Tad, don’t eat paste.” Mary Margaret’s words drifted to Kevin before he reached the open door to the kindergarten classroom on Monday morning.
Uh-oh. He wanted to ask Mary Margaret out. His son’s behavior didn’t exactly smooth the way. Kevin hesitated in the doorway, struck by the idea that this was a calculated move when romance should be spontaneous.
Green triangles of paper were scattered on Tad’s desk waiting to be pasted on his paper.
“Spit it out, Tad.” Mary Margaret held a brown paper towel beneath Tad’s chin. She looked almost amused, as if this happened more often than not.
Given this was Tad, Kevin was willing to wager on more often.
The white paste came out of Tad’s little mouth in slimy chunks. Plop-plop-plop.
Tad gagged. “Ninjas don’t like paste.”
Kevin fought a grin.
Mary Margaret whisked away the globs of paste with one hand while rubbing Tad’s little back with the other. “Nobody likes paste, Tad. The taste won’t be different, no matter how many times you try it.”
She understands my kid. Bonus points.
Tad’s gaze lit upon Kevin. “Daddy!” He wiggled out of his seat and ran to give Kevin a hug. “Did you come to help me with my holiday book?”
Kevin knelt down, arms outstretched. There was nothing as good as one of his kid’s hugs.
“The holiday book is a surprise,” Mary Margaret murmured demurely. She wore a green tunic sweater, skinny jeans, and blue Keds. It was nothing as tantalizing as red, sky-high heels, a brassiere shaping breasts like missiles, or an attitude that said she could handle any man.
He stood and swung Tad into his arms. His son had paste in his hair and a smudge of something red on his cheek.
Mary Margaret swooped in, wiped Tad clean, and then retreated.
Kevin’s breath caught in his throat. She was perfect, so compassionate and caring. Kevin tried to give her a smile that said he knew it but she busied herself with another student, Elizabeth Franklin. Her mother was one of Barb’s close friends.
“Are you taking me to work with you after school, Daddy?” Tad frowned. “It’s Monday.”
Barb had Tad on Saturday, after the salon closed, through Tuesday morning. Kevin had him the rest of the time, and if he had events that ran late, his parents took Tad.
“No, buddy. I…” Kevin shouldn’t have come during Mary Margaret’s working hours but it had been over a decade since he’d asked a woman out and he’d forgotten all the unwritten rules. Now that he was here, he couldn’t just leave without an excuse for stopping by. “I wanted to talk to your teacher about something.”
Tad’s teacher moved quickly on from Elizabeth and knelt next to a little girl with thin blond hair who was coloring far outside the lines but didn’t look like she cared.
Mary Margaret half-glanced over her shoulder. “Mr. Hadley, my meeting times are before and after school.”
Blocked, Kevin set Tad on the floor.
His son gave him a once-over. “Daddy, did you get a hall pass from Ms. Adams in the office?”
“No.” Kevin was blowing through protocol right and left—he had no appointment or hall pass. He tried the smile on Mary Margaret again, the one that said he admired her people skills more than her beauty. “If I could just have a quick word…”
Mary Margaret relented and led him to the door, looking as if she were about to be led to the gallows. “Class, I’ll be right back.”
They stepped into the hallway. The sound of the door closing echoed around them like a water drop in a large, empty cave.
“Well? Go on. Say it.” Mary Margaret settled her hands on her hips the way Foxy Roxy had the other night. The effect wasn’t as jaw dropping or as mesmerizing but it made him want to smile. There was an interesting personality beneath that cool exterior, just waiting to be discovered.
Just like me.
“I was wondering if…” Kevin’s words echoed down the hall. Other classroom doors were open. Someone was lecturing about basic subtraction. If he asked Mary Margaret out now, everyone in school would hear. “This is difficult.” And awkward. If only he had an excuse to see her. If only she was an active citizen. A volunteer.
Of course!
Kevin cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “You know, the town has a big decision regarding the company that wants to build a distribution center near the interstate.”
“I thought you…” Her brow furrowed. “Are you asking my opinion?”
“Yes. I’m assembling a special group of residents to discuss town issues, and I’d like you to be on the panel.” That was a complete and total lie. He hadn’t thought of the panel until just now.
Mary Margaret’s gaze did a circuit of the hallway, passing over his face with barely a pause. “I’m very busy, especially this time of year. And I’m…trying to fit in a second job.” She looked embarrassed to admit this fact.
