The House on Main Street

by Shirlee McCoy

  Not that Charlotte planned to stick around to find out.

  She’d get the scoop from Tessa’s aunt Gertrude later in the week.

  Tonight, she was going to roll the cake out into the reception hall and hightail it back to her little house. She’d park herself on the loveseat she’d bought from Tessa’s antique store, read a book, eat Reese’s, and wait for the twenty-seventh to turn into the twenty-eighth.

  “That cake about done, doll?” Gertrude McKenzie walked into the kitchen, her bright orange hair curled to within an inch of its life. Forty minutes ago, she’d walked Tessa down the aisle, her sturdy white shoes peeking out from beneath a floor-length pink skirt, her face softer than Charlotte had ever seen it. Now, she looked ready to party, the Victorian-style gown she’d worn to the ceremony exchanged for a short fuchsia dress that hit just above her knobby knees. “’Cause the crowd has eaten every one of those fancy appetizers Rylie made, and we’re about ready to move into the reception hall.”

  “I just finished,” Charlotte replied, stepping aside so Gertrude could see the cake.

  “Wow!” she said. “Just . . . wow! You’ve outdone yourself, Charlie.”

  “Think they’ll like it?”

  “Like it?” Gertrude exclaimed. “They’re going to love it! Come on, let’s get it out there. Tessa is insisting on tossing the bouquet before we eat. You don’t want to miss that.”

  Actually, she did.

  The last thing she wanted to do was stand in a crowd of clawing jostling women—all of them bent on being the next Mrs. Somebody. Been there. Done that. Had the heartache to prove it.

  She rolled the cake into the reception hall. Tables had been set up, a fire stoked in the oversized fireplace. Still a month out from Christmas, but the place had been decorated with white Christmas lights and pine boughs, each of the twenty tables set with ivory linens, white candles, and a single pink rose.

  “Right over here, Charlie!” event planner Martha Anderson-Randolph called. Thirty with a fake smile and perfectly highlighted hair, she’d married Henderson Randolph the year she’d turned twenty-five. He’d been ninety and, according to people who’d been in Apple Valley back then, had died trying to keep up with his young bride.

  Martha had inherited a million dollars, a house, and forty acres just outside of town. Charlotte could have done a lot with an inheritance like that. Purchased a storefront, bought new baking equipment, put new windows in her house.

  Martha had apparently spent her money on clothes, cars, and brand-new double-Ds. Now, she was on the hunt again. The sapphire blue dress she’d squeezed her curves into was designed to let every man in the vicinity know it.

  Charlotte pushed the cake to the spot Martha indicated.

  “Perfect,” Martha cooed. “Just perfect.”

  “Thank yo—”

  “This event will be the talk of the town for generations to come,” Martha cut her off. Apparently, it wasn’t Charlotte’s cake she thought was perfect. “I can’t believe that I’ve pulled it off.”

  “You’re a one-woman marvel, Martha,” Charlotte replied without even a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  Martha’s eyes narrowed, her Botox-filled forehead nearly rupturing with the need to wrinkle into dozens of frown lines. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that the reception hall looks lovely. The historical society did a great job decorating it last night.” Led by Cade’s grandmother, Ida Cunningham, the committee had cleaned and polished the tables the local boys’ club had brought in, set up the chairs, put out the decorations. They’d been there for hours while Charlotte worked in the kitchen.

  As far as Charlotte knew, all Martha had done was stand in the corner barking orders.

  She decided against pointing that out.

  “Under my direction,” Martha huffed, her sleek chignon vibrating with the force of her indignation. “My design ideas. My sense of style.”

  “It’s lovely,” Charlotte conceded. Mostly because she didn’t want to rile the woman up during Tess and Cade’s wedding.

  “I’m glad we see things the same way.” Martha glanced at her gold watch. “I’d better get people moving in this direction. We’re on a pretty tight schedule.”

