Lady Luck's a Loser (The Apple Orchard Series Book 1)

by Caryl McAdoo

  Strong and pure, something she’d always thought herself incapable of. There had been no interruptions, nor any change in the kitchen’s illumination, but unaccountably, he shone in a different light. Dollar signs didn't sparkle from his eyes like before. Instead, the depth and kindness there impressed her.

  She held up both hands, palms toward him. “Stop, you’ve got to stop.” She hugged herself, tears wet her cheeks. “I can’t believe –” She sniffed. “Sorry, I have to go.”

  “What? Why? What’s the matter?”

  “Nevermind.” She jumped up, ran to her room then threw herself across her bed.

  *  *

  A light tapping pulled Marge from her book. She wrapped her robe tight, slipped into her house shoes, then hurried to the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Open up. It’s me.”

  She cracked it. Preston’s rugged features, silhouetted in the dim hall light, greeted her. His eyes belied the slight smile on his lips.

  “Sorry to disturb you, but I saw the light under your door. Would you do me a huge favor?”

  “Certainly, if I can.”

  “It’s Vicki.” He looked worried. “Don’t know what I did. We were drinking coffee and having a nice chat, then she jumped up and ran to her room.” He looked down the hall. “She might be crying. Would you check on her? Please.”

  She patted his chest. “Sure, Dub. I’ll be happy to.” Oh, she should’ve called him Buck! They were alone and the sun wasn’t up, but she’d missed the opportunity.

  He seemed to want to say more, but turned and disappeared around the corner. Marge padded down the hall to the last room on the right. She knocked lightly twice then eased the door open a crack. Vicki lay across her bed with her face buried in her pillow.

  “You okay?”

  She didn’t respond.

  Marge stepped in. “Vicki, dear, Dub asked me to look in. Are you alright?” She stepped toward the bed. “Because I have to say you don’t seem like you are.”

  “Yes. I am. Really.” She rolled over and wiped her cheeks. “He did? He asked you to check on me?”

  “Yes, just now.”

  She sat up then patted the bed next to her. “I hate him.”

  Marge sat next to the younger woman, her interest peaked past curiosity. “Oh, my goodness. What happened?”

  Vicki shook her head, grabbed a tissue off the bedside table, and dabbed her eyes. “I… It’s…” She swung around and faced her. The poor girl looked so vulnerable, not at all like the seductive vamp at dinner the night before. “It’s… Just never happened to me. Never in my whole life have I felt about a man the way I felt about Dub this morning.” She sniffed, her bottom lip quivered, then tears filled her eyes. “What if he doesn’t pick me?”

  The question hung in the still morning air for a second, then she closed her eyes as tiny rivulets streamed down her face. Marge didn’t know what else to do, so she wrapped her arms around the distraught girl, and stroked the back of her head.

  Indeed, what if?

  The young lady snuggled into the caresses at first then jumped to her feet. “This can’t be happening.” Her faced contorted. “I am not falling in love with a man old enough to be my father.”

  “Well, don’t be too hard on yourself, sweetheart. I think he’s an easy man to love.”

  Vicki clapped her hands once then threw a nod at Marge. “You’re right. He is easy to love, kinda like an old dog or a favorite uncle, not that I ever had either, but that’s the deal. It’s got to be. I just like him a lot. I’m not falling in love with him, right?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Marge heard herself, but her heart wasn’t in the response. Mixed emotions clouded her reason. She didn’t want the beautiful young woman to be in love with Dub. The what-if-he-doesn’t-pick-me question had plagued her as well, and the more she contemplated it, the more she hated this game. Whose heart wouldn’t be broken?

  Vicki’s bottom lip quivered. “I’m lying, and the worse of it is I’m lying to myself. I had a cat once that I loved, but what I felt this morning couldn’t be compared. It wasn’t anything like that.” She grabbed more tissues then flung herself back across the bed.

