LOVE in a Small Town

by Janet Eaves

  Winnie burst out laughing and picked one up. She turned to him, her eyes full of delight, her smile completely without guile.

  And he knew right then and there he was in big trouble.

  It wasn’t the doll that had him worried. It was the absolute delight in the laughter of the woman before him. She moved something in him. Something that punched at the armor he’d built around his heart after Teresa’s betrayal. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand covered his chest just above his heart. He made a fist and let it fall to his side. Setting his painful history aside as he always did, Tom shook his head. “Boy, this woman must hate men.”

  “Quite the contrary,” Midnight said, joining them with a smile. “I happen to love my man. Though there are some who deserve the pin.”

  Her smile said she was kidding, but he didn’t think so. “Hm… Well…” he said, unsure how to respond. He turned to Winnie only to find her sticking the pin straight up her doll’s crotch. He shook his head, wondering what it was about the women of Legend, Tennessee. None of them seemed to like men. He turned and headed to the front of the establishment, deciding he’d just wait outside until Winnie was done shopping. The last thing he needed to do was alienate her by telling her how stupid the voodoo doll was, or raise the hackles of Madame Midnight, of the strange and bizarre.

  “Wait!”

  Tom turned just as he was about to exit the building only to find Winnie running after him as if her heels were on fire. “What is it?” he asked, concerned.

  She stopped at his side, her eyes still filled with laughter. “Sorry about that.”

  Tom shrugged. What could he say? The damned dolls really did creep him out. But more than the dolls, the women’s enjoyment of them.

  “Really,” she insisted. “That was so rude of me. It’s just that my experience with men—” Her cheeks turned dark pink. “What I mean is… Well, never mind. I’m sorry. You don’t want or need to hear about my sorry life. Let’s just get out of here and head to the two furniture stores back a couple of blocks. There’s even a thrift store there, though I see no reason to visit it unless you want to.”

  Tom shrugged again, not sure how he was supposed to handle her. He wanted to hear about her life, sorry or otherwise. But he didn’t want to press as he was fast getting the impression that she’d been pushed around some. After he’d had time to do a little investigating on the farm and around the house he’d have a better idea of what he needed to know from her. Until then, he’d just let her talk about anything she wanted, and once she was comfortable enough with him, he’d slide the questions he needed answered into the equation. As far as the shopping, the only thing that actually concerned him other than having a comfortable bed to sleep in was Winnie’s spending habits. The woman seemed determined to unload the money in her purse.

  “Tom?”

  He started, then glanced at her quickly once he realize his lost-in-thought gaze had rested on the penis of the naked statue just inside the establishment’s front door. “What?” he asked, then realized he’d practically shouted. “What?” he asked again, this time with a reasonable tone.

  She furrowed her brows at him. “I just asked if you were ready to go.”

  “Sure.” He moved ahead of her to open the door, then waited until she passed through before rolling his eyes, and shaking his head at his own stupid behavior.

  Chapter Nine

  There was something just a little nasty about the way D.R. Pickles watched her, Winnie decided, as she strode through his furniture store. Pickles and Sons had been in Legend since long before her birth–in fact, had been the only furniture store in town for most of the town’s existence. The once wooden, now partially bricked, building was separated from Legend Cemetery by a large parking lot, and was flanked to the south by the thrift store she’d mentioned to Tom and Flag Street with a small subdivision to the north. The establishment was originally built from native lumber by one Ralph Waldo Pickles of Boston, Massachusetts, who had uprooted his family and thriving lumber and cabinetry business to start a new life in the wild west… Well, what had been the wild west back then. He, along with Major Lawrence Legend of the Fifth Infantry Brigade, were reportedly the first families to settle what was then untouched, wild country.

  Of course there had been American Indians living in and around the large lake when the officer and his brother-in-law, along with their wives and children had arrived, but like in most of America, they had eventually either moved on voluntarily or involuntarily. The plight of the native peoples had still been a subject of debate in her history class when she’d attended Legend High School a little over a decade before.

  The current owner, David Ross Pickles, the great-great, or great-great-great grandson of the original owner–she wasn’t entirely sure which–had been a year behind her in school, and had been a snot even then, as he was well aware of, and incredibly proud of, his family’s history. In elementary school, as well as middle school, his favorite saying had been, “Pickles’ poop don’t stink.” And he seemed to have the same general attitude even as an adult. She glanced back at Tom, who was running his hand along the long, decorative stabilizing pole suspended between the tall bedposts at the foot of a cherry-wood bed. “Are you ready to go?”

  Tom glanced from her to the man watching them. He nodded, then followed her out of the store. “What was that about?”

  Heat licked her cheeks. “He has always thought a little too much of himself. And very little of me.”

  Tom laid a hand on her shoulder, stopping her eager escape back to her car. “Why?”

  Winnie knew she was blushing, and hated herself for it. “It’s a long story.”

  Tom didn’t say anything as they entered her car, but placed his hand on hers before she could turn the key in the ignition. “Why wouldn’t he think well of you? You seem perfectly respectable to me.”

  Though he’d said the last as a joke, she just couldn’t laugh. “My family wasn’t exactly at the top of the social scale here in Legend.”

