating.”

  Delight lit the proprietress’s eyes along with a calculating shrewdness. “Just my kind of customer. Is there something in particular you and your husband like?” she asked, placing a hand on the shoulder of the statue that had fascinated Winnie only moments before.

  Winnie jolted at the mistake, but refrained from correcting her. The woman was a stranger and had no need to know her marital state or lack thereof. She kept her eyes on Midnight’s as the woman chatted about the variety of decorations local artists, as well as her own father, had contributed, then found her gaze following the movements of Midnight’s hand as it slid over the shining, well defined chest of the yard ornament in what she could only describe as a caress.

  A chill flashed through her, stunning her, hardening her nipples as she fought the temptation to take another look down the statue’s form. The desire to do so was as ridiculously strong as it was baffling. She’d only seen two other penises in her life. Her father’s flaccid one when she’d had to bathe or change him, and Jack’s always erect one which he’d used to abuse her. It was incredibly embarrassing to realize she wanted to look anyway. “Maybe some wall art, materials… I’m not really sure. I guess I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Then feel free to wander. If you need assistance or have a question just give me a shout,” Midnight said, before leaving them.

  “Thanks.”

  “I think his name is Adonis.”

  Winnie glanced at Tom, only to find him studying the statue. “What?”

  “It’s on the tag.”

  Frowning, she lifted the small white tag dangling from white string taped to the statue’s rippling abs. “No. I think Adonis is the artist.”

  “Oh.” Tom stood waiting, making her realize she been caught once again staring at that darned statue. One particular area of the darned statue!

  Heat licked her cheeks as she turned to walk around. There weren’t really aisles, so she meandered from pottery, to tapestries, to paintings, all the while aware of Tom following along like a puppy. She stopped and turned back to him. “Do you see anything you like?”

  Chapter Eight

  Yes, Tom thought, there was definitely something he liked. And it was a little disconcerting to realize it was the woman he’d spent the last half-hour following. She was an unexpected mixture of fire and ice, innocence and dare. She was starting to intrigue him in a way that wasn’t entirely professional… Okay, not starting. He’d been captivated from the get-go. “I’m not really looking. I’m a little surprised you are. Aren’t you going to a lot of trouble since you’re planning to relocate soon?”

  Winnie shrugged. “Yes and no. Don’t worry, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m definitely giving up the farm as soon as possible. Everything I get for me I’m buying with the next place in mind. The things I buy for your room I plan on leaving behind, so you might as well pick them out yourself. Consider it a housewarming gift.”

  Tom mentally calculated what it might cost to redecorate a couple of bedrooms and wondered. Was she going to spend Butler’s illegally attained money now that he was gone? Or was this money she herself had a part in acquiring? Her cut? He hated to
think so, but he knew better than to think with his penis.

  His research had revealed that Winnie basically lived off of her father’s Social Security while caring for the old man and wouldn’t now have that much money left to burn. The small savings account she’d had when her father died was closed less than a week after she married Butler.

  Research into Jack Butler’s three local bank accounts had proven a goldmine. He’d been transferring money from one bank to another, and then the other, so that none of them knew how much his portfolio was really worth at any given time. At his death the three accounts held a little over twenty thousand each, but over the past year, once all the deposits and withdraws were accounted for, he’d somehow run millions through them and never raised any red flags.

  Tom also knew Winnie wouldn’t be able to touch that money until a local judge signed off on it. So far she hadn’t attempted to touch any of it, something he knew after having a tracer put on each of Butler’s accounts. Best he could tell, no one had even looked at them. So, with no savings of her own, and no access to her late husband’s funds, Winnie should have had virtually little or no money to spend on redecorating, or shiny little cars, at least until she sold the farm and got the proceeds. Which meant she had to have her own money stashed somewhere.

  Tom took a deep breath and turned away under the pretense of inspecting an abstract painting. He couldn’t let his burgeoning interest in her as a woman interfere with his purpose for being in Legend. As far as he was concerned, she was to be considered guilty until proven innocent. And he couldn’t let her innocent demeanor cloud his judgment. He knew as well as anyone how deceptive a woman could be.

  “Hey, look at this!”

  Tom tuned back, and couldn’t help the look of horror he knew reflected on his face. A section of a mahogany bookcase was devoted to voodoo dolls in a variety of shapes, colors, and sizes showing, he guessed, the elegant proprietress had a sense of humor. He might have thought the little guys funny, too, except for one fine point–point being the operative word. Each one was decorated with its own color-coordinated pearl-headed stickpin stuck into the doll’s anatomy in a manner that made him want to cross his legs.