The Red Hat Society's Domestic Goddess

by Regina Hale Sutherland

  “Different welcome from last time,” he remarked, as he closed the door behind himself, “when you knocked me over and held a gun on me.”

  “You fell over,” she felt obliged to remind him, “and Harry’s not a real gun.”

  “Where is Harry?” he asked, glancing around. “I haven’t seen him around in a while.”

  “I don’t need Harry anymore,” she said. “I’ve got you.” Then realizing what she’d revealed, she sputtered, “I mean, who needs a fake gun when you have a cop living next door with a real one—a real gun?”

  He puffed out his chest, still clad in his navy blue uniform, and faked a deeper baritone. “That’s me, I live to serve and protect.”

  He might have said it as if in jest, but she knew he meant it. He was like her dad; it was the motto by which he lived.

  “So serve,” she said, giving in to the worry she’d been fighting since the class.

  “You, gladly. You up for my after-shift snack?”

  “No, not me. I know someone with a problem.”

  “And they need a cop? Are they in trouble?” he asked, instantly on duty.

  Kim shook her head. “We don’t need a cop. But we could use your advice.”

  “About what?”

  She nodded toward the cat sitting on the floor near her yoga mat.

  “Are you still trying to pawn that cat off on me?” he asked with a deep chuckle.

  “No.” She could admit it, at least to herself—she didn’t want to get rid of the cat. And she didn’t want to lose it. “I think it’s sick.”

  “Sick?”

  “Hurt. Maybe.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, bending over to look at it more closely.

  “Well, Mr. Linclstrom sucked its tail into a vacuum cleaner tonight.”

  “What—oh, your class. Vacuum lesson,” he surmised. “Do you think it’s broken?”

  “It can move. So I don’t think so. But even before the vacuum, it was acting strange. Quiet. Hiding. I think it’s sick. Really sick.” She waited for him to mock her, to call her on her concern for the cat.

  “Put it back in that basket,” he said, pointing to Millie’s picnic basket on the floor near the cat. “I’ll change out of my uniform and be right back.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Take the two of you to an emergency vet clinic,” he said with soothing logic.

  She watched as he ducked back out the slider and into the night. As he did, her heart moved, as if to follow him. It belonged to him now. Just that simply, she’d fallen for him. She should be mad; this was something that had happened beyond her control.

  A short time later, as she sat in the car next to him, he reached across the console between them and touched her hand. The scratch shone in the dim lights from the dash, an angry red gash. “It got you pretty good. Are you all right?”

  No, she wasn’t.

  “You said the cat was being quiet. It’s not the only one. You’re really worried.”

  Yes, she was.

  “This is a great vet.”

  “You don’t have any animals,” she reminded him, wondering if the vet was someone he’d dated after his divorce.

  “Not anymore. I had a dog, though.”

  “Had? I take it the dog didn’t make it. Are you sure this is a good vet?” she asked a bit anxiously, as she tightened her arms around the picnic basket on her lap.

  He smiled. “Ollie died from old age,” he assured her. “Still broke my son’s heart, though.”

  “Your son?” She’d thought he didn’t have any kids. She’d never seen any weekend visitors at his place.

  “Yeah, he’s away at college now,” he answered her unspoken question. “Great kid. Smart, confident. Loves to work out. He’d love you.”

  “College,” she said, still trying to wrap her mind around George being a father. “What’s he going for?”

  “Criminal justice. He wants to be a cop.”

  “Like his old man,” she said, expecting his smile to beam with pride.

  But he was frowning instead. “That’s what his mother says.”

  Kim had a feeling it wasn’t a compliment. “Is she worried he’ll get hurt?”

  “I’m not sure.” He sighed.

  “Are you worried about him?”

  “No, he’s a smart kid. He’d be a good cop. But his mother may succeed yet in talking him out of it.”

  “He’s a smart kid. He’ll do what he wants,” Kim assured him.