“It won’t take up much time, and it would mean so much.” To Kevin, as a way of getting to know her better.
Talk about abusing executive privilege. His shoulders bunched at the base of his neck.
He was considering apologizing for bothering her when she spoke. “When does this committee meet?”
Criminy. He still had a shot. “I haven’t ironed out all the details,” he said hurriedly. “If you could just give me your number…” He pulled out his cell phone and waited.
She seemed to hold her breath, deciding. He liked that she contemplated her decisions carefully.
His cell phone buzzed with a message from Barb: Where are you?
He made a disgusted noise, which echoed and rebounded, filling the hallway.
“Good thing you didn’t cuss,” Mary Margaret whispered in a teasing voice. “Curse words have a special echo in the school hallway.”
Bless her for having a sense of humor. The tension in his shoulders eased. “Is that so?”
“Yes. Especially curse words about ex-spouses.” Her gaze shuttered. “That was out of line. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” He swiped the message notification from his screen. “The court may have declared us through but Barb’s having a hard time with the concept.”
Mary Margaret nodded, reaching for his phone. She created a contact and returned his device. “Let me know when you’re meeting but I can’t promise anything.” She returned to her charges, leaving him standing in the hall, proud of himself.
For obtaining a woman’s number under false pretenses.
He berated himself all the way back to the office.
In between mentally patting himself on the back.
* * *
Mary Margaret smelled like paste when she showed up after school at the Bull Puckey Breeding facility for her job interview with Iggy King.
But it wasn’t Iggy she’d been thinking of on the drive over.
It was Kevin.
When he’d shown up in her classroom, she’d been certain he was going to call her out on her performance as Foxy Roxy. She’d had to kneel next to Louise’s desk because her knees had given out.
Apparently, Kevin hadn’t recognized her at the Hanky Panky. She should have turned down his invitation to be on the development committee. Serving would make it even riskier to dance her way out of trouble. The threat of exposure might just give her a heart attack.
And yet, Kevin…
Maybe it was her widow-versary on the horizon, or maybe Grandma Edith’s talk about dating and loneliness had penetrated her twenty-seven-year-old brain, but she was looking at Kevin in a different light. One that was just as dangerous as the Hanky Panky stage spotlight, because wow, he was datable—handsome, financially stable, beloved by Tad.
Get a grip. A man who’d marry Barbara isn’t my type.
Amen. Dad’s disapproving voice.
Besides, whoever dated Kevin next was going to have a fight on her hands with Barbara. If she didn’t like you, that woman would rummage around in your closets until she unearthed all your dark secrets and bad fashion choices.
Mary Margaret’s empty stomach did a slow churn.
She got out of her car and greeted Iggy in the gently falling snow. He was about her age, a regular at Shaw’s, and what she’d consider a caution. He didn’t seem particular about the women he slept with and he was the type of man whose volume amplified as his beer intake increased.
Iggy was unloading boxes from the back of his big black truck, made harder because he had a lift kit which added a good two feet to the height of the vehicle. He wasn’t as tall as Kevin, as broad-shouldered as Kevin, or, in fact, Kevin.
Mary Margaret gave herself a mental head thunk.
“You here about the job?”
“Yes.” Mary Margaret had to stop thinking about Kevin. She had her résumé in hand and was wearing blue jeans, a thick green cable-knit sweater, and cowboy boots with a paisley pattern and silver trim. She’d put on the boots after school to make a good impression.
Iggy looked her up and down and then gave her a half smile.
Impression made.
“Can you start now?”
“Yes.” Her smile came more naturally.
“Great. The Bodine twins called in sick.” Iggy transferred a cardboard box that clinked into her arms. “They have a bad case of high school senior-itis.” He slid another box out of the back. “Follow me.”
He led her into a large, aluminum-sided barn with an unadorned wreath on the door, as plastic as her own. They passed bulls of all different breeds and colors in large stalls. Most were taller than she was.
That was saying something since Mary Margaret was nearly six feet tall.
Iggy unlocked an office in the back corner, and they set their boxes inside.
The office was very large. There were a couple of cluttered desks and several waist-high containers that hummed with electricity like overworked refrigerators.
“We have cryogenic units here to freeze the product.” He took another critical look at her. “Nice boots.”
“Thanks.”
“I wouldn’t wear them to work again.” He picked up something from the floor in the corner and shook it out. “Here’s a pair of coveralls.”
She accepted the workwear with the tips of her fingers. The coveralls were stained and smelled worse than paste. “I thought I was helping you pack up goods for shipping.”
