Chapter Six

Wade had never been to a Credence town meeting before, and it was nothing like he expected. He’d thought maybe a couple dozen people on fold-out chairs in one of the elementary school classrooms. But no. It seemed like most of the town had gathered at the municipal offices, which were quite plush, considering the aging feel to the building.

This was the first time Wade had seen the inside of the offices. His mom had been elected ten years ago, but he hadn’t been in town long enough to take the tour he’d kept promising her. There was bright green carpet on the floors and rows of padded seating. The town councilors sat at a long table on a slightly elevated stage-type area at the front of the room. And to one side there were tables groaning with food.

It was a bake sale wet dream. Cookies, cupcakes, and a dozen of Annie’s pies all lined up in rows.

He wouldn’t mind betting most of the town had actually turned out for those pies. The woman had been a baking ninja for forty years, and she wasn’t losing any of her skills with age. He’d headed straight for her legendary Key lime pie—not something often seen in rural Colorado—and was contemplating another piece.

But Arlo was getting a little too friendly with CC for his liking, and it was really bothering him. The guy sure hadn’t let a missing leg dampen his flirting reflex. Of course, they were both entitled to flirt with whomever the hell they wanted, but they just weren’t…right for each other. Arlo would never leave Credence and, given the way she’d fought even moving here for three months, CC wouldn’t abandon her dreams of moving to California. And if she did, he wanted it to be for him, damn it.

Plus, she was still his PA. For another three lousy months. He didn’t want her attention divided while Arlo played the wounded cop hero he already played to good effect whenever the opportunity arose. The thought didn’t sit well. He’d always guarded her place as his number one employee with fervor. But he didn’t think this sudden disquiet had much to do with their professional relationship.

Thankfully, the meeting was coming to order, which gave him a much-needed distraction. His mother, in some kind of sweater set and pearls, looked impressively official in a genteel Southern lady way. She was sitting next to Don Randall, the mayor, who looked like an idiot, wearing his robes of office and the mayoral chains around his bullfrog neck.

Don had been born officious.

Wade snagged a second piece of Key lime. Annie’s pies made everything better—even Don. He made his way back to the chairs. His mom waved, and he waved back as he sat next to CC, his thigh muscles protesting slightly after his morning helping Wyatt around the farm.

Arlo was on her other side, and Tucker and Wyatt were in the row behind. Drew Carmichael, the local funeral director, also sat beside Wyatt. Drew, who’d been on the football team with Arlo and Tucker and in the same freshman year as them, looked nothing like one imagined an undertaker to look. He was more Indiana Jones than Harry from My Girl.

“Better watch your waistline, dude. Nothing sadder than a porky ex-jock,” Tucker said, leaning forward.

His brother snickered. Possibly because of the hog reference, possibly because he enjoyed anyone giving Wade shit. Great. The peanut gallery.

“You wish you had this body, pretty boy.”

Tucker laughed, and they all started to laugh, but then Don stood and cleared his throat and asked everyone to come to order—and Wade bit into his pie and prayed for a sugar coma.

“You think he hides a permanent hard-on beneath those robes and that’s why he wears them?” Arlo whispered.

“I think the only time he can get a hard-on is when he’s wearing them,” Wade said, his voice low. “He probably wears them to bed with Mrs. Randall, that poor long-suffering woman.”

“Oh God.” Drew winced. “Man, why’d you go put that picture in my head. You think I don’t have enough macabre shit going on in there already?”

“I like to share.” Wade smiled as he licked whipped cream off his lips.

“Shut up, all of you,” CC whispered with unconcealed annoyance. “Quit being rude.”

The guys all suppressed smiles but, suitably chastised, turned their attention to the proceedings.

Don went through an incredibly long preamble, outlining the problem of young women from Credence drifting to the cities to pursue college and careers, and the issues that arose for the town because of the low female population in the child-bearing age bracket.

Everything from decreasing birth rates and business profits to school closures and declining community spirit. Wade was pretty sure he was working his way up to plagues of boils and locusts.

“He hasn’t mentioned mass breakouts of blue balls yet,” Tucker whispered from behind, which led to another round of stifled schoolboy laughter and more eye rolling from CC.

As if Don had heard Tucker’s point, he went on to cite the increased levels of male frustration resulting in higher-than-normal levels of public drunkenness and aggressive behavior.

“Oh Jesus… Is this guy for real?” CC whispered out the side of her mouth.

“Yup.”

“So a bunch of horny men get drunk and then get angry and carry on like rutting bulls, and he wonders why women prefer college and careers?”

Wade chuckled. That pretty much summed it up. “I don’t think Don quite sees it that way.”

It was another few minutes before Don got to the point. Minutes during which Wade contemplated a third piece of pie.

“So it is our proposal that Credence advertises nationally through our website and sites such as Facebook and YouTube for single women to come visit with a view to staying in Credence.”

Wade blinked and sat up straighter in his chair. A low murmur buzzed through the assembled citizens as they all looked at one another and started to talk at once.