  Charlotte wasn’t sure what schedule that was. Cade and Tessa weren’t planning to honeymoon until Tessa’s nephew Alex’s spring break. The wedding reception would probably go on into the wee hours of the morning.

  Charlotte would be sound asleep by then.

  Hopefully.

  She hadn’t been sleeping well the last few weeks. This time of year, she never did. Too many memories. Some of them wonderful. Some of them not. All of them tainted by what Brett had done.

  She grabbed her coat from the closet near the front door and slipped outside before any of the wedding guests made it into the reception hall. It was quiet there, everyone who was anyone in the community inside with the bride and groom. She’d parked at the far edge of the lot, her old station wagon squeezed in between a snazzy sports car and a Toyota sedan. She hurried to it, trying to swallow down the hard lump of sadness in her throat. It didn’t matter how much she told herself he didn’t deserve it, she always spent the anniversary of Brett’s death on the verge of tears.

  “Charlotte! Hold up!” someone shouted.

  She kept right on going, because she knew the voice and had no intention of stopping to chat with Max Stanford. Not when she was so close to tears.

  “I know you heard me,” he called. “And, since you’re not nearly as rude as I am, you may as well stop. If you don’t, you’ll spend the rest of the night feeling guilty for not doing it.”

  She hesitated with her hand on the station wagon door.

  Darn the man for being right.

  She wasn’t rude, and she didn’t make a habit of ignoring people.

  There was a first time for everything, though, and this was going to be it.

  She unlocked the station wagon and slid behind the wheel.

  Max grabbed the door before she could close it, bending down so they were eye to eye. He had midnight blue irises, thick golden lashes, and the kind of movie-star-handsome face that made women swoon.

  “Maybe I was wrong about your capacity for rudeness, Charlotte,” he said dryly.

  “What do you want, Max?” she asked. Not a date. He’d asked her out once. She’d said no. As irreverent as the man could be, he knew how to take no for an answer.

  His dark-blue gaze dropped from her face to the front of the dove gray sheath dress she’d bought for the occasion. “You.”

  “Forget it.” She tried to yank the door from his grasp, but the man had more muscle than any human being had a right to.

  “For the flower toss,” he continued, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He had a nice mouth. Firm full lips with a tiny scar at the left corner.

  She looked away. “You mean the bouquet toss?”

  “Whatever it is the bride does. Tessa asked me to get you.”

  “Tell her I went home.”

  “But you didn’t,” he said reasonably, snagging her hand and tugging her out of the car. “You went to your car, and now you’re going back inside to participate in the festivities.”

  From the way he said the last word, Charlotte got the distinct impression that Max was as excited about the reception as she was.

  “Sorry,” she said. “But I’m not. It’s been a long day, and I’m ready to go home.”

  “And disappoint Tessa on her big day? Would you really do that to a friend?” His thumb ran across her wrist as he spoke. An unconscious gesture, Charlotte knew, but it reminded her of things she’d rather forget. Things that could get a woman into a world of trouble if she let them.

  She pulled away, wiped her palm on her skirt. “She won’t even know I’m missing.”

  “Then why’d she send me to find you?”

  Good question.

  She couldn’t think of an answer.

  No matter how hard she tri
ed.

  And, God knew, she was trying.

  “Fine,” she finally said. “If it means that much to Tessa, I’ll go stand in the group of desperate single women and wait for the stupid flowers to be tossed.”

  “You sound bitter.”

  She ignored the comment as she walked back across the parking lot. She wasn’t bitter, but at some point in her life, she was going to have to learn how to say no. Loudly and with feeling.

  Unfortunately, sometime was not this time. For Tessa’s sake, she was going to squeeze herself into the pack and pretend that she actually wanted to catch the bouquet.

  She’d rather catch a basket of vipers.

  But, that was just her.

  She jogged up the porch stairs, the sound of piano music drifting from inside, the melody light and happy. Alex Riley, she’d bet. Tessa’s nephew had a gift for music. After his parents’ deaths the year before, he’d struggled to communicate, autism preventing him from connecting in typical ways. Music was his language, and he used it well. From the sound of the music, she’d say the wedding had made him happy.

