by Kim Amos
Audrey had changed her clothes, but apparently her hair and makeup on their own were enough to startle people. “Just trying out a different look.”
The creases in Evelyn’s lined face deepened. “Well, what perfect timing to see you here. I was hoping to bend your ear soon about the upcoming Good Shepherd Walk.”
Audrey groaned inwardly. The annual Good Shepherd Walk was a fund-raiser for the local Catholic church, and she somehow always found herself on the planning committee for it. Never mind that she wasn’t Catholic, and charity walks weren’t exactly her thing. Everyone just assumed they were because she taught P.E.
Or used to, anyway.
“This year, I thought we’d start down by the river and end at the church, instead of the other way around,” Evelyn said, her soft, powder-smelling hand reaching out to grasp Audrey’s.
Audrey stared down at Evelyn’s wrinkled skin, her insides knotting as she wondered for the seventh year in a row how to tell the older woman that she did not, in fact, want to help with the Good Shepherd charity walk.
“I—that is—this isn’t a good time for me,” Audrey stumbled. “As you probably know, I lost my job. Things are a little difficult.”
Evelyn nodded solemnly. “Of course. Which is why it’s more important than ever to give. When you’re in need, that’s when you serve the most. ‘Give and it shall be given to you.’” She smiled warmly, and Audrey’s heart sank.
How could she argue with this sweet, Bible-quoting old lady?
But that was the problem. Audrey wanted to argue. She wanted to tell Evelyn that she loved running, but not walking. That the crowds made her a little dizzy. That every year, she tried to make the registration process electronic, but the group insisted on paper forms and it was always a mess.
Only Audrey never said those things. Not to anyone. Not to her school’s principal when he’d insisted Audrey serve on the superintendent search committee, even though Audrey was already on the community outreach committee. Not to her hairdresser when Audrey had asked for bangs and her hairdresser had said they were out of fashion, no matter that it was Audrey’s choice. Not even to the waiter the other day when he brought her a roast beef sandwich instead of a turkey club, but Audrey ate it politely so she wouldn’t raise a fuss.
Maybe it was time for her to start speaking up. She pictured herself in the clothes from the dealership and tried to recall the boldness she’d felt in them.
“I just don’t think I can, Evelyn,” Audrey said. Her voice shook but she pressed forward. “Not this year. I’m very sorry.”
“Oh.” The old woman’s face fell. “We just need your help so badly.”
“I know, but—”
“I’m not sure we can have the walk without you, frankly.”
Guilt washed over her. She stared at her running shoes. She couldn’t leave them in the lurch like this. Could she?
“Perhaps I could find my replacement? Would that help?”
“Well, I suppose. How long do you need, dear?”
“A couple days. I’m sure I can find someone.”
“We hate to lose you. You’ve been such a blessing.”
“I’m sure I can find someone who is equally as…blessed,” Audrey bluffed. After chatting for a few more minutes about Evelyn’s tulips this spring, she waved good-bye to the older woman and headed for the bakery. She hadn’t gotten out of the Good Shepherd Walk entirely, but she felt a twinge of pride that she’d made some baby steps in that direction. It was a start, anyway.
The rich scent of bread and yeast had her stomach growling as she stared at multiple cakes and pies. She figured she ought to grab the apple pie because it was the dessert most people would enjoy. What Audrey wanted, however, was the twelve-pack of powdered-sugar donuts on the nearby shelf. They were like dusty soldiers all lined up in their plastic tray, ready to march into her mouth.
The pie would be more suitable. More people would like it.
But wasn’t it her dessert to bring?
“Come to Mama,” she whispered, and grabbed the donuts. She headed for the checkout before she could change her mind.
* * *
In the cozy back room of Knots and Bolts, Audrey sipped a velvety red wine, grateful to finally be gathered with her friends after the day she’d had. She sighed with contentment just as her friend Betty eyed her across the table.
“You look like a Minneapolis hooker,” Betty said. Her friend’s clear skin and rounded cheeks were nearly angelic in the warm light. Which was only appropriate, Audrey supposed, since Betty was now the wife of the local pastor.
