“The vice president deal?” She shrugged one shoulder when he gave her a surprised look. “Erik mentioned it.”
“Yeah. The vice president deal.”
She leaned over, folding her arms on the counter. “You don’t sound entirely thrilled.”
“It’s what I’ve worked toward since before I even finished college.”
She tucked her tongue behind her teeth for a moment. But she still couldn’t stop herself. “Is it what you still want, though?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
She shrugged her shoulders and dropped it. She used to dream of him wanting to come back to Weaver to stay, but time and experience had finally killed those thoughts off for the fantasies they were. “If anybody can do it, I’m sure you can. Even if it means proving the results aren’t what everyone expects, you’ll finish in time to meet your deadline.”
His eyes met hers, and he smiled faintly.
And for a moment, her heart stopped a little.
She didn’t even realize that Sloan McCray had entered the restaurant until he cleared his throat.
“Morning,” he said, setting his travel mug next to the cash register with a bit of a thunk.
Her cheeks felt hot, and she straightened, quickly grabbing the coffee carafe to fill his mug. “Cinnamon roll this morning?”
“Now that I’m addicted to them, yes.” The deputy nodded toward the nearly decimated one on Justin’s plate. “That’s how it starts,” he said. “You think you can have just one. Run a few hundred miles to work off the calories. But you keep coming back for another. Pretty soon, you’re missing work, selling your dog. Anything for another fix—”
“Please.” Tabby pushed the pastry box into his hand. The deputy was in superb condition. Even before he’d married Abby Marcum, every female in town had either wanted to marry him or mother him. “You come in because you like the coffee. Pam Rasmussen told me half the time you’re auctioning off your roll to the other guys in the office.”
The deputy smiled slightly. “Our dispatcher does like to talk.”
“Along with nearly every other person who lives in Weaver,” Justin added drily.
Sloan’s smile widened a little, and Tabby wanted to cringe at the speculation in his eyes as he looked from Justin back to her again.
“Well.” Sloan dropped a few bills in the tip jar. “Hope you two enjoy your, ah, morning.” Still smiling slightly, he ambled out of the restaurant.
“Well, that’s great,” she muttered when the door closed and the bell jingled.
“What’s that?”
She propped her hands on her hips. “You didn’t see that look he gave us?” She tossed up her hands at the blank response she got.
“What?” He popped the rest of his roll in his mouth.
“Nothing.” At least the deputy wasn’t the kind to gossip the way Pam Rasmussen was. She plunked the coffee carafe on the counter in front of him. “I’ve got to get started on the hash browns for Bubba.” She escaped into the kitchen. “Don’t choke on that roll!”
Justin smiled at the door swinging to and fro after her and swallowed down his roll. Then he filled a to-go cup with coffee, added a few bucks of his own to the tip jar and headed out, the weight of his messenger bag bumping against his hip.
Things were getting back to normal with Tabby.
The day was looking up already.
* * *
Every year, Weaver’s community tree lighting was the town’s official kickoff for the holiday season.
About fifty Christmas trees—fresh, unlike the one at the diner—were set up in the town park at the end of the block and strung with lights. A band was on hand to play Christmas music. There was an enormous potluck, with everyone who could bringing covered dishes to share. They were arranged by the tree-lighting committee on plastic-covered plywood planks propped on barrels. Kids chased each other around. Adults overate and gossiped. And when it was time for the tree lights to come on, everyone gasped a little, cheered a little and felt swept up in the holiday spirit.
At least that’s how it always worked for Tabby.
She didn’t bring a dish from her own kitchen, though.
Using a three-shelved rolling cart from the restaurant, she wheeled over several serving pans of barbecue that Bubba had prepared at Ruby’s. Pulled pork. Brisket. Shredded chicken. She had it all, plus fat, yeasty rolls on which to pile it. There was enough food on her rolling cart to feed a small army, and that’s the way she liked it.
Because there were those families around who came to the event who couldn’t bring a dish to share.
It was up to places like Ruby’s to make sure that no one went away hungry.
Pam Rasmussen—the gossipy dispatcher from the sheriff’s office—had been chairperson of the tree lighting for more years than Tabby could count. Pam grabbed her in an enthusiastic choke hold the second she spotted her. “Merry Christmas!”
Tabby laughed as much as her limited breath allowed and worked some distance between them. “Everything’s looking great as always, Pam.”
The other woman beamed. “I’ve got a table reserved just for your food.” She admired the pans on the cart. “Can I peek?”
“Knock yourself out. It’s exactly what you asked for at the last committee meeting.”
Pam peeled up the foil edge covering the topmost pan. “Smells heavenly. My husband loves Bubba’s brisket.” She tucked the foil back in place. Then she straightened and pulled down the hem of her brilliant red sweatshirt festooned with a glittery snowman on the front. “Okay.” She was clearly back in chairperson mode. “Your table is closest to the pavilion.” She waved toward the round structure situated in the middle of the park.
“You moved the food this year?”
