Settling on her haunches, Maxine ran a hand down along Miss Wiggles’s fur-coated spine, chucking her under the chin. “Auntie Maxine’s beat, punkin’, and her nose could really use a frozen T-bone followed by an ibuprofen chaser. So let’s make poo and call it a night. Whaddya say?”
Miss Wiggles leaned into her hand for a brief moment then sat back on her haunches, too. Slipping to the ground, Maxine dropped her ass to the pavement with defeat and sighed. Miss Wiggles hopped in her lap to snuggle.
Maxine held up the Ziploc bag. “See this, Miss Wiggles? We have to fill it up. Please?” she whimpered. Her nose whimpered right along with her by way of an angry throb. A quick glance in the rec center bathroom mirror had revealed dark purple bruising and an ugly, mottled yellow blotch on the left side of her cheek.
“Are we experiencing potty malfunction, Miss Wiggles?” a deep voice asked, the speaker stepping into the light of the globed street-lamps lining the sidewalks of Leisure Village.
Her stomach gave a fierce lurch when Campbell offered his hand to help her up. She found her eyes falling to the tight fit of his jeans where his thighs met his hips, and bit her lip. Placing her hand in his, she rose upward, Miss Wiggles securely tucked under her arm. His arm went to her waist when she stumbled, because really, whose legs wouldn’t crumble like dry cookies in the presence of all that hottie?
Their bodies met, touching, molding to each other as if they’d always done so. Maxine grimaced when her hips decided they liked Campbell’s just fine. His muscled thighs, aligned with hers, left her wondering what they would feel like minus a pair of stonewashed jeans.
Oh.
Nice time for her libido to fire up.
“How’s that nose?” he asked with his arm still bracing her.
“Do you think purple and yellow blotches are a good look for me?” she asked back on a hard swallow. His chest. It kept distracting her. Jesus Christ in a miniskirt, his chest was so okay to stay pressed against hers until her death, when rigor mortis set in.
The hand she’d placed on his arm to steady herself persisted, internally begging her to allow its fingers to skim the planes of his pecs. She swayed.
Campbell tightened his grip, his long fingers splaying across her waist. “I think what really gives me goose bumps is the red mixed in with all those blotches. Very appealing.”
“So what you’re saying is it’s not working with my outfit.”
He chuckled. “Only if you’re Rainbow Brite.”
Maxine chuckled, too. Nervously.
And then there was silence again, Miss Wiggles sighing a deep sigh of contentment against Campbell’s shoulder, mirroring Maxine’s internal sigh.
Campbell’s eyes stared into hers directly, unblinking, as though he were taking in every inch of her face and memorizing it.
God. What a sucky memory she must make right now.
The evening pulsed between them. Crickets chirped. The street-lamps hummed.
Expectation came, went, and came again in her stomach full of cartwheeling Olympic gymnasts. She couldn’t help but think about Len’s mystery conversation with Campbell. Was this man, so smart and funny, kind to the elderly, good with animals, and hot to boot, really interested in her? And if so, why? She didn’t have a lot to offer. In fact, had she ever had anything to offer other than her twenty-two-inch waist and a nice rack?
As the silence ticked on, and her mind raced, Maxine decided Len had read too much into Campbell’s inquiries.
Her stomach sank again. Why would a man this together, this flippin’ good looking, ever ask her out? If he’d asked Len about her, it was out of curiosity because of all of the village gossip. Who wouldn’t be curious about the neurosis-laden, almost divorcée who’d gone from riches to neon yellow sweat suits and eyebrows like caterpillars?
When Campbell finally spoke, it was as he was letting her go, stepping backward. “C’mere, Miss Wiggles,” he almost cooed, taking the dog from her trembling fingers and setting her on the grass by his feet. “Let’s make some magic, young lady,” he coaxed the preening Pomeranian.
Disappointment led Maxine’s eyes to stray to the ground for a mere second before she lifted them to his, purposely—with resolve. There’d be no lying down and dying because someone didn’t ask her out on a date she’d made up in her own mind to begin with.
Her shoulders squared at this mini-milestone. There’d be no weeping and wailing either. Rejection sucked sometimes, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Not nabbing a date with a man she probably wasn’t ready to date anyway was just fine.