Audrey put a self-conscious hand up to her face.
“Oh, leave her be,” Willa Masterson—now Olmstead—replied. Willa poured more red wine into Audrey’s glass. The splash of the liquid was a comfort, and Audrey smiled gratefully. Willa, the most recent addition to the weekly recipe exchange in the room at the back of Betty’s fabric store, had returned to White Pine recently after years in New York, and had opened up the White Pine Bed and Breakfast in her family’s old home on Oak Street. The charming B and B was thriving, and so was Willa’s marriage since she’d rekindled her romance with her high-school sweetheart—and one-time house contractor—Burk Olmstead.
Audrey felt a small twinge of jealousy as she studied her friend’s laughing green eyes, her radiant smile, and the sparkling ring on her left hand. She tried ignoring it, but the splinter of emotion just buried itself deeper: this feeling that Audrey had lived in White Pine her whole life, played by all the rules, and hadn’t found love, but Willa had managed to swoop in, find a guy, and start a business in a matter of months.
It’s because Willa takes risks, Audrey thought, recalling how hard Willa had worked to change her attitude and open her heart to Burk. Not to mention learn how to fix up old furniture.
“Earth to Audrey,” Betty was saying, tapping the table with her finger.
“Sorry, what?”
“You went away,” Betty said, her corn-yellow hair so soft in comparison with her no-nonsense tone. Betty pushed a plate of hot dish toward Audrey—a Minnesota version of casserole and a favorite of the recipe exchange—and arched a brow. “What aren’t you telling us? And does it have something to do with why your face looks like you survived an explosion at the cosmetics factory?”
“Betty!” Willa scolded.
Audrey laughed. She and Betty had known each other since high school, and she understood that her friend meant well. It was just that Betty could be shockingly direct sometimes, which was precisely why Randall Sondheim, pastor of the town’s Lutheran church, had asked her to marry him. They’d tied the knot at Willa’s B and B last fall.
“I’ll fill you in on my face,” Audrey said, “but let’s wait until the other girls get here.” Burk’s sister, Anna Palowski, and Stephanie Munson, another high-school friend, were usually running late—but they got a wide berth because they were also the moms in the group.
As if Audrey had summoned them with the mention, the Knots and Bolts back door opened and the fresh, early-summer air rushed in with the two remaining women.
“Sorry we’re late!” Stephanie sing-songed, dropping herself into a chair. In addition to the stains her clothes usually sported from her five-year-old twins, there were now paint flecks in her bright red hair, thanks to her new job helping Willa rehab furniture and sell it. Audrey stared at her friend, wondering how she did it all. I don’t even want to make time for a church walk, she thought. And here Stephanie was, raising twins and working for Willa.
“I just dropped Juniper off at drum lessons,” Anna said, referencing her daughter. She reached for the wine, the movement dislodging some of her ebony hair from its messy up-do. “Can you believe it? Sam met her there and is going to bring her home after they’re done. He thinks our daughter has innate talent, and I swear he’s already thinking about how to be her manager. And all I can think is, our daughter is three.”
“Your husband’s just having some fun,” Betty reassured
her. “And Juniper will probably be awed that adults are telling her it’s okay to bang on some stuff for a while.” Betty stood, walked to the back room’s small kitchenette, and returned with two more steaming plates of hot dish. The scent of warm cheese and ham had all the women mmm-ing appreciatively. Betty had been experimenting with “southern style” hot dishes, so this particular casserole was laced with grits and collard greens.
“Betty, I swear you make the best hot dishes,” Audrey said, lifting her fork just as Anna dropped hers.
The clatter of the metal on wood jerked everyone to attention. “Sorry,” Anna apologized, reaching for the errant utensil. “It’s just—Audrey, your face. I didn’t realize—I’m just not used to seeing you like, like—”
“Like she should be dancing on one of those poles at the Outlaw Bar?” Betty finished for her.