“What the heck?” CC said.

Arlo leaned forward in his chair. “Son of a—” He glanced at CC. “Biscuit.”

“There is a precedent for this,” Don continued over the din. “A few other places have tried it in the past with good results.”

Yeah. Those towns had been the butt of jokes all over the country. Not to mention being overrun by women more keen on hooking up than settling down. How many stayed once the novelty wore off?

“We’re thinking two invitational events. The details are yet to be ironed out, and it will depend on interest, but we could bus them in from Denver to Credence on Friday and bus them back on Sunday. That’ll give us a couple of days to showcase the charms of the town.”

Charms of the town? As far as Wade was concerned, lack of women was the charm of the town.

Christ. Busloads of women. Coming to Credence? The national press rocking up if the whole thing went viral, which it probably would, because wacky shit always did. News vans staked out down the main street. And how long would it take for them to discover he was in town? There’d be reporters standing outside his house, trying to look through his windows. Going through his garbage.

How was he supposed to write with all that going on? Wade shook his head. This could not be happening.

“We’ll open up to comments now before we take a vote.”

About two dozen people sprang to their feet.

“Yes, Arlene, you first.”

Arlene Cox was a middle-aged corn farmer’s wife with three children. All daughters. All had left Credence for city life. “Where are these women going to work?” she asked. “I mean, I like the idea in principle. But what if some women choose to stay on and settle here? We don’t really have employment for them, do we? And unless they get hitched to someone real quick, they’re going to want to support themselves.”

Wade almost stood up and cheered. Arlene was making good economic sense.

Wade’s mom pulled her desk mic forward and said, “I can answer that.”

“Yes… I’ll pass the discussion over to Ronnie for the details. I’m just the ideas man.” Don laughed at his own joke.

Yeah, you old lech. Wade could see exactly where this harebrained scheme had evolved—Don Randall’s dick.

Ronnie smiled at the audience. Beside her sat Chuck Rimes, his bald spot the only thing showing as he sat, head down, hunched over the table, madly scribbling down the minutes.

“There’s the odd job around town,” Ronnie said. “We have an admin position here, and Brett’s always looking for staff at the old folks’ home. Annie hires from time to time, as does Tucker. Also Drew at the funeral parlor. And there’s the feed store and co-op and sometimes the school. But we’re actually really looking for women who’d be keen to start businesses. The state gives out grants to rural start-up businesses, and we think this would be a golden opportunity for any young woman and for the life of the town. We have plenty of empty buildings along the main drag begging to be occupied.”

Another murmur went through the audience. New business. New people. New life. Community.

“What kind of businesses are ya thinkin’?” a voice called from the back.

“Well, I guess that’ll be up to the young woman, to an extent, and whether there’s a population base to support that particular type of business,” Ronnie said. “But I for one would love to see a place where I can get my hair and nails done without having to drive an hour. Somewhere local where I can drop my computer to be fixed, or see an accountant or a lawyer? Maybe some bright young thing will come up with an idea to attract tourists back to the town, like a shop that sells gourmet chocolate and free-range eggs and specialty produce from farms in the district? A coffee shop, maybe.”

Wade’s mouth watered at the thought of having a place where he could get a decent coffee around here. It was almost enough to make a man forget his objections to this ridiculous idea.

“We don’t want to put Annie out of business,” somebody else called, from off to the side this time.

Annie, as inscrutable as ever, piped up in her crackly pack-a-day voice. “Nobody comes to my place for the coffee, doll.”

People laughed, but it was true. Annie’s coffee was basic at best, the kind that cowboys used to drink on the range about a hundred years ago. Before Starbucks and Keurig. People went to Annie’s for her homespun food. Grits, beans, peach cobbler.

Going to Annie’s for coffee was like going to McDonald’s for salad.

“We can use our barn for some kind of cookout one of the nights.”

Wade wasn’t sure who said that, but there followed a bunch of other called-out offers, too. “The details are yet to be worked out,” Ronnie said. “But we’ll be forming a committee if the vote goes our way tonight, so y’all are most welcome to be part of that.”

Of course they’d form a fucking committee. Credence had more committees than there were hogs on the farm. And his mother was on every last one of them.

There were a few more questions, but mostly about logistics, not about a town basically advocating some modern-day mass mail-order bride scheme. Was it really appropriate in a new century to be luring women for their marriage and child-rearing qualities?

He glanced at CC for a barometer reading. She didn’t seem to be taking particular offense.

For fuck’s sake. Was the whole town dropped on their heads overnight? Wade stood. “Permission to speak.”

People turned to look at him in surprise, a ripple of interest murmuring through the audience. Don acknowledged Wade with a nod of his head. “Granted, Wade. And can I just say what a pleasure it is to have Credence’s own hometown quarterback hero in town for the summer.”

Wade smiled awkwardly at Don. No one fawned over him in Credence—it was what he liked about it. If someone thought he was being a dumbass or a dick, they told him. There was no pussyfooting around the celebrity in his hometown.

