by Molly Cannon
“Even if I wanted to go, which I don’t, I don’t have anything to wear.”
“I saw that excuse coming from a mile away.” From behind her back Belle whipped out a sequin covered turquoise top and threw it at Etta’s head. “Put that on with your black leggings. On me it’s a tunic. On you it will make a perfect little dress.”
“Sit down, Belle. Before I agree to anything we need to talk.”
Belle moved a couple of folders out of her way and perched on the edge. “If this is about the house, you win. I’ve made some calls to get Daphne’s school records transferred here. I’ve decided we’ll stay here until we figure something out.”
“You have?”
Belle fiddled with the bedspread. “There are a few things I didn’t tell you.”
“Like what?” Etta’s head was spinning.
Belle turned and flopped over on her stomach. “I got fired a couple of weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I was embarrassed, and I kept thinking Roger would come to the rescue. How pathetic is that?”
“And now?”
“That phone call earlier was from Roger. We had an argument and I told him I was moving to Everson. I think it’s over.”
“Oh, Belle.”
“I’m not saying I want to run a Bed and Breakfast. I don’t, but I’m willing to pitch in while you and Donny Joe work things out.”
“I have to get back to Chicago soon, you know.”
“Sure, sure, but tonight we need to go out and blow off some steam. Please?”
Etta glared at her sister, but Belle was looking at her with pleading doe eyes that she usually reserved for weak-kneed men. “Come on, Etta. It will be fun to have a little sister time.”
Grousing and grumbling even as she climbed off the bed, she said, “Okay, but you have to promise me it’s just dancing. No going home with some cowboy you decide you can’t live without.”
Belle clapped her hands and jumped up and down. “I pinkie swear.”
Etta trudged off to the bathroom to change. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Belle was the older sister.
Chapter Four
Donny Joe two-stepped Randi Kay Simpson around the dance floor, his earlier mood lightened by the lively music and the assortment of lovely women who’d accepted his invitation to dance throughout the evening. He was happy. He was mellow. He was starting to feel like his old self.
A sudden commotion at the front of Lu Lu’s drew his attention. The door to the bar flew open and from outside a brutal wind howled around before blowing in what could only mean trouble. The Green sisters tumbled inside, laughing and shivering while patting their tousled hair back into place. They scrambled out of their coats while looking around for a place to light. His good mood slipped.
He lost sight of them as Randi Kay continued bending his ear about her husband Sam. “So, I said to him, Sam, I can’t believe you’re going fishing this weekend of all weekends.”
“What’s so special about this weekend?” Donny Joe asked as he caught a glimpse of Etta wearing something bluish-green and sparkly out of the corner of his eye. He refocused his attention on Randi Kay.
She pouted prettily. “It’s our three-and-a-half-year anniversary.”
“Three and a half, huh?” Belle drifted into his view. Dressed in yellow, looking like a beam of sunlight on this dreary winter night.
Randi Kay sighed and his attention returned to her tale of woe. “Yes. Three and a half years,” she said. “Sam used to be so romantic.”
Donny Joe steered her around a slow couple, successfully managing to block the distracting sisters from his line of sight. “Well, what did Sam have to say for himself?”
Randi Kay furrowed her brow, and her eyes got a little misty. “He said it was dumb to celebrate half anniversaries. He said now that we were married he shouldn’t have to prove how much he loves me every six months. He said I was welcome to go fishing with him, but the plans were made, and he wasn’t about to change them. He also said I could share his sleeping bag, but we’d be sharing the tent with Gus and Boomer.”
“Wow, he invited you to tag along?” Donny Joe asked while he accidently craned his head to see if he could spot either of the Green sisters. Realizing what he was doing, he turned Randi in a quick little spin that made her giggle. “That’s really something. If you asked most guys, they’d rather buy jewelry for a woman than invite her on a fishing trip.”
She looked at him warily. “Do you guys get together and make this stuff up just to cover each other’s butts?”
“I’m just saying maybe you should take old Sammy boy up on his offer. I bet he’ll be tickled pink.”
