Stretching, Reggie opened her eyes, her gaze finding the clock. Wow! Already past nine o’clock. She never slept past five thirty even on weekends. She grimaced as she sat up. Every inch of her body hurt.
The bizarre events of the previous day played out in her mind. She reached up, touching the goose egg on her forehead. It must look hideous.
As she waited for the pain to subside, she realized Joni had a wonderful sense of decorating. A mixture of the old and the new made the room both comforting and fashionable. The bed was an antique roller with a beautiful handmade quilt. The other furniture was antique, but the modern art paintings added zing.
The vibrant colors brightened Reggie’s mood. She limped over to a small picture of a little girl with long golden hair, standing at a well. The thick gold frame accented the child’s hair. Down in the corner, just below the well in beautiful flowing calligraphy, was the name Joni. She checked another painting and found the same.
Amazing. Who would have thought the pie-baking mother of five had time to be such a talented artist? Reggie had minored in art as an undergrad, but picked a more practical field for her career. The law didn’t allow for creativity but it provided other more important things. Stability and security.
She sat on the bed enjoying Joni’s talent for another moment, before heading to the bathroom. A shower and some aspirin in the medicine cabinet helped with the soreness. At least, she’d packed casual clothes rather than her usual business suits. The thought of wearing her normal tailored pantsuits made her muscles ache.
She slipped on black jeans and a slinky, teal blue long sleeved shirt with a draped neck and front. She brushed out her hair and considered putting in her normal ponytail, but rejected the idea. The band would just make her headache worse.
After dressing, Reggie ventured out. Voices from the kitchen drifted down the hall. “Have you called Bobbie Jo and told her you have company?”
“Why? She won’t care. I keep telling you we’re just friends.”
At the sound of Dylan’s voice, Reggie’s footsteps halted. Who was this Bobbie Jo? Not that she cared if Dylan had a girlfriend, but she was curious. She looked around, feeling guilty for eavesdropping, but her curiosity proved to be a greater force than her will.
“Friends? Are you sure? Somehow I don’t think Bobbie Jo got the memo.”
Dylan’s boots scraped the hardwood floor as if he might be pacing.
A timer buzzed and Reggie heard Joni open the oven. Reggie’s stomach gripped tight with hunger. Her blood sugar must be low.
“Just friends or not, you better call her up and warn her. You can’t just go over there toting another woman without telling her.”
“Fine. I’ll take my business outside, unless you want to be my secretary and call for me?”
“I don’t want to be anywhere around when you tell her about your cute little girlfriend.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I just met her. She needs my help right now, and that’s all there is.”
“You are such a moron.”
A door slammed shut. Dylan must have left. After counting to ten, Reggie rounded the corner with a smile pasted on her face. Bowls and pans covered the countertops, yellow peeked through but just barely. Every burner of the stove had a pan on it.
Reggie sniffed with appreciation. The aroma of baked turkey made her mouth water. She could understand why Dylan chose this over Cancun. “My goodness you’ve been busy. It smells great.”
“Thanks. How are you feeling?” Joni headed over to the coffee pot with a mug in her hand.
“Pretty sore. Every part of my body hurts.”
“Oh Reggie, your forehead is swollen. Ouch, it looks bad.”
“I’ll survive.”
“I’m sure you will.” Joni patted Reggie’s hand. “How’d you sleep?”
“Just fine. I can’t believe I slept so late. I saw your paintings.” Her gaze strayed to the deck. Dylan paced the perimeter with a cell phone to his ear. “They’re amazing. You’re very talented.”
“Those things. Just an experiment gone wrong.” Joni laughed as she handed Reggie a cup of steaming coffee. “I’ve tried to throw them out, but Richard refuses. That’s why they’re hidden in the bedroom. Cream and sugar?”
“No thanks, I drink it black.” She took a sip and smiled. “Mmm. Good.”
“We only eat a light breakfast on Thanksgiving.” Joni pointed at some rolls and a box of cereal. “Take your pick.”
