The Coldwater Warm Hearts Club

by Lexi Eddings

  Lacy nodded and headed out the door. She seriously doubted she’d find anything in the Junk-shun worth a single line. Even a line in a paper as fluffy as the Gazette.

  But she seriously hoped she’d find Jake still there.

  Chapter 7

  One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

  Good thing. Otherwise, I’d be out of business.

  —Phyllis Wannamaker, owner of Secondhand Junk-shun

  Jacob carried the box of Fiestaware to the booth his mother rented in the back corner of Secondhand Junk-shun. He’d offered to put up a few shelves in the Green Apple for her more than once. If she sold her items there, she’d be able to save the rent, but his mom was determined to keep her booth in the junk shop.

  Since his dad passed last year, his mom had been adamant about pulling her own weight and not leaning on her kids. Selling stuff in the Junk-shun was a relatively painless way to do it. His mother had inherited the household goods of both his grandmothers and three great-aunts to boot. Her supply of vintage glassware, derelict appliances, and aging furniture was nearly endless.

  As he unpacked the box, the soft click of boot heels on the old hardwood and a familiar voice came from behind him.

  “Hey, Jake.”

  Jake turned to see Lacy Evans smiling up at him as if she hadn’t smacked him down big time last night. She was looking mighty hot in a flirty skirt, a sweater that hugged her curves, and a pair of bright pink cowboy boots. He grinned down at her feet. “Nice to see you can’t take the country out of the girl.”

  She extended one cute little booted foot. “Mom brought these over this morning. I’d left them here when I moved east. Looks like they still fit. Besides, what else would I wear in Coldwater? Prada?”

  When he was in Helmand province, all he could think about was getting back home to Coldwater Cove. Why did she have to give the town a back-handed slap every chance she got?

  “Well, shucks, ma’am.” Jake exaggerated his accent for effect. “What would a country boy like me know about shoes? You’re lucky I’m wearin’ any at all. We don’t as a rule here in the sticks less’n we’re going to meetin’ on Sundays.”

  “Funny.” She smirked and stuck out her tongue. “You know what I mean. I didn’t want to look out of place when I was in Boston. I want to blend in here just as much.”

  “Never figured you for the blending type,” he said as he unwrapped another soup bowl. “You lit out of Coldwater so quick the fall after graduation, it was like you couldn’t wait to stand out.”

  “Yeah, I did, but what can I say? I’ve learned life’s easier when you fit in.”

  Jake shrugged. With his stump and metal leg, in some ways he’d never fit in again.

  “I didn’t expect to bump into you away from the Green Apple like this,” she said.

  “I’m not chained to the grill, and anyway, Arthur still comes in to cook on Thursdays.”

  When Jake had bought the Green Apple from Arthur Quackenbush, part of the deal was that the wiry old fellow could come in and man the grill once a week for as long as he felt like doing it. Arthur had been cooking at the Green Apple since he’d opened it back in 1958. He wanted to keep his hand in the business and, Jake suspected, make sure the new owner knew his butt from a hole in the ground.

  Even after Jake passed muster, Arthur continued to come in. If he burned a few things now and again, old timers and regulars still loved to see him there. Jake had added a number of new dishes to the list of options that were a mystery to Arthur. So the grill had a special, limited “Quackenbush Menu” on Thursdays.

  “Oh. Well, it’s good you have some time off,” Lacy said. “You need a day of rest.”

  “Is that what you think this is?” he said as he continued to unload his mother’s latest offerings. “Thursday usually turns into my day to finish all the things I didn’t get done the week before. I didn’t expect to run into . . .” He stopped himself before he said “a fancy-ass designer.” If she didn’t like being compared to a windup monkey, she’d really be insulted if he called her that. “. . . Into someone like you in a place called ‘the Junk-shun’ either.”

  “What do you mean by someone like me?”

  “Don’t get all touchy.” So what was she doing there? Had she come into the Secondhand Junk-shun looking for him? If so, that meant he hadn’t completely lost his touch where women were concerned. Something in his chest swelled a bit at the possibility. “I just meant I didn’t think you were into antiques.”

