Oh, no, she told herself, those pecs are attached to the wrong man.
But a girl could look.
You look, you’ll want. Don’t look.
As he got closer she saw he had light blue eyes. Blue like ice. Mysterious. Stop. Don’t go there. She swallowed hard and looked away. Out of sight, out of mind.
She could hear the car window on her sister’s side sliding down. Then she heard his voice. “Planning on coming in for a beer?” Oh, she was a sucker for a low, sexy voice. Its magnetic pull turned her head toward him.
“How’d you guess?” Samantha retorted. “We had a flat. I was just about to call Swede.”
“Swede’ll gouge you good. I assume you’ve got a spare.”
Her sister was always prepared. If there was no spare in the back, then Samantha had been kidnapped by aliens and this cranky woman sitting behind the driver’s seat was a fake. “Of course,” she said, insulted.
“Pop your trunk and I’ll change it for you.”
“Thanks, but you don’t need to do that,” Samantha said. “We’ll be fine.”
“I know. Pop the trunk.”
She popped it and got out. Cecily decided to stay inside. It didn’t take two women to supervise changing a tire. And besides, she didn’t need to see any more of Todd Black than she already had.
Their voices drifted toward her through the open window.
“So, you pissed because I’m not into chocolate?”
“Should I be?”
“Actually, no. What’s the point of getting pissed just because someone disagrees with you?”
“None, of course, but there’s a difference between disagreeing and trying to discourage people,” Samantha said.
“Hey, I happen to think you’re biting off too much and it’s going to blow up in your face. I don’t want to be part of that.”
“You’re about the only one in town who doesn’t,” Samantha countered.
Cecily couldn’t help smiling. Don’t waste your time arguing with my sister.
“It only took one kid to see the emperor was buck naked,” Todd said. “Anyway, it’s a free country. Knock yourself out.”
This man was quick with a comeback, but it wasn’t a very nice comeback. Cecily knew her men. They all fell into categories and now she had this one pegged. He was a mule man—stubborn, intractable, always positive he was right. Ugh.
A tap on her window made her jump. She turned to see the blue-eyed mule man. “You mind getting out? I’m about to jack up the car. If you move around in there, you might move it off the jack.”
She nodded and got out.
“I’m Todd Black,” he said. “You new here?”
“I’ve lived here all my life,” Cecily informed him.
That smile on his face… Was he mocking her? “Ah, part of the old-timers’ club,” he said with a knowing nod. “I’ve been here a year and I haven’t seen you. Where’ve you been hiding?”
“L.A.” And she hadn’t been hiding. “I’m Cecily, Samantha’s sister.”
“That explains it,” he said. Now his smile was definitely mocking.
“Explains what?” she demanded.
“The warm reception I’m getting.” He walked back around to the other side of the car and started cranking the jack.
“Todd, we do appreciate you bailing us out,” Samantha said. “I just wish I could get you to see how good this festival can be for the whole town.”
“I don’t need a festival to boost my business.”
“Oh? You don’t need paying customers?”
“I already have paying customers,” he said as the car levitated.
“This will bring in more,” Cecily put in.
He grinned at her over his shoulder. “So, you drank the poisoned Kool-Aid, too, huh?”
“I think my sister’s right,” she said. “That’s why I’m up here, to help her.”
He shrugged. “Well, blood is thicker than water. And what do you do when you’re not planning festivals?”
Cecily could feel her cheeks burn, a sure sign that she was blushing. But she had no reason to be embarrassed. She offered a vital service. “I have a business.” Well, she had a business.
“Me, too,” he said, jerking his head to indicate the dump at the far end of the parking lot. “What’s yours?”
“It’s a dating service.” And a very good one at that.
At least it was, until the final straw had glowered his way into her office—Clyde Dangler-Dunn. Mr. Double D, she’d called him, and he’d been a typical stud man—the kind of man who thought he was God’s gift to women and was more interested in exercising his favorite muscle doing the horizontal bop than in finding a life companion. She had tried to do the impossible and find someone for Clyde but had failed—not for lack of trying but because there was no perfect woman for a man like him. Except for a hooker, and since she wasn’t a madam she couldn’t help him with that.
“None of the women your service introduced me to have met my standards,” he’d informed her, his double chin raised to its haughtiest level. (Clyde was a little on the hefty side, but since he also had a hefty bank account he expected women to overlook that.)
Which probably meant they’d refused to sleep with him on the first date. “Now, Clyde,” she’d said sweetly, “I’ve found you six beautiful, talented women half the men in America would die to date.” And coming up with that many women had been a miracle.
“I’m not half the men in America. I told you I want women with big breasts. Real ones.”
Like she could find those easily in L.A.?
“Cancel my contract immediately and refund my money or you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
Cancel his contract? She’d gladly have canceled him. But not wanting to repeat the disaster she’d had with Liza, she’d restrained herself. Instead, she’d said all that was diplomatically required and written him a check right then and there. And that had drained her business account.