  She was glad, but she still didn’t want to go back inside.

  “You going to stand there all night?” Max asked, his breath ruffling the hair at her nape as he leaned past and opened the door. He nudged her forward, and half a dozen people swooped in. Martha was in the lead.

  “There you are! Tessa is absolutely refusing to toss the bouquet without you. If we don’t hurry, the food will get cold. Come on.” She snagged her arm and dragged her toward the banquet room.

  Tessa was there, resplendent in a vintage lace gown, her red hair pulled back, her face flushed with happiness. She saw Charlotte and smiled. “I see Max completed his mission.”

  “I never had any doubt that he would,” Martha cooed, shooting the man in question what was probably supposed to be a beguiling smile.

  “Thanks for your vote of confidence, Marti,” Max drawled, giving her a once-over that would have made Charlotte blush.

  Martha preened. “How about you thank me with a dance?” she asked. “First, though, the bouquet toss.”

  A cheer went up, dozens of happy women jockeying for position. Widows. Divorcees. Singles. Teens. Couples crowded around as Tessa positioned herself at the far end of the room, Cade a few feet away. He looked happy and content, his smile broad and relaxed. She wanted so much for this to work for him and for Tessa. If she could have willed it to be so, she would have, but all she could do was hope and pray that they’d make a lifetime of beautiful memories together.

  Cade must have felt Charlotte’s gaze. He glanced her way and winked. She returned the gesture.

  “No flirting with the groom,” Max murmured near her ear.

  “I’m not—”

  “Better get into place.” He nudged her into the crowd of women.

  Tess glanced over her shoulder and looked straight into Charlotte’s eyes. Typical of the happily married, she wanted all her friends to be happily in relationships, too.

  Wasn’t going to happen.

  Ever.

  Martha handed Tess a simple bouquet of white roses wrapped with a hot pink ribbon. One white feather peeked out from the flowers. Silky and soft looking, it added a touch of whimsy to the traditional and suited the bride’s taste perfectly.

  “One,” Tessa said, lifting the bouquet dramatically. “Two.”

  Charlotte braced herself.

  “Three!”

  Girls screamed with excitement. Women jumped and clawed. Charlotte dodged, barely avoiding the bouquet. It landed in the hands of town librarian Daisy Forester. She held it up, squealing gleefully while everyone around her cheered.

  Something fluttered near Charlotte’s face. No, not fluttered. Floated. The feather, just drifting lazily in the air. She grabbed it before it could drop to the ground, tucking it into her pocket as Daisy whirled around in circles, clutching the roses like they were a winning lottery ticket.

  “There we have it!” Martha announced loudly. “The next Apple Valley bride.”

  People cheered and laughed, closing in around Daisy and patting her on the back like she’d done something more impressive than snatching a bunch of dying roses from the air.

  Careful, Charlotte’s better self said. Your bitter is showing.

  Yep. It sure was.

  Time to go.

  She sidled to the left, scooted around Lesley Wagner and nearly collided with Rod Lancaster. Tall and lean with a runner’s build and a too-confident smile, he taught math at Apple Valley High. “Charlotte!” he said warmly. “I was wondering when I’d see you.”

  Why? was what she wanted to say, but her mother had raised her with manners. “Hello, Rod. Enjoying the wedding?”

  “Yes, and getting ideas for my own. Wink, wink.”

  “Daisy Forester just caught the bouquet. Maybe you should check in with her and see if she’s available.”

  Rod laughed. “You’ve got a good sense of humor, Char. I like that in a woman.”

  “It’s Charlotte.” She hated being called Char for reasons that she preferred not to think about while she was at her good friends’ wedding. “If you’ll excuse me, I really need to get going.”

  “Before you go, I had a question for you.”

  “What’s that?” Please, don’t let him ask me out. Please, please, please don’t!