  His smile flashed again as they pulled into the brightly lit parking lot of the emergency vet. “You’re right. And now that you’ve made me feel better about my kid, let’s see if I can make you feel better about yours.”

  “This cat is not my kid,” she protested, but not too strenuously as she followed him into the clinic.

  Fortunately the waiting room was empty and the assistant showed them to an examining room right away. The vet, a quiet young man, had probably chosen animals over people to treat because he lacked any bedside manner. But he thoroughly checked out the gray tiger.

  “She’s not sick,” he said. “She’s pregnant.”

  “She?”

  “You didn’t know,” George laughed. “And you were raised on a farm. What will your dad say?”

  “Hey, I thought it was fixed,” she defended herself.

  “Well, she’s not,” the vet assured them. “She’s got quite a litter in there, too. You’re going to have a lot of kittens very soon. I’ll get you some vitamins you can put in her food.” He rummaged through a cupboard behind his small examining table.

  Great, she was going to play midwife to a feline. And she’d become what she’d always been afraid of becoming, an old maid with a bunch of cats for company. The cat lady of Hilltop. She sighed, knowing Mrs. Ryers would have a field day with that. But then she didn’t care what anyone else thought. She had, however, come to care about the cat.

  “Fine,” she said, as she accepted the small bottle.

  “You’re going to be a grandma,” George taunted her.

  Grandma to a litter of cats. That was something she would have never expected, like her feelings for George. But she was going to have to find a way to deal with both.

  The aroma of rich coffee teased Theresa’s nose, waking her from a light sleep. She turned her head to the bedside table, where steam wafted in spirals from a mug emblazoned with cats in Red Hats and purple scarves.

  “You’re finally up, sleepy head,” Wally teased, his voice low as if wary of waking her too abruptly.

  She stretched, then scooted up to rest her back against the cushioned leather headboard. “What time is it?”

  “Early.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from asking. “What are you doing up then?”

  “Early tee-off time.”

  “You’re going golfing?” He hadn’t gone in so long; she hadn’t even known whether or not he still had his clubs. She’d figured he might have sold them with the business.

  He wore a golf shirt in deep green that made his eyes bright, and khakis. He nodded. “Yes, I’m going golfing. Here, try the coffee,” he said, handing her the mug.

  She would have liked to brush her teeth first, but tempted by the rich aroma, she took a sip. “Mmmm, that is good.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I tried a new blend.”

  “You went shopping?”

  “Of course.”

  She thought about asking for his ID, just to make sure he was her husband. But she knew this man, with the sharp eyes and the wide grin, better than she knew the stranger she’d been living with for the last several months. This man bore an uncanny resemblance to the young ambitious man she’d married.

  “So are you going golfing with Charles and some of the other guys from class?” Like she’d hoped he would, he had made friends.

  He shook his head. “Not today. We’ve got a golf date for Saturday. Charles is working today.”

  “That’s right. He went back
to work.” She wondered how Millie felt about that. A man with a job didn’t fit with her plan. “So who are you golfing with?”

  He grinned. “A couple of guys from the office and an old client.”

  “From the business?”

  “Yeah. This client always insisted on dealing with only me,” he said, the pride back as he lifted his chin.

  “So you’re going back to work?”

  “They’d like me to,” he said, flashing a really wide grin. “Apparently things don’t run as smoothly without the old man.”

  “You’re not an old man,” she told him. Not today. Today he had all the fire and determination of the young man she’d fallen in love with. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m thinking about following Charles’s example, put in a couple short days a week, just enough to keep an eye on things. What do you think about that?”

  “You worked a long time building your business. I can understand you wanting to keep an eye on things.” She understood that more easily than his selling it; it was his baby, like she’d once been.

  “So you think it’s a good idea?”

  “If it’ll make you happy, yes.”

  “I want to make you happy,” he told her, then he leaned over her, pressing his lips to hers. His mouth moved softly and sweetly over hers, as his big hand cradled her face.