  Tom was silent for a moment, as he studied her. “So?”

  Winnie felt a moment of impotent fury. “So, he, and his friends, treated me like I was nothing.”

  Tom frowned at her. “That was a long time ago. Go in there and kick his ass now. You want to spend money. He wants your money. At the end of the day, he isn’t anything more than a shop owner. For better or worse, money equalizes things.”

  A giggled escaped her and Winnie covered her mouth. She smiled up at Tom. “You know what? You’re right. But that son-of-a-monkey’s balls isn’t getting a penny from me. I will, however, make sure he sees me walking around the building to Lucianna’s.” The new, exotically named establishment, had advertised upscale furniture in the paper only that morning, and she’d been delighted to have more than one store to shop in.

  The funny thing was, the owner of the new furniture store either had big balls, or was totally ignorant of the status of the Pickles family as they’d opened their furniture store on the backside of Pickles and Sons.

  “Follow me,” Winnie said, smiling at the large plate glass window as she walked by, rounded the corner, and headed to Lucianna’s. Unlike the establishment she’d just left, Lucianna’s storefront had recently been refaced, and was completely bricked with large fancy arched windows displaying sexily draped netting over the richly appointed beds and bedding.

  “This looks interesting.”

  Winnie glanced back at Tom, with a smile. “Yes it does.”

  They entered the arched wooden door that looked like something from early-century Europe, and Winnie sighed in wonder. The owner had to be a woman. There was no way a man could make furniture look so romantic.

  Oh, if only she still believed in romance.

  “Hi.”

  Winnie was nearly speechless. The woman approaching them was almost too beautiful to be real. She held out her hand and Winnie took it. “Hi.”

  “I’m Lucianna Miciel,” she said, her accent one
that Winnie had never heard before in person, but guessed to be eastern-European. She’d pronounced her name “Lucy-onna Mic-I-el,” which Winnie thought incredibly beautiful.

  “I’m Winnie, and this is Tom.”

  Lucianna smiled at them. “Welcome to my store. Please, make yourselves at home. I have teas, coffees, and wines in the back if you’d like. Please let me know what I can bring you.”

  Winnie glanced at Tom and was irritated to find herself feeling a little possessive. He seemed as thunderstruck as she felt. “Do you want anything?”

  “No.”

  She discretely poked him in the ribs while smiling at Lucianna. “I’d like some tea, if you don’t mind.”

  The striking redhead bowed slightly. “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Wow,” Winnie said when she walked away. “She is gorgeous.”

  Tom nodded. “Yeah. I guess so. So do you see anything you like?”

  Winnie frowned at him. “You guess so?”

  Tom shrugged. “She’s very pretty. But so are you. What’s the big deal? I thought we were here to look for furniture, not women.”

  Winnie knew her jaw had dropped. “Are you serious?”

  Tom frowned at her. “About what?”

  Bemused, Winnie smiled to herself. If Tom wasn’t pulling her leg, he’d just paid her the biggest complement of her life. “Nothing,” she said, swaggering through the store. “Nothing at all.”

  Chapter Ten

  Redecorating the house had become a passion. That’s all there was to it, Winnie decided as she carefully ran the angled paintbrush along the top of the drywall, going slowly so she didn’t get any on the ceiling. She re-dipped her brush, being careful to only get what she needed, so the paint wouldn’t run down her new bedroom wall.

  With four rooms to choose from, and the room she’d last shared with Jack out of the question, Winnie had picked the only upstairs room in the house that hadn’t had a bed in it when she’d moved in. Jack had used it as an office, or at least he’d pretended to use it as an office. In reality it probably hadn’t been used to do the books since Old Man Casey had been alive, something she’d determined after going through and throwing out all the old papers from the scarred desk she’d donated to Goodwill. There was nothing at all that had to do with the proceeds or expenses Jack would have incurred while running the farm.

  Mr. Casey had kept old tobacco warehouse receipts from as far back as the nineteen-forties, as well as the acreage used for each one of his crops, the cost to plant and harvest them, the rainfall amounts as well as deficits–apparently he’d survived some pretty serious droughts–and income for each and every crop he’d ever planted.

  In a way she’d felt guilty for throwing it all away, but she was determined to erase as much past as possible from the house she would make her own until she was able to move on. A flutter of guilt was quickly pushed away. In reality, she had more than enough money to start a new life even without the proceeds from the sale of the farm. But there was something about that money that bothered her.

  Just where had Jack made it all?

  Yes, he’d had pigs, and cows, and chickens. There were still crops in the field just waiting to be harvested, but she wasn’t stupid. A farm the size of this one didn’t generate the kind of money Jack left behind. Of course it could have all been Ms. Betty’s, and left to the stingy, hateful man she’d married. But why hide it? Jack was paranoid, and with good reason, but still, the more she spent, the creepier it felt.

  “Hey.”

  Winnie pulled her brush away from the wall and turned to smile at Tom. They’d only been back at the farm for a few hours, but already she felt safer than she’d felt since her father’s death. “Hi. What do you think?”