And her patience. Burnout had destroyed both her dreams and her business. Men like Stud Man and this mule man here made it hard for Cupid and his helpers. She’d decided that Cupid was on his own. Cecily was too disgusted to care anymore. Let those losers go online and lie through their teeth, let them do their own screening and set up their own meet-and-greet parties to their hearts’ content. She was done, done, done. She’d tied up loose ends, made a few final matches, then closed her doors.
“A dating service, huh?” said this latest poor specimen of the male species.
“I can guess what you’re thinking,” she hurried to say. “But not all dating services exist to match gold diggers up with millionaires.” Although that had been the case with most of her customers.
“Good. You set my mind at ease.”
Sarcasm, always a nice trait in a man. Cecily managed a polite smile, then turned her back and contemplated the thin icing of snow on the mountains. When she’d been up here for Waldo’s funeral she’d thought it was nice to see the town growing. This kind of growth, however, they didn’t need.
“There you go, ladies,” he said at last. “This will hold you until you can get over to Swede’s and pick up a new tire. He charges an arm and a leg for towing but his tire prices are reasonable.”
As if they didn’t know that? Swede Lind had been in business in Icicle Falls for the past twenty years. In fact, he was the grandfather of the new bank manager who was giving Samantha grief.
“Thanks,” Sama
ntha said. “I’d offer you some chocolate to show our appreciation but since you don’t like it—”
“Who said I don’t like it?” he asked. “I just think the festival is a dumb idea.”
Samantha shook her head, but she promised him a box. Then they got into the car and left the Neanderthal to go back to his drooling Neanderthal customers.
“Well, he’s something else,” Cecily said contemptuously.
Samantha sneaked a look Cecily’s direction. “But he’s hot.”
“A great cover doesn’t make a great book.”
“Is that something you told all your customers?”
“There wouldn’t have been any point,” Cecily said. “They never listened.”
“Well, make sure you listen to yourself. When it comes to guys—”
Cecily cut her off. “I know. You don’t have to remind me.”
“Okay. Just sayin’.”
Thankfully, Samantha let it go at that. There was no need for a sisterly lecture. Cecily had learned her lesson. No more bad boys who insisted they wanted to get married but cheated on you with your best friend. No more men who pretended to have money and then asked you for loans and then forget to pay you back. No more losers! Heck, no more men. Period. Look at all the grief a girl got from them.
And, speaking of grief. Mom was still in her jammies when they arrived at the house, even though it was midafternoon. “Welcome home,” she said, and gave Cecily a hug.
Their mother normally smelled like Calvin Klein’s Obsession. Today she smelled like…well, it wasn’t Calvin Klein.
Cecily remembered after their father died waking up in the middle of the night to hear her mother crying, but during the day Mom used to put up a good front. This time around, she wasn’t trying to hold up that false front. Maybe she figured this time around she didn’t need to. Who knew? Regardless of the reason, it was unnerving.
“You’re earlier than I expected,” Mom said. “I haven’t had a chance to get dressed.”
What had she been doing? Cecily looked around the house. A fine layer of dust coated the furniture. A couple of photo albums lay open on the couch and a half-finished mug of chocolate mint tea sat on the coffee table. Well, she was allowed, no matter what Samantha thought.
“Would you like some tea?” Mom asked.
“We can make it if you want to get dressed,” Samantha said in an attempt to be diplomatic.
“I’ll be right back.”
“No rush,” Cecily told her.
As soon as their mother was out of earshot Samantha said in a low voice, “This is how she’s been.”
Cecily gave a helpless shrug. What did Samantha expect her to do about it, slap Mom and tell her to snap out of it? “We’ve got to give her time.”
Samantha frowned and Cecily decided to drop the subject and search the kitchen for tea and distraction.
Samantha followed her. “She’ll be better now that you’re here. I think she needs someone to need her. Once we get her involved with the festival she’ll be fine.”
Cecily wasn’t so sure about that. Busyness wasn’t a miracle cure for a broken heart. She knew from personal experience.
Half an hour later Mom joined them, looking more like herself with her hair freshly washed and wearing gray wool slacks and a black sweater—a V-neck, which had become her trademark ever since she learned that turtlenecks weren’t flattering to older women.
“How are you doing?” Cecily asked, handing her a cup of Earl Grey.
“I’m fine,” Mom said. “It’s good to have you home, sweetie.”
“It’s good to be home,” Cecily said. Here she’d gone off to follow her heart, prove herself and fill the world with love only to realize that her heart had misled her. Filling the world with love was a Herculean task when the world was overflowing with selfish, shallow people.
And then there were the people who were simply too busy for love, like her sister. Samantha managed to sit still long enough to drink a mug of tea, but then she got fidgety.