  Theresa’s toes curled into the sheets, and she murmured in her throat. But he pulled away, his eyes twinkling, as he told her, “I don’t want to be late.”

  He wasn’t.

  Not too late for them.

  She reached for the Red Hat mug again, her hands not quite steady. “Thanks for the coffee. Coffee in bed, you’re going to spoil me.”

  “That’s my intention,” he assured her even as he took the cup from her hands and kissed her again.

  She pulled slightly back to tease him. “I thought you didn’t want to be late.”

  He groaned as he tore his mouth from hers. “Yeah, yeah, I have to go,” he said as he headed toward the door.

  She leaned back in bed, smiling. He wasn’t leaving, not really. He was finally back.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “The effect of having other interests beyond those domestic works well. The more one does and sees and feels, the more one is able to do, and the more genuine may be one’s appreciation of fundamental things like home, and love, and understanding companionship.”

  —Amelia Earhart

  As the wind picked up the paper, Kim caught the photocopy of the page from The Red Hat Society Cookbook. “Copying from the bible again?” she teased Millie. “Jalapeño-Stuffed Bacon-Wrapped Grilled Shrimp.”

  “Great day for grilling,” Millie said, as they supervised the heating up of the grills on the community center’s expansive deck. Situated as it was near the top of the hill, the deck was suspended off the center, overlooking treetops. The beautiful setting tempted Millie to schedule more grilling lessons. She’d have to look in the “bible” for more grilling recipes, like this favorite of hers. “The shrimp are delicious this way.”

  “Yes,” Kim agreed, “but spicy.” Using the recipe, she gestured toward Mr. Lindstrom. He stood at one of the several patio tables on the deck, the umbrella over his head undulating in the wind.

  “I didn’t get really hot jalapeños,” Millie promised, knowing she spoke the truth since her eyes weren’t watering and her sons had already complained that they weren’t hot enough. She popped a thin piece of pepper into the back of a shrimp and wrapped a slice of bacon around it. “But we have other options,” she reminded Kim.

  Along with the shrimp, they had fixings for other kebabs: chunks of beef and plenty of vegetables that the students had had to cut up. She’d already shown them what size and how to cut the pieces; finished skewers sat on the table in front of her and Kim, ready for the grill.

  “They’re doing a great job,” Theresa said, as she joined her friends. Even though she said “they”, she only watched one student. Wally.

  Millie could understand why. The man looked good. His skin, once pale from all his time inside, was now a golden tan. And his eyes were bright again, like Charles’s had always been. Millie’s gaze strayed from Wally to Charles, where he stood in the middle of her family. Brigitte was totally focused on him, hanging on his every word as he chopped vegetables.

  Steven tried to mimic his movements. Mitchell used a little more flair, wielding the knife as if it were a baton. Millie winced, certain he was going to chop off a finger. Maybe he thought it would be worth it if Victoria kissed it to make it better. She stood near him, shaking her head as if exasperated with him, but her smile was wide.

  As usual Charles caught Millie watching him… and winked. Her knees weakened, and for just a moment she clutched the edge of the table. If the man could make her feel like this with just a wink, what would a kiss do to her?

  “So what’s going on between you and Charles?” Theresa asked.

  Millie wasn’t sure if she was asking in general or about the wink. Either way, her answer was the same. “Nothing.”

  “You can tell me,” Theresa coaxed, “I’m not Mrs. Ryers. The whole community won’t know your business.”

  Kim sighed. “That’s not what we’re worried about. It’s the lecture on how men are the root of all evil,” she teased, with a gentle nudge to Millie’s arm. They shared a quick, amused glance.

  “I know I’ve been a little overly dramatic lately,” Theresa admitted, with her usual grace. “I was working through some things.”

  “Whether or not you wanted to kick Wally to the curb,” Kim said, with her usual bluntness.

  Pink color rose in Theresa’s face. Embarrassment didn’t redden and blotch her skin like it did Millie’s. Theresa looked pretty; Millie usually looked like she’d been out in a snowstorm and was suffering frostbite.