“Cereal, please.” She walked over to the box, but her gaze strayed towards the sweet rolls. “Oooh, those rolls look great.”
“Yeah, nothing like bakery goodies. Go ahead. It’s Thanksgiving. You’re allowed to pig out.”
“I’m diabetic. It’s under control, but if I eat one of those it might not be.” Reggie sighed, looked at the boxes of cereal, and picked the generic corn flakes. She couldn’t believe how relaxed she felt around Joni. It usually took months before she could open up.
“Maybe I should cook something special for you for dinner?”
“Not necessary. I can eat what everyone else eats. I just have to make the right choices and watch the amounts.” She poured flakes into a bowl, but kept her attention on the deck, wondering how his phone call was going. “Do you still paint, Joni?”
“When I have time. Richard even built me a little studio out back and put up a sign that says ‘no children allowed.’ Not that they listen.”
“Did you have formal training?”
“Not really. I planned on majoring in art at college but I majored in kids instead.” Joni shrugged as she cracked an egg and added it the mixture of cornbread. “And I wouldn’t change my decision for the world.”
“I minored in art, but chose to focus on a job to pay the rent instead.” Reggie had expected the house to be noisy with five kids, but she didn’t hear them anywhere. “The kids still sleeping?”
“The boys went out hunting with Richard.” Joni plunged her hands in the cornbread mixture kneading it.
“How old are they?” Kids, hunting with real guns? They must be older than she realized.
Dylan turned and waved at her, then stomped off the porch. He must be having an interesting conversation.
“Nine, eleven and twelve.” Joni’s voice drew Reggie’s attention.
“You let them have guns?”
“Sure, they all passed the gun safety course.”
Reggie knew farms had to have guns for…snakes and predators. Farmers must train their children young. She changed the subject. “I thought Dylan told me you had five children?”
“Yeah, the girls stayed at Grandma’s last night. They’ll be back a little bit later.”
Joni transferred the stuffing from her mixing bowl to a casserole dish. She topped it with parsley and then replaced the lid.
“Have you sold any of your paintings?”
“Just a few at yard sales and the church bazaar, but I might have to sell some pretty soon. Richard’s factory has them only working four days a week. We’re scraping by, but just barely.”
“I have a friend who has an art gallery in Cleveland. Want me to talk with him?”
“They aren’t that good.” Joni carried potatoes to the sink and picked up a paring knife. She turned back to Reggie, her face flushed.
Dylan strode up the steps and opened the kitchen door. “What’s not good?”
“Joni’s paintings. They’re amazing.” From the look on his face, Joni was right, Bobbie Jo hadn’t gotten get the memo.
“Yeah, her paintings are terrific. I thought you were talking about her cooking not being any good. I was going to agree.” He winked at Reggie. “Glad to see you’re up.”
His blue eyes twinkled as if he were happy to see her. He looked even more handsome than yesterday. His red plaid shirt had been replaced with a brightly colored Hawaiian style shirt, but he still wore jeans and boots. No baseball cap today..
“I thought I’d take Reggie on a tour of the town.” He turned to his sister and playfully untied her apron strings.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea. She’s feeling a might sore this morning.”
“Oh my—” He stared at her forehead, his mouth dropping open as he squinted, inspecting it. Apparently, her makeup hid it better than she thought.
“Don’t say a word Dylan Monroe.” Joni said in a threatening tone.
“Don’t worry Reggie, it doesn’t look too bad. At least it matches the purple flowers on my shirt.” He ducked the oven mitt Joni sailed through the air at him.
“Well, it’s a good thing. I would hate for the fashion police in Fredericksburg to issue me a citation. I’ve had enough tickets for one week. A walk will do me good. I need to stretch out these sore muscles.”
“The tour should take all of five minutes.” Joni laughed.
“I can help here. I can’t make a pie but I can wash dishes.” Reggie’s gaze focused on the disarray in the kitchen.