“Or maybe I should find a way to celebrate without old Sammy boy.” She emphasized her words by snuggling up a little closer to Donny Joe. A few years ago he would have not only noted the invitation but would have probably taken her up on it without a second thought. He was no saint, but these days he steered clear of anything more serious than flirtation when it came to married women.
So being the semi-reformed man that he was, he pulled back, putting a safer distance between himself and Randi. “As much as it breaks my heart, I’m going to give you some advice that goes against my own interest. Grab a tent and hightail your pretty little butt down to that camp site. If you don’t you’ll mope around and end up doing something you’ll regret. I bet it won’t take more than two seconds for Sam to decide he’d rather share a tent with his beautiful bride of three and a half years, than listen to Gus and Boomer saw logs all night long.”
Randi stopped in the middle of the dance floor. “Oh, golly. Do you really think I should?”
Donny Joe grinned. “He issued the invitation, didn’t he?”
She clapped her hands like a schoolgirl. “Thanks, Donny Joe. You always know just what to say.” The song wasn’t over, but she hugged his neck and made a beeline for the door. Over her shoulder she hollered, “And we’ll have you over for a fish fry soon. I promise.”
He waved, watching her go, amazed he felt a bit envious that she had someone special to be mad at, someone special to surprise; hell, someone special to make up with. All the things about relationships he normally avoided like the devil. And for good reason, he reminded himself sternly. Hell, the mere notion of trying to remember half-year anniversaries gave him hives. He shook off his earlier, out of character feelings like a shaggy dog after a bath and stalked off the dance floor.
He headed back to the bar, brushing past Belle Green on his way. She was dancing with Arnie Douglas, and it was obvious the man had already fallen under her spell. He was grinning like a fool. Nobody had seen Arnie crack a smile since the winter of 2006, when his wife Lurlene left him high and dry for a two-bit guitar player from Fort Worth. Now, most nights found Arnie sitting at the end of the bar, glaring into his beer, and biting the head off anyone who tried to make conversation. But there he was lit up like the all-night gas station out on highway 80. Belle had that effect on men. She made ’em feel alive, made ’em feel vigorous, made ’em feel happy to be wrapped around her finger—little or otherwise. Donny Joe reached the bar and before he settled onto the nearest barstool he turned to watch her as she took another turn around the floor, talking and laughing like Arnie was the most interesting man in the world. Belle was something all right.
With a wave, he got the bartender’s attention. “Mike, can I get another beer?”
“Sure thing, Donny Joe.” He grabbed a bottle and set the beer on top of a small napkin. “Those Green sisters sure do have this place buzzing, don’t they?”
Donny shrugged. “Well, Belle has always been an attention getter.”
“Etta seems to be getting her share, too.” Mike nodded over toward the dartboard. A group of men were gathered around Etta. Wearing that sparkly blue-green get up, she looked like a little girl playing dress-up. He paused with his beer halfway to his mouth as she let a dart fly. The guys all whooped as it found the
bull’s eye. She high-fived Brent Mullins and Stan Jones to celebrate her victory. “She’s kicking Harley Otis’s butt,” Mike said.
Donny Joe narrowed his eyes. “You don’t say.”
He tried to ignore the cheering that went up periodically from that side of the room. If it had been anyone else, Donny Joe would have suspected Harley of throwing the game, of letting her win. But not many guys took darts as seriously as that guy. He watched her clap Harley on the shoulder and then hook her arm through his and start walking with him toward the bar.
Donny Joe seriously considered making a break for it. He wasn’t sure if he was up to another go round with the woman. But on the other hand, this was his bar and his town and nobody was going to run him off, especially not a short, cantankerous, ill-tempered, smart-mouthed woman like Etta Green. She was laughing now and didn’t look cantankerous or ill-tempered in the least. She was still short, though, Donny thought with satisfaction. Then he had a mad moment of wondering what it would feel like if he ever made her laugh that way. He washed the thought away with a swig of his beer and set the bottle down on the bar with a little too much force.