“You are but I need to collect the goods first.” He picked up another pair of coveralls, removed his boots, and stepped into a similarly stained garment. “And as I mentioned, the Bodine brothers are a no-show.”
Mary Margaret’s purse fell off her shoulder at the same time her jaw fell to the floor. “You don’t expect me to…”
Iggy heaved a sigh. “I do. Everyone chips in where needed around here. But Samson is just a big kitten, and Jason said he’d be here despite his doctor’s orders. I usually give whoever helps me a buck a straw. Samson is young but he can produce a couple hundred straws at a time. Do the math.”
“I guess this isn’t an hourly job.” Mary Margaret slipped off her boots and stepped into the coveralls, trying not to think about where the stains had come from. She zipped up and put her fancy boots back on.
Iggy scribbled something on a clipboard. “I’m assuming, since you haven’t run screaming from the room, that you’re interested in the job.”
She nodded. Thanks to Derek’s gambling, she had no choice.
A few minutes later, Mary Margaret stood next to the largest creature she’d ever been up close and personal with, feeling like a rookie Ghostbuster missing her proton pack. “What kind of bull is this?” She’d only ever seen bulls on television and that one time she’d gone to the rodeo with Darcy to watch Jason ride. “Has Jason ever ridden him? Is he dangerous?”
Samson was black and more fidgety than Mary Margaret, refusing to stand still.
Before Iggy could answer, someone came into the room behind her.
Samson huffed and shifted so he could see around her.
Jason hobbled in using one crutch. His free hand held the lead rope to another bull, this one brown. “Hey, Mary Margaret. Glad you could step in and help.”
Iggy rubbed Samson’s big ears. And then he explained the process and Mary Margaret’s role. Unlike Jason at the bar, he didn’t use words like equipment or goods.
Mary Margaret drew back, stomach readying a protest. “You want me to hold the artificial…” She swallowed, reluctant to say the term. “You want me to hold the artificial va-jay-jay?” She peeked at Samson’s equipment and tossed her hands. “I’m out.” She’d sell some of her shoes online. She had lots of shoes.
The two cowboys protested and tried to reassure her of the procedure’s safety. Samson continued to be restless.
“It’s not my safety I’m concerned with.” Although perhaps it should be. “It’s the ick factor.” All those stains on her coveralls. “Can I bow out gracefully and interest your business in a low-mileage quad?”
“No.” Iggy repeated how much money she might make. “We’re in a bind, and so are you.” He smirked. “You know, thanks to Derek.”
Jerk.
Not Derek. Iggy.
Mary Margaret was stuck, and not just with a quad. “Why can’t I hold Carl?” The smaller, brown bull.
“Because I have no mobility.” Jason leaned on his crutch, proving his point. “Full leg cast. I could be trampled if Samson lurches to the side. Having already been trampled once this year, I’ll stick with Carl here.” He patted the smaller bull’s neck.
“You get around well enough,” Mary Margaret mumbled, thinking of him being at the Hanky Panky. “I need more money than a dollar a straw.”
“I’ll pay your bar tab at Shaw’s for a month,” Iggy offered, earning a double-take from Jason.
“Are you sure, Iggy?” She wasn’t. “I have a feeling I’m going to need a lot of drinks to forget this.”
“We can’t delay anymore.” Iggy brought Samson forward. “Samson’s ready. It’s a buck a straw and your bar tab. Man-up, girl.”
She didn’t want to man-up. Quite the opposite. She wanted to be pampered and cared for. But those days were long gone.
Mary Margaret held out the receptacle and turned her head. “I can’t look.”
“You have to look.” Iggy was the kind of guy who’d probably been a bit of a bully in high school, always quick with a snappy comeback or snarky reality check. “You’re being paid to look.”
Mary Margaret snuck a peek at Samson’s equipment from the corner of her eye and tried to line things up.
The bull lurched forward and stepped on her foot. She screamed. The bull grunted. Iggy and Jason’s much-needed product spilled on Mary Margaret’s other foot. She heaved.
And just like that…
Her boots were ruined.
And she was fired.
* * *
“Is she ready to launch?” Clarice pulled her shopping cart even with Edith’s at the sweet onion display in Emory’s Grocery.
The chorus of “White Christmas” almost covered the pleas of the McEwen children for ice cream one aisle over.
“Is who ready?” Edith glanced around, clutching a yellow onion to her chest. “Me?” She had no idea what Clarice was talking about.