  “You’re right. I’m usually not unless they’re European and a good deal older than anything here,” Lacy admitted. She picked up one of the soup bowls he’d set out on the shelves he’d built for his mom. Lacy inspected the piece, turning it this way and that. “Very mid-century modern.”

  “Hmm. I’m sure that impresses the heck out of folks in Boston. Around here we just call them old bowls.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. He’d forgotten how blue they were. Then she turned her gaze to the red soup bowl in her hands again. The piece had little ceramic handles and what appeared to be a hand-turned foot on the bottom. “This Fiestaware is in terrific shape. Great color and near mint condition.”

  He nodded. “I like the blue one.”

  “You mean cobalt.”

  “Uh?”

  “That’s the name of the color. I’m partial to the chartreuse myself.”

  Jake frowned at the bowls. “I’m not color-blind, so I must be color-ignorant. Which one is that?”

  “The green one, of course.”

  “Oh. Cobalt. Chartreuse. What do you call that one?” He pointed to the one she had in her hands.

  She blinked slowly at him. “Red. What do you call it?”

  He decided not to chance asking what she’d call the yellow bowl. It could act as camouflage for French’s mustard. The only thing he evidently knew about colors was which ones he liked. The blue of Lacy’s eyes sprang to mind, but he figured he’d better change the subject. He was hopelessly behind when it came to colors.

  “Blame the bowls’ good condition on my memaw Tyler. She didn’t believe in dishwashers.”

  “How much are you asking for this set?”

  “Not me. My mom. This is her booth. I’m just the gofer on Thursdays,” Jake said as he wadded up the newspaper the crockery had been wrapped in and stuffed it back in the box. “She wants ten dollars a bowl.”

  “Ten dollars a bowl!”

  “I imagine she’ll take less for each if someone buys the lot.”

  Lacy’s brows drew together as she studied the bowls. “I’ll have to do some research, but I’m pretty sure she’s underpricing her stuff. By quite a bit.”

  “Maybe if we were in Boston,” Jake allowed. “In Coldwater, I bet everybody and his brother has this sort of thing in their attic.”

  “I won’t take that bet.” She chuckled and put the red bowl down next to the green one.

  Nope, make that chartreuse.

  “But since you brought up betting,” she said, “have you heard that Danny Scott lost his house in a poker game?”

  She was only after the straight skinny on Scott. Jake had started to feel more like his old self when he’d thought she might have come looking for him. That puffed-up something inside him deflated like a popped balloon. “Yeah, I heard about it.”

  “Is it true?”

  He nodded. “It’s why Anne left him.”

  “I don’t understand. Daniel never had a gambling problem.”

  “Maybe he never used to,” Jake said, “and I know you don’t want to hear it, but a lot of things have changed since you left.”

  Like me not being with a woman since Afghanistan. Little things like that.

  “You’re right,” she said. “You were right last night, too. I guess I’ve changed as well. Otherwise, I never would have been so rude to you. I’m sorry, Jake.”

  “No need to apologize.” But he was glad she had. “You’ve been dealing with some pretty serious shi—” />
  He stopped himself short. He wasn’t talking to a bunch of foul-mouthed jarheads. He was talking to the girl he hoped to impress with how much he’d changed for the better, titanium leg and all.

  “Some serious stuff,” he amended. “Just moving across country is enough to put most folks on edge.”

  Then the latent player in Jake recognized that if she felt the need to apologize, he had an advantage, if for only a moment. “But if you’re really sorry, there is a way you can make it up to me.”

  “How?” She arched a suspicious brow.

  “I’m supposed to open up the family lake house this afternoon. It’s easier to do with two pairs of hands. There’ll be time to do some fishing once we’re done. And if we don’t catch anything, I’ll grill us some steaks.” He flashed his best smile. It had rarely failed him. “Wanna come?”

  “I can’t.” She glanced at her watch. “The cable guy is coming to my place in a bit and I have to be on hand to protect him from Effie.”