  Marge reached out then drew back and folded her hands into her lap. How had she gotten herself into this mess? But any thoughts of her leaving could no longer be tolerated. She admired this man’s truthfulness, his integrity.

  He could have gone to Vicki’s room instead of asking her to. He could have taken advantage of the young woman, but he hadn’t. And he didn’t have to explain about killing that man, but chose to be open and forthcoming—a wonderful and rare quality in these days and times.

  She gently patted the gitl’s shoulder then stood. A sigh escaped as she closed the door. She looked up hoping to see him there. Tiptoed to the end of the hall then peeked around the corner wishing he would be waiting for her. To tell him what was wrong with Vicki, of course.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Certainly not herself.

  She wanted him to be there for another chance to look into his eyes, speak with him.

  She wanted to be the next Mrs. Winston Preston as badly as the young girl crying down the hall.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Journal entry - March 30th

  It surprised me how much I missed her. Longest afternoon I’ve spent since I couldn’t tell you when.

  Preston knew nothing of Vicki’s or Marge’s growing affections. The older woman passed the younger’s outburst off as female troubles when he inquired later in the day as to her wellbeing. Not ignorant of feminine mood swings, he let it go, but still pondered why she’d left so abruptly.

  The days melded into a week then threatened to end the first full month, and his concern over who would be the first sent home—and how that process might take place—captured the majority of his thoughts. He concocted several scenarios, but each seemed to be weighted toward someone he for sure didn’t want to send away.

  Finally, what he considered the perfect plan occurred to him. In a frenzy, he worked out the details, checked it twice, made a couple of calls, then folded the page of rules and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. He leaned back in his chair pleased with himself. Didn’t matter now who was first to leave. It would be fair, and the lady sent home would deserve it.

  On Friday, the twenty-ninth day of March, after dinner and Audrey’s excellent apple cobbler, from his place at the head of the table, he scooted his chair back then stood.

  “Ladies, I want you to know, I’ve enjoyed the past month with you.” He walked around to his right and stopped behind Marge’s chair. “I’m sure you’re all wondering who’s going home in a couple of days.” She squirmed. He patted her shoulders then moved down and stood behind Virginia.

  From across the table, Charlotte sat back in her chair. “Well can you tell us if whoever it is will be leaving on Sunday?”

  Dorothy looked around the table then faced him. “Have you already, you know, decided who?”

  “Yes, I’ve arranged a car to be here at seven Sunday morning, and no, it hasn’t been decided who will go. This is First Monday Trade Days weekend in Canton.” He nodded toward his foreman. “Jorje.”

  The hombre passed out sealed envelopes to the women.

  Preston smiled at each in turn as they questioned him with their eyes. “You’ll find your first month’s wages plus five hundred cash.” He walked on around the table pausing behind each woman, touching her shoulder or hair.

  “Two limos will be here at nine in the morning to pick you up. The same two will bring you back at six. Don’t be late on either end.” He walked around to Vicki and barely caressed the back of her neck with the side of his finger. “What you buy or don’t buy will determine who gets sent home.”

  He took his place at the head of the table then patted his shirt pocket. “I have a system already mapped out. Whoever scores lowest…” He gritted his teeth then ran his finger like a blade across his throat.

  Vicki swallowed, let out
a deep breath, then held out her hand. “May I have a look now?” She winked. “You know I’m not my best in the mornings.”

  He laughed. “No, darlin’, that would defeat the purpose. You don’t get to know the rules until after you’re through.”

  “But,” Dorothy jumped up. “That’s not fair, Dub.”

  “Why not?”

  “How will we know what to buy?”

  He shrugged. “You don’t have to buy anything, save the money if you want. Enjoy the ride.” He patted his pocket. “That may score you high enough not to get sent home, but it could also be a one-way ticket.” He pulled out the folded page of rules. “I suggest you do what I hired you to do, be yourselves.” He held up one finger. “But even if it’s not your style, I need you to write down every penny you spend.”