Frowning, Clarice fiddled with her hearing aid. She wore bell-bottoms that seemed to be held together with seam binding tape embroidered with green apples. Her gray braids fell over the front of her bright yellow jacket like service bell pulls, and her wooden walking stick thrust out of her cart like a jousting pole. “I said, is she ready to launch? She.” Clarice glanced about but they were alone in the produce section. “Mary Margaret,” she whispered.
“Mary Margaret?” Edith quit squeezing her onion. “Ready for what? She’s been looking for a part-time job.”
Clarice gripped her shopping cart handles as if they were throttles on a motorcycle and she was gunning it. “Is she ready to date? You’re supposed to be greasing the wheels to the idea of a new man.”
“Oh. That.” Edith bagged her onion. “Of course. I bought her mistletoe for her foyer.” Edith was rocking the vice presidency. “Mary Margaret said she didn’t want to date—she’s got the idea in her head that she needs a part-time job more than a man—but all I need to do is find her a man or two at the poetry slam and—”
“Edith. That is not the way it’s done.” Clarice shook her head. “The success of our endeavors hinges on careful prep work. Testing the waters discreetly. Uncovering any objections Mary Margaret might have to loving once more. Dating is irrelevant.” She gripped Edith’s shoulder and leaned down to whisper. “You can’t be on the board if you don’t do the work.”
Can’t be on the board?
Panic tingled its way up Edith’s legs. “No one told me any of this.” And her granddaughter had been acting oddly, perhaps an indication that she really wasn’t prepared to test the romantic waters. Mary Margaret hadn’t put up the mistletoe Edith had brought her. For heaven’s sake, the wreath on her front door was plastic. “Oh, my goodness. She’s not ready.”
“I figured as much.” Clarice pushed her cart to the prepared salad section, mumbling incoherently along the way to a bag of cut kale.
“What do I need to do?” Her position on the board was at stake. And she’d told everyone she was on the board. Everyone.
“Find Mims.” Clarice tossed the salad bag in her cart. “She’ll know what to do.”
“Of course.” Edith texted Mims a quick: Where are you? And then hurried to finish her shopping.
Darkness had fallen, and it was snowing outside. Edith flung her groceries in the trunk of her car, trying not to connect Elvis crooning “Blue Christmas” through Emory’s outside speakers with her fate. She’d be blue if she was kicked off the board.
Edith plopped into the front seat and called Mims. It had been nearly ten minutes since she’d texted, and Mims hadn’t answered her.
She didn’t answer the phone either.
Edith had many friends but her absolute best friend was Mims.
Edith often overlooked the fact that they’d both been in love with the same man, mostly because Edith had won that contest by marrying Charlie and Mims had found a man of her own. But both their husbands were dead and buried. They were back to being friends who relied on each other.
Good friends.
The best of friends.
They shared everything, except…
Mims was keeping something from Edith. She hadn’t been coaching her in matchmaking. And she hadn’t gotten back to Edith in the past few minutes. Not a peep.
Maybe Mims had suffered a stroke. Maybe she’d fallen and couldn’t get up.
Edith drove to her house.
No Mims. Her Subaru wagon was gone.
Edith drove around town—past the movie theater, past the Saddle Horn coffee shop, past the emergency clinic, past Prestige Salon. Finally, she drove to the mortuary because, if Mims wasn’t answering, someone might have died. Maybe even Mims.
No luck. The funeral parlor was dark. The parking lot empty.
They’re going to kick me off the board for not doing my job.
Edith’s heart raced. This wasn’t something she could just sit and ignore, an objection she could outlast. Edith had to produce or there’d be no more Sunday morning breakfasts with the board, no more weekday breakfasts with the board, no pre–Widows Club meeting conferences. She’d be…
Just like everyone else.
Or worse—the woman no one wanted to sit with, the woman who never fit in without a popular man on her arm. It was high school all over again.
“Where are you, Mims?” Edith wailed because her one friend must have driven off the road somewhere. She’d be stuck in a ditch, helpless, crying out for Edith to come save her. Edith sat behind the wheel of her car, working up the courage to contact the sheriff and report Mims missing.
And then, like the proverbial light bulb, the Christmas lights at the retirement home up the slope flickered on.
There she was! There was Mims in the retirement home parking lot, carrying a picnic basket, practically skipping toward her car in black snow boots and a camouflage jacket, looking like Dorothy if Dorothy had been heading down the yellow brick road during hunting season.