  Tom took her question as an invitation to enter the room. Winnie kept her smile in place, but felt slightly nauseated. She forced it down. It wasn’t Tom’s fault she couldn’t stand the thought of a man in her bedroom. He’d been nothing but decent every second since entering her life.

  He studied the room, giving the lavender paint color such serious consideration she couldn’t help but smile. “Is it that bad?”

  Tom shook his head. “No. Actually, it’s very nice.”

  It tickled her that he seemed to find his own opinion surprising. “Well, it will be when the furniture arrives. Lucianna said it would all be here this afternoon.”

  Tom looked from her to the wall again.

  “How did you do all this so fast? Where is all the old stuff?”

  Though she thought his question a little peculiar, Winnie shrugged. “I’ve had a couple of weeks now. Most of it was picked up by Goodwill, or burnt out back. I wanted to start fresh.”

  He turned to her, surprising her with an expression of irritated disbelief. “What was the big hurry? There could have been information useful to me!”

  Speechless, Winnie stared at him.

  He took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I know you have every right to do whatever you want with your belongings, it’s just that I was hoping to find a little of the farm’s history.”

  Winnie took each rung of the ladder slowly as she descended. When she reached the floor, she sat her small paint bucket and brush on the canvas drop-cloth she’d used to cover the wood flooring. A twinge of guilt had her wringing her hands. “I’m sorry. There was so much clutter.”

  Tom shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I should be the one doing that.” He approached her and Winnie felt herself going stiff. He must have noticed her reaction because he stopped several inches away, his eyes staring at her hard, as if he could see right through her. He took a step back. “Winnie, I would never hurt you.”

  Surprise and shame that he’d seen so much nearly took the starch from her knees. “What?” she asked, faintly.

  Tom took another step back. “I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt a woman.”

  Humiliation burned as much as a hard slap, she realized, needing to escape before making a fool of herself. “Please excuse me,” she said, skirting him, and heading out the door. She kept walking, determined to get out of the house and into the fresh air, hoping the liquid brimming her eyelids would hold until there was no chance of him seeing what a mess she was.

  The front door was only steps away when she looked up, then stopped, rooted to the spot. Randy Rudd was on the other side of the screen, his eyes dancing with delight, wallowing in evil intent.

  “Well, well, well, little Miss Winifred is finally home and didn’t lock the door.”

  The chill that went through her made her gag. “What do you want?” she asked, backing up towards the staircase she’d just descended.

  “What do you think I want?”

  She shook her head. “Go away.” Her heel hit the bottom step and she stopped.

  “You know as well as I do that isn’t going to happen. I want you. And I will have you.”

  The nausea was returning full force, only this time she couldn’t swallow it down. She wanted to scream for Tom to come down, but she couldn’t find her voice. Randy opened the screen door and stepped inside, confidence rolling off him like a tsunami overtaking seashore. She shook her head, but couldn’t make her feet move.

  “Hello?”

  Winnie nearly cried out with relief at the sound of Tom’s voice before she heard his footsteps behind her. She turned to him and tried to smile, but her face felt as if it might crack.

  He looked from her to Randy. “Is there something we can do for you?”

  She turned back to Randy, his eyes were on Tom as he descended the stairs, then they turned to her. He smiled maliciously, his cocky demeanor one that she’d witnessed time after time when he and Jack had put their heads together.

  He turned his attention to Tom once more. “Just thought I’d stop in and check on Winifred here, seeing as her late husband and I were such good friends. We also did some business together. I’m here to continue working the farm for her. Who are you?”

&n
bsp; Tom tilted his head as if considering the information he’d just been handed, then, to her horror, he smiled at Randy. “Well then, good to meet you. Looks like I’m your new boss.”

  Winnie looked from man to man, her heart sinking back to the depths of hell. Tom was bringing Randy back into her life. Nothing had changed. The only silver lining to this horror was that Randy didn’t seem any happier about it than she was.

  Chapter Eleven

  Winnie forced herself to take several deep breaths. No. It would be different this time. Tom wasn’t Jack. He not only wouldn’t abuse her, he wouldn’t allow Randy to, either. Of course she couldn’t tell Tom everything, but if she made him understand that Randy gave her the creeps–a gross understatement–then maybe Tom would watch out for her and keep him at a great distance.

  And while the two of them were talking business at the kitchen table, she was going to take the opportunity to run out to the barn and do a quick search for those pictures. As far as she knew, Tom had inspected the crops in the fields, and checked on the cattle, but hadn’t yet made it to the barn.

  The large structure had certainly seen better days. There was a general air of neglect with all the dusty spider-webs filling the upper and many of the lower rafters. The tin roof had large sheets missing and the support posts, as well as the exterior siding, were rotting in places. The long vertical boards enclosing the structure showed signs of water-rot at their jagged ends.

  She pressed her lips together, wondering just how long it had been since the barn had actually been used as intended. Not that she knew everything there was to know about farming, but she did know, after working for them one winter during her Christmas break from school, that the Casey family had farmed this land for several generations, and none of them would have allowed such disrepair. Which meant Jack, the lazy mongrel she’d known he was, hadn’t been farming as she’d been led to believe.