  Natalie raised her hand. “What is First Monday?”

  “Only the biggest flea market in the world.”

  “Really? Oh, fun.”

  *  *

  The next morning as promised, a pair of stretched-out, midnight black, trimmed in gold Cadillacs arrived at eight forty-five. Audrey hung back while the first car loaded then climbed in last into the second. Once they turned off the property, she faced Vicki who sat next to her.

  “So, any ideas about what he’s after.”

  The boy-toy shook her head. “Not a clue.” She shrugged. “I don’t know whether to buy something for him or me or the other women or nothing at all.”

  Natalie, across from Vicki, smiled. “I think I, at least have an idea of what he wants.”

  “Don’t suppose you want to share what you think and why.”

  The exotic beauty giggled then crossed her legs Indian style beneath her. “See? We’ve all been watching his every move almost a month. If you don’t know the man by now, you never will, but I’m figuring if you buy him something he doesn’t have, you’ve bought yourself another month.”

  Virginia, who hardly ever said anything, shook her head. “Wrong answer.”

  The raven-haired beauty huffed. “So I guess you have this shopping spree all figured out?”

  “No, I don’t. Actually, I’d suggest we call on our resident researcher to tell us what she knows about the first Mrs. Preston.” The once-upon-a-time ballerina nodded toward Vicki.

  Audrey clapped her hands. “That’s it. He knows what Nancy would buy, so –” She gave Vicki a springboard to spill her guts, but when the girl remained silent, she asked right out. “So what did you find out about number one?”

  “Lots of charity work, seriously into her church.” Vicki shook her head. “That’s about all I remember. I was digging up info on him, not her.” She pouted both lips and shrugged. “Gosh, I just don’t know.” She rubbed her head several times then snapped her fingers. “Hey, I do remember something. She especially liked green.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely. There was an article in the Tyler paper about him special ordering her a new green Cadillac. It had to be green, which was a big deal cause they didn’t have a green one that year.”

  Everyone tried to talk at once, then Audrey whistled high and shrill through her teeth. “Wait a minute.” Her trill echoed, followed by silence. “What if green’s a negative?”

  “Couldn’t be.” Virginia’s tone sounded as though she knew it to be a fact.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Logic. He loved Nancy so much that he waited five years to even look for another woman.”

  “So?”

  “So? Are you blind and dumb? If she really loved green, then it’s at least a neutral, more than likely, a plus. Either way, you can take it to the bank I’ll come back with something green, that is if I buy anything at all.” Virginia shrugged then looked out the window as if that’s all she needed to know.

  Audrey reached over and tapped her knee. For a moment, Virginia didn’t respond then slowly turned, rubbed her knee where she’d been touched, then looked up. “Yes?”

  “Sorry.” No response. “You serious about not spending any money?”

  “You heard him. Hanging on to what you’ve got might get you another month.”

  Vicki bounced the L-sign on her forehead a couple of times. “Not this girl. If I lose, it won’t be because I didn’t shop my heart out. I’ll go down in a blaze of goodie bags.”

  This once, Audrey had to agree. He obviously intended for them to reveal more about themselves by what they bought. At least that’s how she saw it. Vicki and Natalie rehashed what had been said, while Virginia stared out the window. Audrey wasn’t sure exactly what she’d buy, but one certainty surfaced like cream to the top, something would be green.

  *  *

  While the women shopped the world’s biggest, oldest, and grandest flea market, Preston meandered around the place accomplishing nothing. All morning, he kept redoing whatever task he assigned himself, then finally a little after noon, gave up and retreated to his office. He opened his journal and studied his notes. He hated the thought of having to send anyone home, but that was the deal, and he didn’t think he wanted to see what would develop if they all stayed the entire time.

  He could trust Lady Luck.

  Each in turn, he pictured the ladies then made a list in his journal of what he liked and disliked. Not one of the eight had more negatives than positives. Too bad he couldn’t keep them all, but then he didn’t live in Salt Lake City.