  “I thought it might be beneficial for some of my lower-level students to see how math can help them in the real world. Cooking seems like a good way to demonstrate that. I was thinking that we could borrow the home economics room—”

  “We?”

  “Sure. I don’t know anything about cooking, but I know plenty about math.”

  Next thing Charlotte knew, Rod was explaining exactly what he knew in excruciating detail.

  Maxwell Stanford wasn’t sure what all the excitement was about. Sure Daisy had caught the bouquet, but he was pretty damn sure that didn’t mean her long-time boyfriend was going to propose. From what Max had heard, Jerry Webber had been stringing Daisy along for five years, promising that he’d marry her as soon as he was making enough money to support them. In the meantime, he lived in Daisy’s apartment, ate her food, and pretended to be writing the next bestselling murder mystery.

  If a few white roses changed that, Max was going to have to reevaluate everything he knew about men.

  And roses.

  He waded through the throng of people and clapped Cade on the back. “You did good on this one, Cunningham. You and Tessa are going to have a lot of good years together.”

  “That’s an awfully nice thing to say, Stanford. Are you going soft on me?” Cade asked with a cocky grin.

  “Just throwing you a bone, since I’m still a better shot than you.”

  “I think I outmarked you the last three times we went to the gun range,” Cade pointed out.

  “Only because I didn’t want to embarrass you. You’re the sheriff, after all. It wouldn’t look good for you to keep getting bested by one of your deputies.”

  “Bull sh—”

  “Folks!” Martha Anderson’s voice rose above the rumble of the crowd. “The buffet is open. We’ll have dancing in the meeting hall in an hour. For now, let’s all enjoy the wonderful meal provided by Apple Valley Fritters.”

  Max didn’t have to be told twice. He was a good cop and a descent handyman, but he sucked at cooking. A free meal anywhere was always a good thing.

  He hadn’t even taken a step toward the buffet tables when Martha approached and dug her too-red and too-shiny nails into his bicep.

  “Max,” she purred. “How about we get our plates and find a quiet place to talk?”

  Not in this lifetime.

  Or the next.

  He liked women. No. He loved them, but Martha had trouble written all over her. “I think I’ll have to pass on that, Marti,” he said.

  She frowned. “You didn’t bring a date, did you?”

  “No.” But, right about then, he was really wishing h
e had. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. His grandfather’s favorite saying. One that Grandpa James had good reason to know was true. Max had learned a few lessons in that area himself. He had no intention of taking a refresher course.

  “Then, what’s the problem? You don’t think I’m attractive?” She smoothed both hands down her shapely hips and smiled the kind of smile that said she knew that couldn’t be the case.

  “Your attractiveness has nothing to do with it. I’m just not interested.” Short and to the point. That was the only way to deal with women like Martha.

  “I bet I could make you change your mind,” she purred, running her hand down his bicep.

  He took a step away, nearly falling over Charlotte.

  He grabbed her elbow, realizing a second too late that Rod Lancaster was holding on to her other arm and staring at her with the starry-eyed gaze of a man in love.

  Were the two dating?

  If so, he hadn’t heard anything about it.

  In a town the size of Apple Valley, he should have. Unless, they’d kept it secret. An interesting thought. Charlotte did tend to stay to herself, baking in the kitchen of the little cottage at the corner of Main and Wesley and selling whatever baked good she could to whomever she could.

  Not the kind of life Max would have chosen, but he had to respect her for doing things her own way.

  “Sorry,” he said, holding on to her arm until she regained her balance. “I didn’t mean to knock you over.”

  “You didn’t. Much.” She laughed lightly, extracting herself from Lancaster’s hand in a practiced move that barely seemed to register with the high school teacher. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have—”

  “To get something to eat?” Max suggested, because she didn’t seem any more eager to stick close to Lancaster than he was to be around Martha. “How about we go together?”

  “I was planning to—”

  “Don’t make me beg, sweetheart. Not in front of strangers.” He slid his arm around her waist and hurried her toward the buffet table.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed, shoving his arm away.