So bummer that.
When she finally unlocked her “I never wanted to go out with you anyway” gaze from his, and her eyes strayed back to the ground, Campbell asked, “So, Max. How about that cup of coffee? Maybe tomorrow night? Seven sound good?”
Yeah, rejection wasn’t the end of the world. But acceptance did have a woo to the hoo factor to it. Not a big woo. Just a little hoo. “Where do you want to go?”
“The diner maybe? Wherever we go, I promise it’ll be well lit and have plenty of people.”
Maxine giggled. “I—I’ve . . . I haven’t been on a date since leg warmers were still popular. I guess I just don’t know what to say. I mean, it isn’t that I don’t know what my answer’s going to be. I just mean that you caught me off guard. Sort of. Oh, and not in a bad way. Just off guard, you know?”
Oy.
The smile he flashed was playful with no hint of the dangerous glint he’d had in his eyes earlier. “Just say yes. Yes, Campbell, I’ll have a cup of coffee with you. Maybe two if you keep being so damn cute and charming.”
Her heart skittered, and her hands searched for something to do other than throw themselves around his neck in high-schoolish gratitude. So silly. It was only coffee.
On a deep breath that made her bangs puff upward, she responded. “Yes, Campbell. I’ll have coffee with you at a well-lit place with lots of people around.”
She noted his expression never wavered, but his eyes glittered. He handed Miss Wiggles’s leash to her with a grin that made his five o’clock shadow appear rakish in the lamplight. “So I’ll see you tomorrow at seven, Max.”
As she took the leash, their hands brushed, creating an electric current of excitement in the pit of her stomach once more. “O—okay . . . tomorrow.”
Campbell caught her chin, caressing it with his thumb. “You ice that nose, okay?” he reminded before capturing her lips, molding them to his with a sweetly hot sizzle of blood rushing to her ears. It lasted maybe only twenty seconds or so, no longer than the last kiss they’d shared, but long enough to awaken those dormant hormones so long overlooked.
This time a sigh did escape her lips, and a sinful chuckle of confidence released from his. When she was able to open her eyes, he’d begun to saunter away. “Don’t forget to scoop that poop,” he said, laughter threading his words.
Maxine gave a quick glance to where Miss Wiggles sat beside her feet, quiet as a church mouse, a pile of some of her best magic right beside her. She bent to scoop it up and deposit it in the bag, retrieving the dog to give her a quick snuggle. “Is there anything that man can’t create with just a wink and a smile?” she asked her.
Setting Miss Wiggles back on the sidewalk, Maxine took her time bringing the Pomeranian home to her owner, Mrs. Kniffen. She needed a moment to absorb the idea that she was going on a date, time to assimilate how she was going to broach the subject to Connor.
She needed to do more than just absorb and talk this over with Connor—she needed a lot of things. First, a much-required fashion intervention. “Miss Wiggles? When you’re going on a date for something as casual as coffee, is it acceptable dating etiquette to wear a sweat suit?”
Miss Wiggles snorted her apparent disapproval, trotting happily beside her toward home.
“But it’s a festive color. Purple. Don’t you like purple?” The Pomeranian let a visible shudder roll down her spine.
Her shoulders slumped. She did
n’t have a whole lot to choose from except what she borrowed from her mother. Almost all of her wardrobe, accessories, and cute shoes were long gone. Lacey’d probably had a poolside bonfire with them back at the mini-mansion. Right next to those stupid silver saw palmetto trees she’d once babied like she’d given birth to them.
“So tell me, Miss Fashionista, how do you feel about housecoats on a first date? You know, like the ones with the big flowers on them and the snaps down the front?” This time, Miss Wiggles growled low.
Maxine rolled her eyes at the persnickety Miss Wiggles.
Hater.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Note from Maxine Cambridge to all ex-trophy wives on really, really sucking it up: When on a tight budget, Walmart and other various discount chains can be your moth-eaten pocketbook’s friend. Yes, you must do your own shopping. No, there are no personal shoppers to carry your purchases. No one will offer you beverage and sustenance in the way of wafer-thin crackers with goat cheese whilst you peruse fine outerwear. However, this is the place where you’ll find affordable foods and two-fer deals, and finally, yes, you must push your own cart. The indignities, eh? Go forth and purchase feminine hygiene products at discount prices. “Welcome to Walmart.”