“Oh!” Stephanie said, finally taking a good look at her friend. “Audrey, that’s more makeup than I’ve seen you wear, ever. Do you have a date?”
Audrey sat up straighter. “No, but I do have a job.”
There was a beat of silence. Betty opened her mouth to speak, but a swift kick from Willa under the table silenced her.
“Congratulations!” Willa said, grasping Audrey’s hand. Audrey squeezed, grateful for the support. After she had been fired, Willa had taken the brunt of Audrey’s tear-choked phone calls.
“Is your job—” Betty started.
“Why don’t we let Audrey tell us what her new job is?” Willa interrupted.
Audrey speared her hot dish and thought about how to explain what had happened. And the fact that Kieran Callaghan was back in town.
“It turned out that the Harley dealership in town was hiring. I went in to submit my application for a sales position, and they gave me one. It’s just, I’m not selling the bikes as much as I’m…modeling them.”
“Modeling them how?” Anna asked.
“Well, like, sitting on them.”
“Wearing pants and a T-shirt like right now, huh?” Betty asked.
“Not exactly,” Audrey replied, thinking about the leather bustier and jeans she was going to have to pour herself back into tomorrow. “It’s more like motorcycle attire. Jeans and a leather corset. Some chaps. And stilettos.”
Betty whistled. “Damn.”
Audrey flattened her palms on the red table. The bumps and knots of the old wood were like Braille, hiding messages in the grain. Maybe even one confirming it was time to be done being so mousy. She thought about the incredulous looks she got from the White Pine customers on the showroom floor, and how they were so similar to the looks her friends were giving her now. Was it really so impossible that she could be…sexy?
She drew a breath. “Listen, I know it’s not what anyone pictured me doing—hell, it’s not what I pictured me doing—but it pays really well. And I don’t have a lot of options here. So if everyone could just be supportive for five seconds, I’d really appreciate it.”
The room went silent. The only sound was the wind whispering through new leaves on the trees outside. Betty set down her fork. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I get ahead of myself sometimes. I don’t mean to run my mouth like I don’t support you.”
“We all support you,” Stephanie said, “and we want you to be happy. If this does the trick, then go for it.”
“There’s something about it I like,” Audrey said, remembering how empowered she’d felt staring at her reflection in the showroom’s mirrors, “but the truth is, I almost got fired from this job, too.”
“What?” Willa asked, her green eyes wide. “Why?”
Audrey steadied herself, because the memory of Kieran Callaghan saying her name, of him pulling her into his arms and carrying her to the back room, and of him looking hungry enough to devour her when her bustier flew open, was about to topple her off her chair.
“It turns out Kieran Callaghan is back, and he’s the manager of the place or something. He didn’t want me there, and he tried to fire me, but Fletch Knudson backed me up, and I was able to stay.”
“Kieran Callaghan?” Betty asked, her tone laced with anger. “The same Irish jerk who broke your heart?”
“The very same.”
Betty set her jaw. “I will pickle his balls for him if he messes with you.”
Audrey burst out laughing. “Betty! It’s fine. I can handle him.”
Willa studied her. “Are you upset he’s back?”
Kieran Callaghan had torn her apart, and she’d rather chair ten Good Shepherd Walks than have to be near him again. But he didn’t upset her in the way Willa was asking, because out of all the people in the showroom today, he was the one who’d studied her in a way that made her feel like a painting: as if her skin was some kind of gilded frame and he was peering through to her insides, trying to find meaning there. It was the same way she’d remembered him looking at her five years ago, so intent on taking her all in. So intent on taking everything in, frankly. On the back of his motorcycle, he’d point out things he was always catching with his sharp eye: the tail of a fox disappearing into the brush, for example, or the white head of an eagle soaring in the sky overhead.
Of course, she could be as nostalgic as she wanted about who he’d once been or how he looked at her now, but their chance at being together was gone, stripped like a field of wheat after a brittle, unrelenting rain. Five years ago, she’d fallen so hard so fast that her heart had plummeted before she could catch it. She’d thought she’d found true love, while he’d fled after penning a hastily scribbled note—without even a good-bye—and she was still struggling to make sense of it.