“I know it doesn’t look like it at the moment, but I’ve got everything under control.”
“Are you sure I can’t help?”
“No.” Joni shook her head. “Go stretch your muscles.”
“Ready for the grand tour? Better get your coat. It’s chilly out.”
“Her coat’s in the hall closet.” Joni called out.
After helping her slide into her jacket, Dylan opened the door. Reggie stepped out and was greeted with a frost-covered yard.
They strolled down the tree-lined street. Leaves crunched beneath their feet. She breathed in deeply, smelling the smoke from nearby chimneys. She hadn’t been far from the truth when she’d talked about a Norman Rockwell holiday.
She pulled her coat close and buttoned it.
Dylan pulled out a pack of gum and offered it to her. She shook her head and watched as he unwrapped two slices and popped them in his mouth.
“Have you lived here all your life, Dylan?”
“Pretty much. Except for my time in the Marines.”
“What did you do in there?”
“A little of this and a little of that.”
“You could be more specific.”
Dylan smiled. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” He winked.
She shook her head and grimaced. “Such a tired old joke.”
“Maybe, but—”
“Hey, Dylan.” A voice called out.
Reggie turned towards the voice. A short, heavyset man stood in his garage waving. His thick fiery-red hair looked like a burning bush.
“Better go say hi to Mr. Matthews. He’s a deacon at the church.” They crossed to the other side of the street. “Hey, Mr. Matthews. Did Loraine kick you out of the house?”
“No way. I’m going to deep fry the turkey today. Just getting everything ready.”
Reggie stared in awe at the man’s garage. In spite of it being large enough for three cars, boxes filled every inch. A small path wound its way to the door leading into the house.
“You’re not going to use that fryer in here, are you?” Worry lines furrowed into Dylan’s forehead.
“Don’t worry, Fireman Dylan.” The man chuckled at his joke. “I know better than that.”
“Fireman?” Reggie asked. “I thought you were a farmer.”
“Didn’t your beau tell you he’s a fireman here in town? One of the best.”
“He’s not my—” She stopped. She hadn’t ever said the word beau before in a real conversation. “We’re just friends.”
“Good thing. Bobbie Jo might have a thing or two to say.” The man laughed and punched Dylan in the arm. “Just joshing you.”
That name again. Who was this woman everyone seemed so worried about?
“This is Reggie.” Dylan chuckled. “I’m taking her on a tour of the burg.”
“That should really impress her.” His bushy red eyebrows twitched like two squirrel tails as he laughed.
Reggie joined in. Apparently, everyone in Fredericksburg made fun of their little town.
“Didn’t see you in church last night?” It came out as a question not a statement.
Reggie glanced over at Dylan to see his reaction to such a personal question, but Dylan just smiled and shrugged.
“You’re right, you didn’t. I was a little busy last night.” Dylan winked at Reggie but didn’t elaborate.
After saying their good-byes, they walked on, Dylan waved at a few more people and filled in the history on them. One was the bank president. Another had been a football quarterback in high school with a shot at the pros but hadn’t made it because of a knee injury.
“Do you know everyone?”
“Just about. If I didn’t grow up with them, I go to church with them or know them from the fire department or—”
“You didn’t tell me you were a fireman.”
“I said I did a little of this and a little of that.”
“But still, you might have told me.” Being a fireman was impressive.
They turned right at the end of the road and walked towards the center of town.
“Wouldn’t you like to live in a bigger city? Somewhere with a little more excitement and where everyone doesn’t know your personal business.”
“Nope. I love it here. Why would I want to live someplace where nobody knows me?”
What would it be like living in a town where everyone knew everything about one? One’s mistakes. One’s failures. She shuddered at the thought. “You always hear how small towns are filled with gossips and busybodies. How everyone knows all your business.”
“I suppose it’s true in a way, but a good way.”
“Sounds suffocating to me.”
“Nah. They might get in your business now and then, but only because they care. I can tell you one thing, they’re right there beside you when you need them. You can’t find that in your big city.”