She’s fine.
Happy, even.
Edith heaved a sigh of relief. Her pulse slowed.
And then she wondered: Why is Mims picnicking in the winter? During the dinner hour? At the retirement home?
Edith narrowed her eyes, remembering an afternoon last week when Mims hadn’t answered her phone at all. And Edith had tried—repeatedly—to get her on the phone because she couldn’t remember what worked best as a substitute for butter in a low-fat oatmeal cookie recipe. Mims had been at the movies. A cartoon movie, no less. Mims wasn’t the cartoon movie type. She packed heat. She appreciated a good shoot-’em-up, happy ending optional. And now she was incommunicado at the retirement home?
Something wasn’t adding up.
The retirement home had three levels of residents—independent living, acute care, and hospice. No one came skipping out of there after visiting the sick or the dying. That meant Mims had visited someone in independent living.
But who?
Edith remained idling in the mortuary parking lot until Mims left. And then she drove over, parked in a visitor’s slot, and marched inside. “Gosh, Beatrice. What are you still doing here? It’s late.” But thank heavens she was still here to help Edith solve the Mims mystery.
“I know.” Beatrice was a wiry woman with two kids in college down in Denver and a fondness for tacky holiday sweaters, if Rudolph’s blinking red nose on her chest was any indication. “I was decorating the rec room for your club’s poetry slam this week and lost track of time.”
My club…
The mourning for Edith’s vice presidency began.
“To that end…” Edith drew a deep breath and considered her fibbing options. “I was supposed to meet Mims here. Do you know where she is?”
“She was with David Jessup.” Beatrice dug in her purse for her car keys. “But you just missed her.”
“Oh, that’s right. David Jessup.” Edith drew another breath. “I should stop by and apologize for being late.”
“That’d be nice.” Beatrice provided Edith with directions to his room and bundled up to leave.
Edith marched down the nearly deserted halls of the residential section. Televisions blared from behind closed doors. Walkers and mechanical wheelchairs were parked here and there along the way.
David Jessup. His wife had passed around the same time Charlie had died. His adult kids lived in Greeley. He’d refused to move there but they’d convinced him that moving here would make his life easier because he wasn’t good in the kitchen.
And there had been Mims’s picnic basket.
How nice of her to bring David a housewarming gift.
How nice…
Edith didn’t believe that for a moment.
She reached David’s apartment and knocked. He didn’t have a television on at full volume. He didn’t have a walker or a scooter waiting next to the door. There was a small bulletin board above his unit number. It was filled with greeting cards welcoming him to the neighborhood. Someone had even made him a heart from pink construction paper. It looked like it wasn’t just Mims who was courting him.
David opened the door, and Edith forgot all about Mims.
He was taller than most men in their seventies. He didn’t have hunched shoulders or a ski-slope belly. His eyes were still a sharp blue, and his tightly curled hair wasn’t completely gray. He wore a crisp green turtleneck and khakis. But most importantly, he wore fine leather loafers that weren’t orthopedic. “Edith. What a surprise.”
He was the surprise. Just the sight of him tugged a string connected to the flutter fan in Edith’s chest. He was handsome. He had all his marbles. And he wasn’t deaf.
He was a catch!
Edith’s smile felt soft and warm. She stepped into the doorway, smile broadening when he didn’t step back. “I was just in the neighborhood and remembered I’d never stopped by to see how you were doing. I know how lonely it can be to lose”—the love of your life—“your spouse.”
Something akin to guilt tried to smother the flutter in her chest. It was the memory of Charlie. She ignored it, darting past David and inside. It was a lovely little unit with a kitchenette, a small living area, a bedroom and bathroom. Everything looked modern and new. The countertops were granite. The floors oak. Who knew people could live like this?
David knew.
He was smart, probably smart with his money too.
Edith turned and smiled at David some more, wishing she’d remembered to freshen up her lipstick. “We should get together sometime. Have coffee or…catch a show.”
Thankfully, he’d probably already seen the cartoon movie playing downtown—with Mims.
Competitive outrage tried to smother the flutter in her chest. Mims had identified David as a catch before she had. Edith ignored her annoyance. Colorado winters were long and cold. Men needed to warm up. Food…food they could get anywhere, including down the hall in the cafeteria. The holiday season was always busy, and she had matchmaking duties to fulfill. But David…He was popular, like Charlie had been. Whatever woman landed him would belong wherever he belonged.