Etta and Harley reached the bar, but instead of sitting down, Etta asked, “Hey Mike, do you mind if I go take a look in the kitchen? I can’t resist comparing notes with other cooks when I get a chance.”
Mike grinned. “Be my guest. Maybe you can give Big Bo and Vera some tips on how to update that stuff they pass off as chili.”
Donny Joe knew Mike was just blowing hot air since that chili had won the kagillion cook-off trophies that lined the mantle over the bar.
She headed to the door behind the bar that led to the kitchen. “Are you kidding? I hope they’ll teach me a thing or two.”
Donny Joe was more than happy to see her go. He could hear her laughing in back with the kitchen staff. Her laugh was husky yet musical, and contrasted with Vera’s hoarse cackle and Bo’s booming bark. He took another sip of beer trying to ignore them, but they sounded like they were having a high old time. He wasn’t surprised that her idea of fun was standing around in a greasy kitchen instead of being out here dancing like most normal women. Like her sister Belle.
At the moment Belle was two-stepping around the floor with Dave Bingham. He was old, like preserved in glycerin old, but he still managed to cut a smooth figure on the dance floor. Donny Joe watched as they did a complicated spin before Dave dipped her at the end of the song. When he pulled her upright Belle placed both her hands on Dave’s chest, laughed, and tossed her hair, sharing her delight with anyone watching. Dave looked twenty years younger than he had when the dance started. Belle was like the fountain of youth on high heels.
He heard the kitchen door swing open and turned to catch a glimpse of Etta laughing as she backed out of the kitchen. All thoughts of Belle evaporated. Until she appeared at Lu Lu’s tonight Donny Joe had hardly seen Etta when she wasn’t quarreling with him about something. Now she was smiling, relaxed and happy. The transformation made his breath catch in his throat. She said something to Big Bo, who’d followed her halfway out the door, and then the big bad cook picked her up and hugged her. Picked her clean up off her feet. Donny Joe eased halfway off the stool, wondering if he needed to intervene. He expected to see Etta try to deck Bo once he set her back on her feet. She didn’t strike him as the type who would allow herself to be manhandled. Instead she smiled a little wider, patted Big Bo on the shoulder, and said they’d talk soon. Big Bo grinned and disappeared back into the kitchen.
“Hey, Mike,” Harley said as Etta settled onto the barstool between him and Donny Joe. “Give this lovely young woman anything she wants. It’s on me.”
“Why thank you, Harley.” Then she turned to Mike and said all sparkly-like, “I’ll have whatever light beer you’ve got on draft.” Apparently, Donny Joe thought, sneering was something she reserved particularly for him.
Mike sparkled right back. “Coming right up.”
Donny shook his head in disgust, speculating whether the men of Everson would survive this double-barreled assault by the Green sisters with their manhood intact. Next thing, they’d be curtseying and drinking wine coolers.
Harley gestured to get his attention. “Hey, Donny Joe, you know Etta, don’t you?”
Donny nodded and tipped his hat. “I’ve had the pleasure.” He’d been raised too well to say it had been more like a royal pain in the backside.
“Nice to see you again, too, Donny Joe,” she said with a smile. To anyone observing it looked for all the world like they were best friends, like they hadn’t spent the day wrangling over what to do about the B&B, but he could see the sharp edge glinting in her eyes.
Jerking his chin toward Donny Joe, Harley warned her, “You want to watch out for this one, Etta. He fancies himself to be quite the ladies’ man.”
“Is that right?” She turned, examining him like she was queen for the day and couldn’t believe he’d been allowed out in polite society.
“Busted.” Donny Joe opened his arms like he’d been caught red-handed. “I’ll admit a fondness for the ladies. Nothing like a sweet-smelling, sweet-natured, sweet-tempered woman to make a man feel like all’s right with the world.” He made it plain she didn’t fall into any of those categories. Though to be fair, now that she was sitting so close he had to admit she smelled pretty damned good. He caught a hint of flowers and vanilla.