  “I don’t know where you get these ideas,” Theresa said to Kim, but she didn’t deny that she’d considered it.

  Kim shrugged. “Doesn’t matter—looks like you’ve decided to keep him.”

  “Looks like,” Theresa agreed with a small, secretive smile reminiscent of the Mona Lisa.

  Millie wrapped an arm around her friend, gently squeezing her. “I’m so happy for you,” she said.

  “What about for you?” Theresa asked, squeezing back. “And Charles Moelker?”

  Millie shook her head, causing the wind to tousle her curls even more. Her hair was probably standing six inches above her head, like Ronald McDonald’s. Maybe she needed to get it cut short, like Kim’s.

  “There is no me and Charles,” she insisted, “except in class. And speaking of the class, we’d better get back to teaching it.”

  Kim nodded, either letting Millie off the hook or trying to avoid getting on it herself. “Yeah, it looks like Mr. Lindstrom could use some help.”

  “He thinks you’re mad at him over the cat,” Millie clued in her friend.

  Kim waved off his concern. “She’s fine.”

  “She?”

  “Yes, and she’s expecting. So you two need to expect a couple kittens each in a few weeks. She’s carrying a big litter.” Before they could refuse, she rushed off to help their oldest student.

  Mr. Lindstrom beamed as she walked up to him, obviously grateful that she didn’t hold a grudge. He even reached up to give her a hug, but he’d apparently forgotten he held the grilling fork. Or maybe he hadn’t. Either way, he got her with it, in a sensitive area.

  Millie tried to smother a laugh, but Theresa didn’t even bother. “She’s going to feel that when she sits down,” she said, chuckling.

  “Okay, everyone, let’s put our skewers on the grills,” Millie announced, managing to keep from laughing until Theresa muttered, “I hope Mr. Lindstrom doesn’t try to put Kim on the grill.”

  Millie might prefer getting put on the grill herself over Theresa’s grilling her about Charles. It would be less uncomfortable because she wouldn’t have to say anything. Because about her
self and Charles, she had nothing to say.

  Charles scoured the grill with a wire brush, cleaning the scraps of meat and veggies off the metal rungs.

  “You’ve done this before,” Millie commented on his practiced technique. He wasn’t the only one to stay to help this time. Even though Theresa and Wally had left, and Kim as well (probably to go home and sit on an icepack), Millie’s family had stayed.

  “I use the grill more than I use my stove,” Charles admitted. “Well, I did before I joined your class.”

  “I’m glad you’re learning something.”

  “You’ve taught me a lot,” he insisted.

  But was he talking about domestic chores or something else? The way he looked at her, his blue eyes intense, led her to believe it was something else.

  Before she could consider what, Brigitte ran up and threw her arms around Millie. “I love your class, Grandma!” she said. “It’s fun, and I love the food.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it, honey. So I’m still cool?” That comment meant so much to Millie, like she had come a long way from “old-fashioned.”

  Brigitte nodded. “You’d be even cooler if we baked cookies next cooking class.”

  Millie laughed at her granddaughter’s bribe. “Well, I don’t have cookies planned, but we’re going to cover something even sweeter. Theresa, Kim, and I are going to teach you all how to make our favorite desserts.”

  “Sweet!” Brigitte exclaimed.

  “That’s the idea,” Millie agreed. “So you won’t miss the next class then?”

  “Noway!”

  “I’ll make sure I’m here, too,” Victoria spoke up from behind Brigitte. “Sounds like my kind of class.”

  “You’re happy you joined?” Millie asked, knowing Charles had coerced his niece into the class. Maybe like Brigitte, he had even exercised a little bribery, using his return to the practice as leverage in getting Victoria to join the bachelor’s survival course.

  But then what could she say about his manipulation when she’d done the same to her sons?

  Victoria glanced toward where Mitchell stood next to his brother before she answered Millie’s question. “I’m most definitely happy that I joined.”