  If someone held a gun to his head right now, he knew who he would pick to leave, but they were all appealing. He’d still trust the Lady to see him through on this venture. One thing though—he knew which one he thought he wanted, but if she didn’t work out, he would marry one of them. He’d slept alone too long, and they were too fine for him to throw them all back.

  After what seemed liked a week, the limos finally pulled into the drive. He stood aside as his ladies unloaded then filed past with wide smiles and grins. He greeted each in turn, checking for expenditure lists, then followed the last one all the way into the kitchen.

  When they all were seated with their booty tucked around, he took his place at the head of the table. “I see everyone make it back on time.”

  They all quieted.

  He filled his lungs then let it out slow. “Each of you signed a non-disclosure agreement. That commitment follows you out of here. Now, legal has added a few new clauses, so I’ll need one more signature before you go. I want whoever is sent home tomorrow to be aware that I will use whatever means necessary to enforce that contract.” He looked at each woman in turn. No one looked away.

  “Okay.” He clapped once, rubbed his hands together, then pulled the rules from his shirt pocket and unfolded them. “Swap your list with whoever’s across from you. I don’t want the loser to think this tally wasn’t fair, and before we get started, I want you ladies to know that I had a bad day. The thought of someone having to leave hurts my heart, but I can’t marry you all. And though I wasn’t sure when I got this idea, today I decided. One of you will be the next Mrs. W. G. Preston. That is, if one of you is agreeable when the time comes.”

  For a minute, it seemed like chaos, but soon enough, the women got the job done as requested. He would have had a good laugh if the stakes hadn’t been so high.

  “We all set?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Plus ten points for an item with wood or rusty metal.”

  A few necks craned, and requests to see certain items were made.

  “Plus twenty points for an item you bought with a cat on it.”

  Nods, several reached across the table to point out items with a feline to their score keeper.

  “I’m curious, Dub. Why twenty points for cats? I mean, so what?” Holly shook her head. “I never liked cats.”

  He stared at her a second, avoiding the cleavage her V-necked shirt revealed, then stated in a don’t-be-asking-every-time voice. “Cats are low maintenance.”

  She nodded.

  “Minus twenty for any item with a dog on it.”


  Vicki smiled. “Because dogs are needy?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Plus thirty points for a green item.”

  A couple of the women exchanged knowing glances. He wondered why and waited while they checked and conferred then was asked to rule on an aqua scarf. “No, too blue.”

  “Minus thirty points for an item that’s red.”

  Several moans preceded Dorothy jumping to her feet. “Now that’s not fair, W. G. Why should that be a rule?”

  “Why not?”

  “Red’s my favorite color.”

  “Sorry.” He tapped the pages. “It’s written right here, and I’m not about to change the rules.”

  “But why red? It’s the color of passion.”

  “Nancy hated red, okay?”

  Audrey pulled Dorothy down.

  “Plus forty points if you bought anything alive.”

  Vicki pushed her hair back from her forehead. “Is that forty for each?”

  He glanced at the flat of flowers and lime green shrubs by the kitchen door then smiled. “No, just the forty.”

  Marge leaned over and watched Vicki mark her score, adding the big four-0.

  “Plus twenty points if you bought a gift for one of the other ladies.”

  Lots of awes and finger wagging took place back and forth across the table. Preston allowed himself a smile. It pleased him so many had bought something for the others.

  “Minus twenty points if you bought anything for me.”

  Moans a plenty.

  “Plus thirty for an item over fifty years old.”

  More moans. Charlotte let out a little cheer.

  “Minus forty points for anything plastic.”

  Dorothy shook her head, but said nothing, then looked away like her pet just died.

  “Plus fifty points if you didn’t spend any money except on food.”

  “Minus fifty if you have less than ten dollars left.” He threw the paper on the table. “That’s it. Total the scores, please.”