She ran her hand over the cool, smooth granite. She was living on a single income in a run-down bungalow she and Charlie had purchased a few years after their marriage. She didn’t think she could afford an apartment like this, even if she sold her house.
She wanted to be in the Widows Club but, if she couldn’t be on the board, she’d take David.
Edith smiled harder.
* * *
“There you are.” A few days after Iggy fired her, Mary Margaret entered Olde Time Bakery and came to stand by her grandmother. “You had me worried. You said you wanted to talk and then you didn’t answer my calls.”
In the morning, the bakery catered to harried moms who needed treats for work and school. In the afternoon, its business relied on weary workers, harried families, and high school students. Shy little Louise was at a nearby table with her mother. The Bodine twins sat at a table in the back sucking down iced coffees and smiling at teenage girls behind the counter. A Christmas tree stood in the corner, covered in twinkle lights and white crocheted snowflakes.
“I’ve been catching up on my research.” Grandma Edith flipped through Cosmopolitan magazine in between bites of strudel. She paused on a feature about what men really wanted, which seemed to involve lots of lacy lingerie and chocolate-covered strawberries. “This will be helpful as I re-enter the dating scene. I can’t rely on Mims for advice.”
Mary Margaret escaped the image of her grandmother dating and needing sexy underthings, and stood in line for coffee. On impulse, she also ordered a small chocolate cake pop because she deserved a treat and it was in the day-old case.
Laurel and Hardy entered, immediately making Mary Margaret feel guilty for her one-dollar cake pop splurge. It was snowing outside, and as usual, the two out-of-towners looked cold in their thin, black leather jackets. That cold spread to Mary Margaret’s veins.
Sour Mr. Hardy rubbed his arms and headed straight for the counter, shouting for a hot black coffee.
Tall Mr. Laurel paused just inside the doorway, took in Grandma Edith and her magazine, took out a much-bitten red stir stick from his mouth, and grinned. It was an I’m-interested-in-you smile.
Now Mary Margaret was afraid for an entirely different reason. Grandma Edith was too friendly for her own good. And Mr. Laurel wasn’t good enough for her grandmother.
“Stop that,” she told him, having reached deep and found her spine.
Grandma Edith glanced up to see who Mary Margaret was speaking to. Edith had at least fifteen more years on her tires than the taller half of the debt-collecting duo but she blushed under his grin. “You’re never too old to brush up on new tricks.” She slid the open magazine in front of Mary Margaret. “Thanks for letting me have a look-see.”
Mr. Laurel joined his partner in line, humming to the cheery Christmas carol filling the air.
“That is a hard no,” Mary Margaret told her grandmother, nodding toward Mr. Laurel.
“Young lady.” Grandma Edith squared her shoulders. “I haven’t let anyone tell me a boy is off limits since high school.”
“Boy?” That man could break both their legs.
As if privy to her thoughts, Mr. Laurel snapped the remains of his chewed stir stick in half and tossed it in the trash.
Mary Margaret gripped her grandmother’s forearm. “I still say no.”
Kevin entered the bakery with Tad. “It’s not a mile-high whip, buddy, but a cold day like today deserves a hot chocolate.” His gaze lit on Mary Margaret, the magazine, and the cake pop, which she had yet to eat. He grinned. “Now that’s living dangerously.”
His sly smile didn’t get past Grandma Edith. “I must be doing something wrong with you,” she muttered, studying Mary Margaret. “If it was any of my business who you date”—she sniffed—“I’d tell you to date that one.” She jabbed her finger in the direction of Kevin’s retreating back. “Aren’t you the least bit interested?”
Mary Margaret stuffed the entire cake pop in her mouth and shook her head.
Laurel and Hardy sat at the next table with giant cups of steaming coffee.
Mr. Laurel had swiped a fresh stir stick. He also swiped Grandma Edith’s Cosmo. He read the headline out loud. “‘What a man wants’?” He smoothed out the pages and scanned the article. “They’ve got it all wrong. They don’t even have a warm bed and a foot massage on the list.”
“My husband used to love foot massages,” Grandma Edith said in a dreamy tone of voice. “Whatever made him happy, made me happy.”
Mary Margaret choked down her stale cake. “I don’t want to be part of this conversation.”
“I like a woman who speaks her mind.” Chuckling, Mr. Laurel slid the open Cosmo back onto their table.
Mary Margaret flipped the magazine closed, cover face down on the table. “What did you want to talk to me about?” She had a dance number to practice and worksheets to grade.