  Jake chuckled. “Poor misunderstood cat.”

  “You want her?”

  He shook his head. “I’m really more of a dog person.”

  “Effie has that effect on people.”

  Jake prided himself on never hearing the first no when he asked a woman out. This was only strike one. “How about next Thursday? I can push opening up the house till then. My family doesn’t really like to use the place until the weather heats up.”

  Spring-fed Lake Jewel lived up to the town’s name. Until the air temperature hit the 90s and stayed there, swimming in the cold lake was only for the stout of heart.

  And numb of backside.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be off next Thursday,” Lacy said. “I’ve got a job now.”

  When she told him she’d taken the position at the Gazette, he bit back a grin. Then he restrained himself from reminding her that he’d suggested that very thing on her first day home. He didn’t think she’d appreciate either reaction.

  Anyway, that was strike two as far as asking out Lacy went.

  May as well go down swinging.

  “Well, let me know when your day off is and I’ll see if I can get Arthur to switch and cover for me at the grill then.”

  “OK. I’ll find out tomorrow and let you know. I haven’t been to the lake in ages. It’ll be fun,” Lacy said. “I’ll check on that Fiestaware, too. I’d hate to see your mom get cheated on it.”

  Home run! He’d scored on asking her out. Whether he’d actually make if to first base with her while they were at the lake was another at bat completely.

  “I’ll pack my spare tackle box and rod,” he promised. As she walked away, he imagined what she’d look like in a swimsuit. Too bad the lake was still far too cold to think about taking a dip, skinny or otherwise, yet. If he was lucky, maybe she’d wear a pair of shorts....

  “Oh, and Jake, just so you know”—Lacy stopped and turned back to him—“the women in my family may catch fish. We’ve even been known to whip up some beer batter and fry them on occasion, but we do not clean them. Not ever. It’s a rule.”

  Jake smiled as he watched her walk away. He could live with rules like that.

  Chapter 8

  Watching someone you love continue to destroy your life together is like being stuck on a runaway roller coaster. You thought the ride was going to be a thrill when it started, but after a while, all you want is off.

  —Anne Littlefield Scott, mother of Carson forever. Wife of Daniel, for now.

  Dan shifted his weight from one foot to the other in front of the screen door. His mother-in-law, Celia Hatton, was in no hurry to let him in.

  “Carson is still down for his nap,” she whispered, finally flipping the hook that held the door shut and motioning for him to enter. The scowl on her face was enough to stop most men in their tracks.

  It didn’t matter. Daniel would walk through fire for his boy. Even a smoke-belching she-dragon like Celia couldn’t burn him as much as his own conscience did.

  “Is Anne here?” He closed the door behind himself as softly as he could.

  “She’s over at Walmart,” Celia said. “They called her back for an interview. If she gets the job, she’ll be working at the jewelry counter.” The woman made a tsking noise. “Lookin’ at all those pretty things every day and can’t afford a one of them.”

  Daniel’s gut cramped. He didn’t want his wife to work. Not that she couldn’t, of course. She’d been the county dispatcher when they’d first met and did a bang-up job of it, too. But once Carson came along, they’d made the joint decision that one of them should stay home with him. Since Daniel made more money, Anne happily took baby duty.

  Now it grated on his soul that she felt she had to leave their boy and return to a job. A man took care of his family, but after what had happened, Anne wasn’t willing to take a chance on his being able to provide for them anymore. But no matter how he felt about it, he had to say something positive with his mother-in-law glaring at him.

  “Walmart would be crazy not to hire her. She’s so pretty, she’d be good for business.”

  Celia narrowed her eyes and pursed her thin lips. “If she had a husband who knew how to take care of business, she’d be better off at home taking care of her boy, ’specially while he’s so young.”

  She could give stinging lessons to a wasp.

  “Our boy,” Daniel corrected. “He’s mine, too, you know.”

  “I know well enough. Do you?” Celia said with a sniff. “Wish you’d a thought about Carson and Anne when it mighta made a difference.”