“Thank you, Don, but I gotta say this idea, with all due respect, is horseshit.”

Half the audience laughed, half gasped, and CC almost choked on her own tongue. His mother frowned as she openly chastised him. “Wade!”

“Sorry, Mom, and my apologies to the council for the cussing, but I really don’t think we need busloads of women overrunning the town. Not to mention the media attention this might get. Trust me, that can be really intrusive.”

He glanced around the room at the familiar faces. Faces he’d known most of his life. They’d had media interest in the town over the years because of Wade, but nothing too invasive. They had no clue how persistent television and tabloid reporters could be. Of what they might be getting themselves in for.

“The charm of Credence,” he continued, “is its small town feel, that sense of community. The way we stick together and have one another’s backs. We all know one another and we’ve always been a little wary of outsiders. Having a…free-for-all might seem like a solution to a problem, but you gotta ask yourself, why would a woman pick up her life and move to a small, isolated part of Colorado where she doesn’t know anybody? I think we run the risk of attracting women who are coming for all the wrong reasons, maybe. Coming here to escape their lives, not make a whole new one.”

Another murmur ran around the room as Wade finished, and Annie stood and turned to face him. “All due respect, Wade, but that’s horseshit.”

A lot more people laughed at Annie’s horseshit quip than they had at his. His mother didn’t dare chastise the older woman.

“You don’t get to swagger into town twice a year, no matter how cute your tight end is, and pretend like you give a rat’s ass when we all know it’s just self-interest speaking.”

“You go, girl,” Drew encouraged under his breath.

“We love it when you’re home, and we know you like it here because no one’s trying to stick a camera in your face or ask for your autograph—but our town is dying, Wade, and we’re trying to revive it, and your need for privacy don’t mean squat next to that. So hush up and listen.”

People started applauding, but Annie wasn’t done yet. “And who says Credence can’t be a haven, a place to escape, to rebuild your life? This town took me in when I ran from a man who used to beat me up for entertainment. I had three little kids clinging to my skirts. Your grandfather gave me the money to start the diner. Who says we can’t be that for other women?”

Wade blinked. He hadn’t known any of those details. And despite the public smackdown, his admiration for Annie grew.

She sat to raucous applause, and there wasn’t much for Wade to do but sit as well. Annie had just told him he was being a dumbass and a dick, and the town had agreed.

“Way to go, bro.” Wyatt clasped his shoulder from behind.

“I like Annie,” CC said, barely suppressed glee in her voice.

Wade ignored them both, patting his pocket for his box of Nerds, and realized he didn’t have any. He cussed in his head—a word significantly worse than horseshit—but it was short-lived as a box appeared in front of him.

He took them, so used to CC’s weird Wonka-related ESP by now it didn’t even occur to him to question it. He opened the box, poured a small, colorful pile into the palm of his hand, then threw them all into his mouth in one hit. Without looking at her, he nudged the box toward CC. She stuck out her hand, and he poured her a pile, too. But she’d eat them slowly, a couple at a time.

It was the most infuriating way to eat Nerds he’d ever had the misfortune to witness. But CC had never gotten the Nerds-eating memo.

“If there are no further questions, perhaps we can vote on the motion to put an online advertising campaign in place to attract single women to Credence?” Don said.

Wade sighed as a murmur of agreement spread through the gathering, resigning himself to this madcap scheme. He didn’t need to be a genius to figure out the way sentiment was running tonight. But it didn’t stop the feeling of doom. This was going to be nothing but trouble, he just knew it.

He consoled himself with another handful of Nerds from the box and the comforting thought that maybe it wouldn’t go viral. Maybe they’d get interest from only a handful of women. That wouldn’t be so calamitous.

“All those in favor?”

Everyone in the room except Wade put up their hands. Even CC. He frowned at her. “You don’t get a vote.”

“Sure she does,” Arlo said.

“Sure I do,” CC agreed, not putting her hand down.

Wade cocked an eyebrow, ignoring CC. “She’s not a resident of Credence.”

“Neither are you.”

“I was born here.”

“She’s living here temporarily. She gets a vote.”

“Who says?”

“I do.”

CC nodded. “He does.”

“And who put you in charge of town residency?”

Arlo grinned and tapped his police chief badge. “The county did.”

Wade half laughed, half snorted. “For the love of—”

“All those against.”

Wade’s hand shot up straight as an arrow. Everyone turned in their seat, staring at his hand. Annie narrowed her eyes at him, a look that would have caused him to crap his pants as a teenager, but now only gave him a slightly uncomfortable feeling in his bowels.

Annie didn’t need that look anymore. Not with him. She could just threaten to withhold pie, and he’d do anything the old biddy wanted.

But if they had to go through this farce, he wanted Chuck to note in the minutes that he’d objected. Then, when everything went pear-shaped and Credence was overrun by desperado bachelorettes with criminal records and the town became the laughing stock of the United States, he could say I told you so.

“The overwhelming majority has spoken,” Don said. “The motion is passed.” He banged his gavel.

Yep. Nothing but trouble.