Adam hunched down in his rented car in the Walmart parking lot, observing the woman he’d finally identified as Maxine Cambridge, and forced himself to focus on why he was in Riverbend in the first place.
But his thoughts kept straying to Len—her hot accusation that he was some two-bit PI for Finley Cambridge. Her vehement defense of her friend made him smile.
She was intense, sexy, and devoted to, and protective of Maxine.
Now that he had the information he needed, he should be focused on doing what he came to do and getting out of Dodge.
So why was he pulling out of the Walmart parking lot and driving in the direction of Lenore’s office?
“Okay, Maxie. This,” her mother said with widespread arms clad in a plaid button-down shirt, “is Super Walmart. It’s the best place in town to shop when you’re on a budget. Well, sometimes you can get a real bargain at the Stop & Shop on chuck roast, but Walmart has everything, household items, small appliances, clothes. All sorts of bunk.”
Maxine’s mouth hung open in awe as she perused the vast acres of aisles and aisles of—of stuff. So much stuff. Stuff for as far as the eye could see. “Wowwww,” was all she had to offer.
Mona shook her head and rolled her eyes in Gail’s direction. “I’m almost ashamed to call you my own, toots. You really haven’t ever been inside a Walmart? I still can’t believe what a princess you are.”
The shake of her head was sluggish. “Nuh-uh. Not for a long, long time. Lola did all of the shopping. I just wrote down what I wanted and she provided.” Jesus. That sounded so shallow—so diva-esque, even to her own ears. “And I’m not a princess, Mom. Princesses aren’t poor. So take a good look”—she pulled at the lining of her pockets to show her mother—“I am poor. As a church mouse. The horror, huh? And it wasn’t like I wouldn’t have been more than willing to go do the shopping and errands, but Finley was adamant about the ‘help,’ as he called them, doing what they were paid to do.”
A wistfully sad smile crossed her face when she remembered how kind Lola had been to her when she’d discovered her crying in the pantry because she couldn’t find the can opener.
It had been a situational breakdown just a month after she’d found out about Fin’s first affair. One of those “straw that broke the camel’s back” deals. Her fears and her overactive imagination had all ganged up on her at once, and she’d taken her frustrations out by openly weeping over her inability to locate a simple can opener.
Lola’s sympathetic smile and offer to make her a cake couldn’t completely hide the pity in her eyes. That was when Maxine knew that everyone but her was aware of Fin’s need to discover if the Fountain of Youth really was inside the vagina of a twenty-year-old.
Everyone Finley employed knew he’d stepped out behind her back. How pathetic she must’ve appeared. Poor, dim-witted Finley Cambridge’s wife. Forgotten head cheerleader of the Riverbend Rams and ex-small-time beauty queen.
But not anymore. A big squee to that.
Maxine’s cheeks sprouted two red spots at the recollection, spurring her determination to understand this crazy new world of coupon-clipping and buying ground beef in bulk.
Rubbing her hands together, she eyed Gail and her mother. “Okay, ladies. So my secret’s out. I don’t know thing one about Walmart, but I’ve got my list and two weeks’ worth of scooping poop in cold hard cash. Let’s get it on.”
Stomping off down the first aisle that grabbed her attention, she held up her list like it was a she-warrior’s guide to the galaxy. Her eyes glazed over with each aisle she traipsed through. This was a Candy Land of gadgets and doodads the likes of which she hadn’t seen in a long time.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
They even had Sno Balls.
The pink ones.
In bulk!
Two hours later, Max found herself enraptured, enthralled, enthusiastically sick with the kind of joy she was garnering from ticking items off her list. Items she was purchasing with her money.
“Omigod, Ma! Looook!” she squealed, ignoring the inquiring stay-at-home moms turning toward her in clusters of frayed ponytails. “I found tampons. They’re the good ones, too. The ones for heavy-flow days. Two boxes for five dollars!” She grinned, pride beaming on her face as she waved the boxes at her mother. They qualified as a necessity, and better still, they fit into her budget. Two boxes of tampons would last her at least four months.
Oh, happy period.