  Daniel did, too. With all his heart. Even now, he didn’t know how he’d let that poker game get so out of hand. He’d never lost more than a hundred dollars in a single game before. But on this particular night, he’d been on a hot streak. Stu Barger had brought some of his frat brothers down from Tulsa with fat wallets and pitifully easy tells. Dan had been winning for hours. So when someone suggested they throw out the table limit and let fly, he was all in.

  He’d been holding a terrific hand, one of the best he’d seen all night. Four of a kind was almost a sure thing. If he’d taken that hefty pot, it would have been enough to remodel the little house his grandmother had left him. They could have turned the unfinished attic space into a new third bedroom and maybe added a second bath. Anne had been wanting to try for another baby, but as things stood, the place had seemed too small to grow their family in.

  His four queens had winked at him as he scribbled out the IOU for the deed to the bungalow on Crepe Myrtle Street. Daniel tossed it onto the center of the table, certain he’d be tearing it up again in a second.

  Then Stu Barger had laid down a small straight flush.

  Daniel lost his house that night. And so much more.

  His mother-in-law’s lips tightened into a hard line and her nose wrinkled as if she’d smelled a particularly ripe poop. “Sit down there and I’ll see if my grandson is stirring.”

  He sank onto the chair she pointed to, the hard-backed straight one closest to the door. Even from the first, Celia had never thought much of him. She didn’t believe he was worthy of her pretty daughter. Maybe she was right. Ever since middle school, Daniel had had to fight to rise above the stigma of being Lester Scott’s son, the town drunk with an evil temper and heavy fists.

  Now Daniel wasn’t sure he was any better than his dad. After he’d lost the house he’d shared with Anne in that stupid poker game, Celia had good reason to be disgusted with him.

  She couldn’t blame him more than he blamed himself. He’d never lost control like that before, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. The compulsion to see that poker hand through, no matter what the cost, had been impossible to resist.

  Celia came back into the room. “He’s still sleeping like an angel, and I’ll not have you disturbing him. Come back in an hour.”

  “I can’t.” Daniel would be manning the speed trap near the Talimena Byway by then. He didn’t mind the boring assignment. He counte
d himself lucky to still have a job after the sheriff heard about his stupidity. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning to see my boy.”

  “Carson has a doctor’s appointment at nine.”

  Panic squeezed Daniel’s chest. “He’s not sick, is he?”

  “No. He’s just due for another shot. Measles, I think.”

  “I’ll be here to go with Anne.”

  “Anne may be working at Walmart by then, please God,” Celia said, tossing her gaze heavenward for a moment.

  Anne’s stepfather worked for the town sanitation department. It was steady work, but her folks didn’t have money to burn. Two extra mouths in the house hadn’t made things easier for them or improved Celia’s temper. Anne wouldn’t take any money from Daniel, no matter how often he tried to press it on her.

  “Don’t know if Anne will be carrying Carson to the doctor or if I will,” Celia said as she opened the door, pointedly inviting him to leave.

  “I’ll take him. If my son is going to the doctor, so am I. You can both come if you want to,” Daniel said. No matter what Anne said, he was going to provide for Carson. If she wouldn’t accept money, when he came in the morning he’d bring a bagful of groceries and diapers. Anne might refuse his help, but Celia wouldn’t hesitate. She’d think it was owed.

  Maybe that was the key. “Buttering the cow to get the calf,” his granddad would have called it. If he could somehow bring Celia around, Anne should be easy.

  As he walked back toward the cruiser, Anne pulled up in her aging silver Taurus. Looking as pretty as ever in a black skirt and pale green sweater, she climbed out of the car. He loved to see her with her dark hair just so and a dab of makeup to put extra color on her cheeks. Daniel wished it was him she’d gotten dressed up for. When she saw him, a tightness gathered at the corners of her mouth.

  Shades of Celia. He shook that thought off. Anne was nothing like her mother. She was strong-minded, yes, but there wasn’t a mean bone in her sweet body.