“I know you need to get back to the office,” Mom said, giving her permission to escape to work.
“I should.” To Cecily she said, “Maybe you can tell Mom about some of the things we were discussing in the car.”
Cecily agreed, and after Samantha left she started to talk about the festival. But somehow, they drifted from the subject of Mr. Dreamy to Mom’s own dream man, Waldo, and out came the photo albums. Cecily didn’t mind looking at them, though and, unlike Samantha, she didn’t have a problem reconciling the man they’d all liked with the man who’d brought so much chaos into their lives.
“He didn’t have the best head for business,” Mom admitted, touching a picture of Waldo sitting on the deck, raising a glass of wine in toast to her, “but he had the best heart. And I was so happy to find love again. I never thought I would.”
Lucky Mom. She’d found true love not once but twice.
“I keep hoping you girls will find the right man soon.” She smiled at Cecily. “They say there’s someone for everyone. But I guess you know that.”
“I used to believe that,” Cecily said. “I’m not sure I do anymore. People expect too much. And give too little,” she added, thinking of her two ex fiancés.
“Not always. You’ll find someone,” Mom said, patting her arm.
She’d found two someones in the exotic soil of sunny California but neither had turned out to be good. Obviously she was about as qualified to find her own Mr. Right as a surgeon was to operate on himself. “And how do you know that?”
“Because you’re too wonderful to be wasted.”
Her mother had said the same words to her when she was going through her rebellious phase, only much more sternly. “Seems to me I’ve heard those words before,” she teased.
“They’re still true.” Mom leaned back against the couch and regarded her. “I think God has been waiting for you to come home. I think He’s got the perfect man for you somewhere right here in Icicle Falls.”
Cecily envisioned the Neanderthal who had been her welcome-home committee. Or not.
* * *
Samantha had a quick conference with Jim, their sales rep, promised the moon to a supplier and then put in a call to city hall to see how the permits were moving along.
This time she was spared having to deal with Pissy. Emily Brookes, one of the office workers, answered the phone. “Just calling to see how the permits for our chocolate festival are coming along,” Samantha said cheerily.
“Gosh, I guess okay,” Emily said. “I haven’t heard anything one way or another. Do you want to talk to Priscilla?”
Not any more than Pissy wanted to talk to her. “No, that’s okay,” Samantha said. “I’ll check later.” These things took time and her form was probably making the rounds of different departments—unless Pissy had shredded it.
Think positive, she told herself, and went back to work. She answered a slew of emails and then shot one to Ed York, running the Mr. Dreamy contest idea past him (not that she was micromanaging—she simply wanted another opinion). Ed gave the idea a resounding thumbs-up and Samantha resigned herself to going along with what she still considered a very tacky event.
Well, good news for Cecily, she supposed, and put in a call home.
“Bailey just phoned,” Cecily told her. “Now she’s not only got the two-day winery tour package, she also talked Adventure Outfitters into donating a kayak to give our Mr. Dreamy, as well.�
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“That’s some prize package,” Samantha said, impressed.
“That’s not all. It looks like we’ve also got a twenty-five-dollar gift certificate for both Italian Alps and Big Brats—free Italian and German food. And I think Cass is going to give us a certificate for her place, too. So, we’ll have a nice prize package for our Mr. Dreamy.”
“Sounds like it. Ed York thinks it’s a great idea.” Samantha regretted the words the minute they were out of her mouth.
“You were running this by Ed?”
“Just keeping him up-to-date,” Samantha said, improvising quickly. She heard a big sigh on the other end of the line. “No micromanaging. Really.”
“I hope not,” Cecily said. “By the way, we’re about to make dinner. Want to come by?”
“With my malnourished bank account my new motto is never turn down a free meal.”
It would be good to get in some sister time and, much as she hated to admit it, she’d appreciate having Cecily present as a cheerful third party for what could be a slightly strained meal with Mom.
The casserole supply had finally dwindled but Cecily had found some chicken soup Bailey had made and left in the freezer and she’d coaxed Mom into making biscuits. The aroma of baking biscuits and simmering soup reminded Samantha that it had been a long time since she’d eaten and her stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“This is the perfect meal for our drizzly mountain weather,” she said as she kissed her mother’s cheek.
“Too bad that drizzle isn’t snow.” Cecily placed bowls around the dining table.
“We could have used it. It’s been a tough season,” Samantha said. “But things are bound to improve,” she added. “I think we’re on the right track with this festival. We need events to attract tourists. Once they come here and see how beautiful it is, hike the trails, hit the shops and the restaurants, we’ll have them hooked. We’re every bit as pretty as those high-priced ski resort towns and a better bargain.”
“We should put that somewhere in our advertising,” Cecily said thoughtfully. “Resort living at affordable prices. What do you think, Mom?”
Sweet Dreams on Center Street Page 12