“We’ll try it. Everyone sets up their picnic chairs to face the band in the pavilion, so I’m hoping with more focus in that direction, we won’t have any incidents of kids spiking the punch like we did last year. If I could get the committee to agree that serving punch in punch bowls is passé, we wouldn’t have that problem.”
“I like the punch bowls,” Tabby admitted. “It’s tradition.”
Pam made a face. “So is spiking them with booze when nobody is looking,” she said drily.
“It only happens later in the evening when most of the folks with children have already gone home.”
Pam propped her hand on her hip. “Please tell me you’re not packing a fifth of vodka somewhere under that red sweater you’re wearing.”
Tabby laughed and held up her palm. “On my honor,” she assured Pam and wheeled her cart in the direction of the pavilion.
Residents were beginning to show up in the park. Most of the picnic tables had already been staked out. There weren’t enough there to accommodate all the people who would attend, so they were prime real estate. Others brought chairs of their own and blankets to spread out on the grass that had begun browning over a month ago. Some—like the Clays and her folks—brought their own folding tables to use.
After she’d stored her cart out of the way behind the pavilion, she headed toward her family’s collection of tables.
She gave a general wave to all and sat down on the blanket next to her sister-in-law, Leandra. “Where are the kids?”
“Evan’s got them over on the playground.” Leandra leaned back against her hands and stretched out her legs, knocking the toes of her boots together. “You decided yet what you’re going to wear to the hospital fund-raiser next weekend?”
Tabby shook her head. She kept forgetting that her brother had purchased a table at the event. “Can’t I just wear the usual?”
Leandra laughed slightly. “Blue jeans and boots? It’s cocktail attire, sweetheart. That means a dress, typically. Or at least some sparkle on slacks that aren’t made of den
im.”
Tabby made a face. “Do you have anything in your closet that I can borrow?”
Leandra laughed wryly. “I don’t have anything in my closet for me. Izzy is whipping up a dress for me, though. Talk to your mom. Maybe she can do the same thing for you.”
Except her mother had already admitted she’d be making a dress for Vivian Templeton’s hush-hush party. Nevertheless, Tabby glanced around. “Is she even here yet?” It was obvious to her that her parents weren’t. But the person she was really looking for was Justin. Who was also absent.
“I talked to your mom an hour ago. They should be pulling in any minute. I need an idea what to get her for Christmas, too.”
Tabby laughed ruefully. “That is an infectious problem, girlfriend. I saw a blouse over at Classic Charms that looked nice, but when I went back to buy it, it was gone. Sydney told me that she sold out half their stock last weekend with all the people in town for the pool tournament.”
“Good for business. Bad for us. And one more reason I’m glad I’ve already talked to Izzy.” Leandra suddenly lifted her hand in a wave and pushed to her feet. “I see Squire and Gloria. Going to go give them a hand.”
Tabby waved at them but stayed put because she spotted her brother crossing the grass from the playground with his kids in tow. She greeted them with hugs. Katie and Lucas both flopped down on the blanket beside her and started begging for food. They were four and six and full of energy. Hannah sat, too, but was quieter.
“Hey, bugs.” Tabby leaned close to the girl. “Did you have fun at Grandma Helen’s for Thanksgiving?”
Hannah nodded.
“Look what I brought for you.” Tabby pulled a coloring book out of her oversize purse. “All of the pictures are flowers, just like you like. And—” she reached in her purse again and pulled out a small box “—brand-new crayons.”
Hannah’s eyes lit with delight. She had a particular fondness for new crayons, loving the way they were all the same length and the tips were sharp. “Just for me?”
“Just for you, bugs.”
Hannah reached out and gave one of her rare hugs. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What about us?” Lucas and Katie hung over her back, and Tabby laughed and pulled out two more boxes of crayons.
“You guys, too. But I thought you were all anxious to get your food?”
They snatched their crayons and spread out on their stomachs, dumping everything out in a haphazard pile while they flipped open their coloring books.
“Hey.” Evan tugged her hair as he threw himself down among them. “How’s my favorite sister?”
She barely had time to respond, because it seemed as though everyone in town suddenly descended on the park all at once. Tabby got up to help her nieces and nephew get settled with their plates of food, and then she got busy helping Pam keep the tables—which were groaning under the weight of potluck dishes—somewhat organized. She passed out paper plates, helped fill plastic cups with punch and carried servings of cake and pie to the masses. And all the while, she kept her eye out for Justin.
But he never showed.
She hated the disappointment that sat like a lump in her gut. If she hadn’t expected him at all, she would have enjoyed the event as much as she always did.
Still, she kept a smile pinned on her face at least until the bulk of the people had departed and the band had packed up its instruments. There were only a few die-hard celebrators hanging around after that. Someone was playing a radio loudly, and when Tabby checked the dwindling contents of the last punch bowl, she caught her breath at the strong alcohol content. Once again, despite Pam moving the serving tables, someone had managed to spike the punch.
There were only adults left in the park, so she didn’t dump out the bowl, but left it and moved on to loading up the cart from her restaurant with her empty trays. She had plenty of light to work by. The white lights strung on the Christmas trees were still lit. From now until New Year’s Day, they’d automatically turn on at dusk and off at dawn. With the music coming from the radio and the sound of laughter from the diehards, it wasn’t unpleasant work.