“Do you come here often?” Mr. Laurel asked Grandma Edith.
“Do you mind?” Mary Margaret scowled at him, pulled her table farther away from him, and then tugged her grandmother’s chair to her side.
“Have we met?” Grandma Edith’s brow furrowed as she eyed Mr. Laurel. “I feel as if I’ve seen you somewhere.”
“You haven’t met. He’s a stranger. Eyes on me, Grandma. Have you forgotten why you wanted to talk to me?”
Her grandmother’s frown deepened.
Tad skipped over to lean on Louise’s table, gushing toward his crush. Someday it’d be Tad and Louise with the teen crowd at the back of the bakery. Maybe he’d remember his kindergarten teacher fondly. Maybe he’d recall how she’d mysteriously disappeared one Christmas, body found in the woods years later.
Maudlin! Maudlin! Stop being so maudlin!
Kevin came to stand near Mary Margaret with a cup of coffee. He studied the pair of cold debt collectors. “Have we met?”
“No.” Mr. Hardy held his open coffee cup beneath his nose, as if the steam was needed to warm his face.
Grandma Edith warbled with the carols piped through the speakers. She was off-key and off-tempo but her heart was in it. She never did anything in half measures.
“She’s good,” Mr. Laurel commented. “Do you sing in a choir, honey?”
“No, but I should.” Grandma Edith had the kind of confidence and thick skin Mary Margaret could only dream of. If only her grandmother had better taste in men.
Mary Margaret tried to reach through the mist of her grandmother’s attention again. “If I step outside and call you, will you pick up the phone and tell me what you wanted to talk about?” That earned her a no-nonsense smirk from Grandma Edith.
Pearl Conklin marched in. She was the head waitress at the Saddle Horn diner and was spry for her age, not that anyone had the audacity to ask her age. “Mayor Hadley. Just the man I was looking for. You’ve got to put the kibosh on that distribution center nonsense. We’re not that kind of town.”
“What kind of town?” Kevin watched Tad run over to pick up his hot chocolate from the counter. He doted on that rascal. If Mary Margaret wasn’t so stressed about her financial situation, her heart might have melted a little.
“The kind of town that grows into a city.” Pearl white-knuckled her grip on the slim strap of her white purse. Her puff jacket was also white and matched her white snow boots. “The next thing you know, we’ll be building a sports complex and a foreign car dealership.”
“Would that really be so bad?” Kevin asked her, weary yet serious, gaze still on his son.
Pearl clutched a hand over her chest. “You joke but these are dangerous times. Mark my words. The day we get a frozen juice bar is the end of mile-high whips.” She stomped out.
Tad gasped. “No more mile-high whips.” He gave his father a look that said, Say it isn’t so.
The bakery fell silent. Even the Bodine boys were quiet. And everyone was looking at Kevin the same way. Like he was the town fun-killer.
Mary Margaret turned to Grandma Edith. “Where do you stand on the distribution center?” Her input might be useful when she showed up for that panel Kevin was forming.
“I don’t care.” Her grandmother shrugged. “By the time things change around here, I’ll most likely be dead. I’ll save my energy for more important endeavors.” Her gaze drifted toward Mr. Laurel.
“I think it’s a good idea,” the object of her interest said. “Think of all the good the extra tax revenue will bring.”
A thug with an understanding of economics?
Grandma Edith leaned closer to whisper to Mary Margaret, “Why do these two look so familiar?”
“Miss Pearl’s right, you know,” Mr. Laurel said to Kevin. “A significant influx of jobs means a significant influx of chain restaurants.”
That earned him a scowl from Mary Margaret, Kevin, and Mr. Hardy.
“I hear those fancy coffee shops are good places for first dates.” Grandma Edith rifled the pages of Cosmo as if preparing to reference what men wanted once more.
“I can take you to the Starbucks in Greeley if you’re interested,” Mary Margaret offered. “And we can talk about…whatever.”
“Can’t you take a hint?” Grandma Edith frowned at Mary Margaret. “I was talking about fancy coffee shops being good for you. First dates for you.”
Mary Margaret didn’t believe that for a minute. “Then why are you brushing up on your man skills with this magazine?” She tapped the back cover.
“It pays to be prepared when you do start dating.” Her grandmother’s cheeks flushed with color.
Mr. Laurel grinned so hard that Mr. Hardy swatted him on top of the head with a real estate brochure.
“Are you in town visiting someone?” Kevin asked the two men.