Audrey realized Willa was staring at her, waiting for her to say something.
“Kieran being back is nothing,” she told her friends. “He’s still a jerk. And I’m not going near him if I can help it.”
“But won’t it be weird, working with him?” Stephanie asked, her ginger hair flaming in the light.
“We’re working together, not sleeping together,” she replied, even as part of her imagined their bodies twisting in the sheets.
“More power to you,” Anna said. “Stick it out, and show Kieran what he’s missing.”
“Absolutely,” Willa agreed. “Make him pine for what he lost. I mean, you look like a different person rocking that makeup. Your eyeliner alone is amazing. You look practically Egyptian.”
“She’ll make Kieran wish he could raid her tomb,” Betty said.
“Or make him wish he could unwrap her mummy.” Stephanie grinned.
“After a week, Kieran Callaghan will be dying see her Nefer-titties,” Anna said, slapping the table.
“He’ll want to water her fertile crescent!” Willa cried.
Audrey snorted. “I already know he has a big…sarcophagus.”
Everyone around the table collapsed into fits of laughter. After long minutes, they finally collected themselves, sipping wine to recover. Audrey reached into her bag and placed the donuts on the table. “Didn’t want anyone to think I forgot dessert.”
The women stared at the prepackaged food.
“I thought you were bringing raspberry bars,” Betty said.
“I was going to. But instead of baking I sat on a Harley all day.”
“I didn’t even know you liked donuts,” Willa said.
Audrey picked up a white ring and stared at it. Powdered sugar drifted onto her fingers. “That’s the thing. I love donuts. Like, really love them. I never eat them, though.”
“Until now,” Stephanie said, taking one for herself.
“Until now,” Audrey agreed, biting into the dessert. The powder and cake exploded in a sugary mix in her mouth. She groaned with pleasure.
Empty calories, her sister, Casey, would say. Instead of feeling empty, however, Audrey felt energized, full of something she couldn’t place. Like standing on the edge of a windswept cliff and staring into the churning sea. The thundering roar of all that tumultuous water would fill anyone up with strange yearning.
; Not that Audrey had ever seen anything like that in real life. She’d never left Minnesota, actually.
But that night when she got home, when the spring wind howled all around her and shook the tree branches above, she stood on her porch for a few extra moments with her eyes closed. If she concentrated, she could just about picture her feet on a craggy outcrop and the water frothing below.
The image stirred something inside of her. But what it was, exactly, or what it was leading to, she wasn’t quite sure. Later, she lay in bed and let the wind’s rattle sweep all thoughts of Kieran Callaghan far, far from her mind.
CHAPTER FOUR
The wind had died down the next morning when Audrey got to work. There was no rattle against the windows or howl in the trees to distract her from Kieran across the showroom floor. She tried to tear her eyes away from him, but was somehow unable to make her pupils move.
A dark wool sports coat hugged his broad shoulders in a perfect fit. Instead of a collared shirt, he wore a T-shirt underneath it, and Audrey swore she could almost see the outline of his rock-solid abs through the cotton material. She licked her lips distractedly, thinking about lifting the shirt from the waist of his jeans and sliding her hands underneath, running her palms over his ridges, the heat from his skin warming her through and through.
The idea made her shaky, not to mention irritated. There was nothing about Kieran that should make her hotter than she already was under these blasted showroom lights. Especially after the way he’d treated her.
She stuck out her hip in an effort to make the nearby motorcycle—a small, compact Night Rod that looked like it could race the wind itself—appear even more appealing. Inside, she was dying for a hamstring stretch.
Kieran was showing a husband and wife the features of a pumpkin-orange Ultra Limited—a massive machine built to carry two very comfortably. She tried to ignore the conversation, but bits of it reached her anyway.
“This windshield is going to make your ride much quieter,” he was saying, pointing to the piece of glass between the handlebars. “Plus these hard bags on the side”—he pointed to the storage compartments in the back—“are going to let you carry a lot of what you need with you.”