She even poured herself a half cup of the spiked punch and sat down on the raised platform of the pavilion to sip it.
* * *
And that’s where Justin found her.
Sitting on the edge of pavilion stage, with her legs hanging down, swinging them back and forth.
He couldn’t help but smile at the sight as he walked toward her. “Remember when Joey Rasmussen got caught behind the pavilion making out with—”
“Yvonne Musgraves?” Tabby tilted her head slightly, and her hair slid over her shoulder. He saw how the Christmas tree lights were reflected in her eyes when he stopped in front of her. “Lots of kids got caught making out behind the pavilion.”
He sat down beside her and dumped the messenger bag with his laptop and the files he still needed to go through that night next to him on the stage. “You didn’t get caught.”
“Because I never made out with anyone behind the pavilion.” Her voice was dry.
“Ever?”
She let out an exasperated laugh. “Don’t sound so shocked. Just because the spot was a hotbed of passion with the various girls you and Joey would get back there doesn’t mean every high school kid was doing the same thing.”
“I only ever took Collette back there,” he retorted, defending himself. “But I think Joey had a different girl every week.”
“He did have variety. Whereas you simply took Collette there every chance you got.”
Tabby swung her legs a few times while they fell silent. Bob Dylan was singing about “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door” from someone’s radio. Justin inhaled the spicy scent put off by the dozens of Douglas fir trees and wondered when the last time was that he’d just sat somewhere to be.
Then his stomach growled, butting in on his uncommon contentment. He wished he hadn’t lost track of time while he’d been working. He’d missed all the food. There was nothing left on the picnic tables except a big old-fashioned punch bowl that was nearly empty.
“Why’d you break up with her, anyway?”
He dragged his thoughts away from his stomach. “Who? Collette? She dumped me. In favor of her brother’s college roommate. You ought to remember that. You were there when it happened.”
“Not Collette.”
She was talking about Gillian, he realized.
And the last person he wanted to talk about was Gillian. She was also the last person he wanted to think about.
“She slept with someone else.” He leaned forward and looked toward the bare tables set up adjacent to the pavilion. “Is the punch any good?”
In answer, she handed him her plastic cup. “Spiked.”
“It’s ten at night. Of course it’s spiked.” He took a healthy swig and nearly coughed as it burned all the way down. “That’s a helluva lot heavier a dose of spiking than we used to pull when we were young.”
“Speak for yourself on that we,” she said. “I never pulled that particular stunt. You forgave her the last time she did it.”
Trust Tabitha Taggart not to be diverted from the conversation. “More fool on me.”
“You’ll forgive her this time, too.”
He sighed. In the seven years of their on-again, off-again relationship, Gillian had never come home with him to Weaver. His brother and parents had only met her one time when they’d come to Boston and toured his lab at CNJ. Her disinterest in the people who mattered to him had been only one of the problems between them.
In hindsight, now that he’d finally made the break, it was easy to see how futile it all had been.
“I don’t have to forgive her,” he said. “When I realized I didn’t even care, I knew I was done.”
He didn’t want to debate the topic with Tabby. There was no point to it, because there was no way she could possibly understand the level of done that he’d reached with Gillian.
As far as he knew, Tabby had never been involved with anyone beyond a few dates. If he’d taken a leaf from her book, he’d have moved past Gillian after two dates and saved himself a helluva lot of chaos.
He finished off the contents of Tabby’s plastic cup, then pushed off the stage and stood. “What kind of food did I miss out on?”
“The usual. Fried chicken. Three-bean casseroles. Seven-layer salad with peas and cheese. About twenty boxes of pepperoni pizza and more store-bought pies than Shop-World carries. Bubba’s barbecue.”
His ears perked. “Bubba’s barbecue? Any left?” His stomach growled again, right on cue.
And loud enough for her to hear, because she made a face and rolled her eyes before standing also.
“It’s only because you own the place that I’ll open up Ruby’s in order to raid Bubba’s leftovers.”
He grinned and dropped his arm over her shoulder, ignoring her quick little flinch. “Bubba will never know,” he promised.
Chapter Seven
Bubba knew.
And he complained about it through the entire morning rush the next day.
Tabby didn’t usually work on Saturdays. But she’d gone to the diner to take care of the books, which she did in one of the corner booths, because Ruby’s diner had never possessed something as fancy as an actual office space.
She had a filing cabinet shoved into one corner of the kitchen, along with several narrow lockers that the crew could use to store their personal belongings. But an office? A space to house a computer, a desk or even the phone?
That hadn’t been necessary in Ruby Leoni’s day, and Tabby—who’d been managing the place longer than anyone else besides Ruby—hadn’t found it necessary, either.
Even if it did take a table out of the rotation on a particularly busy Saturday morning.
“You leave setting the special to me,” Bubba said, dropping a hand-scrawled sheet of paper on her table as he passed by with a loaded tray to deliver to a six top. “Can’t do that when you’re comin’ in all hours of the night, eatin’ it up.”
The BFF Bride Page 8