“No.” Mr. Hardy drained his coffee and stood, heading for the door with his partner.
Across the room, Tad tried to take the lid off his hot chocolate and spilled it. It was a small splash but Kevin rushed to his aid, as did Louise’s mom.
“Finally, we’re alone.” Grandma Edith reached into her purse. “I heard from your mother today.”
Mary Margaret had been about to take a sip of coffee. She set her cup back down. “She called?”
Grandma Edith shook her head. “Christmas card. She says she’s fine but it included a holiday letter from your father’s church.” She shook her head some more, her words turning uncharacteristically vicious as she placed an envelope on the table. “Like that man she married has a Christian bone in his body. After what he did to you…” She laid her petite palms on Mary Margaret’s cheeks.
Mary Margaret covered her grandmother’s hands with her own. “He was angry. Haven’t you ever been angry and done something you regretted?”
“Don’t say you deserved what he did.” Grandma Edith pressed her palms deeper into Mary Margaret’s cheeks when she didn’t immediately answer. “What he did—”
“What who did?” Kevin sat down. “Sorry to eavesdrop.”
Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, leaning back so her grandmother’s hands dropped away. “You’re not sorry.”
“You’re right.” He grinned, unrepentant.
Something had happened between them the day he’d asked her to be on the development committee. Perhaps it was the shared moment when they’d joked about unfortunate echoes in school hallways. Regardless, suddenly they seemed more comfortable with each other, which wasn’t wise.
Grandma Edith was considering Kevin the way she considered long menus with high price tags, which usually meant she was going to say something inappropriate like, My granddaughter was physically abused by my son-in-law. She wouldn’t qualify her statement that it had been one time.
“It’s no big deal,” Mary Margaret blurted before her grandmother could speak. The back of her neck tingled. She took the Christmas card and slid it into her purse. “Water under the bridge with my dad. He was always fire and brimstone, a strict disciplinarian, a devout minister. He…uh…”
She didn’t want to admit it but felt she had no choice. If she didn’t say it, Grandma Edith would. “We argued. You know how it is with parents when you’re out of high school and pushing for independence. I said something…I took him unawares. He lost his temper and hit me.” She’d boiled it down to a no-big-deal event. She didn’t mention the ambulance ride to the hospital and the surgery to her neck. “We haven’t talked since.”
Except in her head.
Kevin’s expression turned thunderous. “Don’t make light of it. I’m assuming your mother divorced him.” He turned his dark look on Edith.
“No. My Rinnie assures me he’s never been violent with her,” Grandma Edith said in a small, worried voice. It was why they poured over the annual Christmas card, looking for any clue that things weren’t as they seemed. She gestured weakly to Mary Margaret. “And this one is convinced it was her fault.”
“He was angry,” Mary Margaret insisted but her words were hollow. “I was raised to forgive.”
“If he was a good man…a just man…he’d have apologized by now, and you could forgive him in person.” Grandma Edith frowned, reaching for Mary Margaret’s hand under the table.
Kevin’s forehead smoothed. Wheels seemed to be spinning in his head. “Have you considered sharing your story?”
“No.” Mary Margaret clutched her grandmother’s hand. “It was one time. I’m sure, when you were younger, you got in a fight and exchanged blows, maybe with one of your friends. And then you moved on. I wasn’t abused. Abuse is such a…such a harsh word.”
Besides, what good did labels do her? Other than to make her feel like she was weak and vulnerable?
“Honey,” Grandma Edith said, “he put you in the—”
Mary Margaret shushed her.
“Your father wasn’t a kid.” Kevin leaned forward, lowering his voice as if aware of her need for some privacy. “He was a parent. A minister.” And then he added in a whisper, “He knew better.”
Mary Margaret couldn’t argue with that.
“Whatever happened to you,” Kevin said, still in that soft, understanding voice, “you’ve prevailed. You’ve grown stronger. You’ve moved on.”
Mary Margaret nodded. She liked the sound of that.
“Have you ever considered telling your story?” Kevin’s gaze swung to her grandmother, missing the recoil that had stiffened Mary Margaret’s body. “I bet it’s inspirational.”
“Mr. Mayor…” Grandma Edith glanced down at Mary Margaret’s white knuckles gripping her hand. “Kevin. This is a personal family matter. I’m sure you understand that we don’t want it spread around town.”
Kevin nodded. He stroked his hand down Mary Margaret’s arm.
But he looked at her differently than he had before, with less manly interest and more gentlemanly care.