She arched an eyebrow. “You seem awfully concerned about a woman’s disposition. I’d think most men would appreciate a bit of feistiness to mix things up from time to time. I’m guessing you only require the woman in question to stare at you adoringly and tell you how big and strong and handsome you are?”
He leaned toward her and asked seductively, “Have you been reading my diary, Miss Green?”
“Hey now.” Harley looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean to start anything. I just thought she should know to watch her Ps and Qs where you’re concerned, Donny Joe.”
Etta patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Harley. We understand each other perfectly. Don’t we, Donny Joe?” She graced him with a smile so sweet it should have been bottled and poured over pancakes.
Even though he knew that smile was teeming with mockery and scorn, something unexpected twisted crooked in his insides when she looked at him that way. He rubbed a hand over his breastbone, and looked for a way to change the subject. “And I wasn’t going to mention it, Harley, but didn’t she just whip your butt over at the dartboard?”
“Yep. She sure did.” Instead of being irritated Harley grinned at Etta like he’d won a three-legged race all by himself. “I bet she could even beat you, buster. You should challenge her to a match.”
Etta turned, eyeing him with a haughty, assessing air, while Donny harrumphed at the very idea. Everyone knew he was king of the darts around these parts. Most mere mortals never considered challenging him. And it would be an easy way to show her what was what and who was who. He briefly considered the idea, but she seemed so happy he decided to let her enjoy her victory for now. Someday, though. If she continued to act like such an arrogant, bitchy know-it-all, it would give him great pleasure to put her in her place.
“Are you some kind of hot shot dart player, Donny Joe?”
He resisted the urge to drag her over to the dartboard and wipe that taunting look right off her face. Instead he played it cool. “I do all right. But if you beat Harley, you’re probably out of my league.” It was never too early to lay the groundwork for a good hustle.
Harley, who possessed an unshakeable male ego when it came to competitions of any kind, let out a snort. He wasn’t about to concede Donny Joe’s superiority at the game. “Donny Joe, she’s out of your league in too many ways to count.”
Belle drifted up behind them. “Can I steal my sister away from you fine gentlemen for an itty bitty minute?”
Harley turned into a pile of pudding in the face of Belle’s charms and seemed to lose the power to speak.
Donny Joe smiled at Belle
and with only a trace of sarcasm said, “She’s all yours.”
“Thanks, guys,” Belle said as she grabbed Etta by the elbow and dragged her away. Donny Joe went back to his beer, thinking it was about time to head home. His good mood was just about done for the night and so was he.
“Are you ready to go home?” Etta asked. “Because I’m ready whenever you are.”
Belle pulled her to a less crowded corner of the room. “Almost, but I promised to dance with Ted over there.” Belle waggled her fingers at a tall, lanky redheaded guy who waggled back at her. Etta would bet Ted had never waggled anything in his life before being faced with the power that was Belle. “And then I’ll be ready to go. But you should go ask Donny Joe to dance first.”
“Ha! Donny Joe? I don’t think so.” She’d rather poke herself in the eye with a sharp stick.
“Why not? You’re going to be working with the man, for goodness’ sake, and I have to say, you weren’t very friendly to him earlier today.”
“I wasn’t very friendly? I was friendly. I simply needed to make sure he was on the up and up.” Her irritation with Belle and her “It’s not my problem” attitude bubbled to the surface again. If she couldn’t be bothered with the B&B then she could keep her opinions to herself.
“And then you spent all afternoon and half the evening going over the paperwork. So, what do you think now?”
“I’m not sure, but I think we are pretty much stuck doing things his way, unless we want to lose the house completely.” Admitting that out loud wasn’t easy, even if she’d come to that very conclusion earlier with Grammy’s notes and papers spread all around her.
“So, dance with him. See if you can start over.”
“Why me? I don’t like him. Why don’t you go dance with him?”
Belle linked her arm through Etta’s. “Because even after you go home to Chicago, you’re the one who’ll end up dealing with him.”
Etta groaned. “Explain how that works again?”