Her mother leaned over the cart and whispered out of the side of her mouth with a harsh snap, “Maxie?”
Distracted by the shiny display of bags and bags of Snickers bars, Maxine muttered, “What?”
“Stop it. You’re making a scene. It’s Walmart, Maxie. Not Diane von Furstaface.” Giving her a sideways glance, Mona frowned. “People are giving us funny looks.”
“It’s Furstenberg, and they’re giving us funny looks because you still have a roller in your hair, Mom.” Maxine plucked at the pink cushiony curler.
Mona waved her off, snatching the curler from her and dropping it in her suitcase-sized purse. “No. It’s because you’re behaving like you just found the answer to the meaning of life. It’s Walmart. Nobody gets excited about Walmart.”
Gail shuffled up behind them and snorted. “I do. It’s my one chance to get out and commune with discount coupons and cheap lingerie.”
Maxine’s eyes lit up when she squeezed Gail’s arm. “They have lingerie, too?” she gasped with a coo. “Oh, show me!”
“Maxie!” her mother whisper-yelled, grabbing on to the sleeve of her shirt. “Pipe down. It’s not the kind of lingerie you’re used to. It’s made of cheap material, and besides that, you can’t afford lingerie. Now stick to the things on your list or you’ll never learn how to budget properly.” Redirecting the cart, her mother gave it an exasperated shove toward the food section of the store. “We’re here for essentials, Maxine. Not frillies,” she harrumphed.
Maxine looked at Gail, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans with defeat, her shoulders slumping as they trudged behind Mona. “What a killjoy she is, huh?”
“A real harsh to your buzz.” Gail cackled at her clever use of the slang Connor’d been teaching her. “But she’s right, you know. You have to learn how to shop with limits so you and the boy can survive.”
“Yeah,” she admitted with stoicism. “Limits suck.”
Gail nodded her shortly cropped head. “That they do, but you’ll get used to ’em.”
Linking her arm with Gail’s, she pulled her close and whispered with a covert glance to her mother’s plaid back, “Do they really have lingerie here?”
“Maxine!” her mother called over her shoulder. “Focus, miss. We’re here for lima beans and boneless chicken breast for a dollar nin
ety-nine a pound. You can’t feed Connor jazzy polyester pj’s.”
Maxine stuck her tongue out at her mother’s back.
Gail snorted, lining up behind Mona to unload their purchases.
Maxine jumped ahead to the front of the line, digging through her purse for the cash she’d saved. As the cashier rang each item up, she watched the tally with hawk-like eyes.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she realized she’d stuck to her budget.
“Fifty-eight sixty-one,” the cashier said, boredom lacing her tone.
Maxine handed her the money, and couldn’t help but ask, “Do you like working here?”
The young woman’s eyes rolled up into her smooth forehead. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Who actually likes working here?”
Maxine felt a ruffle of one of her feathers. “You get a steady paycheck, don’t you?”
“So?” She shrugged with a “big deal” attitude.
So? “So, that’s a valuable thing in today’s economy, don’t you think?”
Her clear green eyes held Maxine’s for a moment, very clearly searching for the crazy in them. “Whatever.”
Whatever? What-ev-er? How could someone be so nonchalant about something as important as a regular paycheck? “You don’t know how lucky you are,” Maxine couldn’t help but mention, her tone condescending. Worse, she knew it. Heard it, justifying her indignation with the notion that she’d kill to have a job like this one, and someone needed to hear about it.
“Yeah. I feel real lucky.” She chewed her gum, stopping only to blow a bubble as she put the money in the register.
What an ungrateful little . . . “Yeah, that’s right. I said lucky.” Maxine tapped her fingernail on the small ledge housing the debit card machine. “You have no idea how fortunate you are to have a steady income to pay the bills. Do you have any idea how you’re taking your youth for granted? You could be like me, you know. Almost forty-one years old, the divorce from hell on your back, and no job at all. So when you roll out of bed tomorrow, count your lucky stars you have a job just like this, young lady!” Spittle flew from Maxine’s mouth, she was so infuriated by this youngster’s ungrateful arrogance. Heads turned in every which way from the checkout aisles at her righteously indignant speech.
You Dropped a Blonde on Me Page 13
