Last Chance Knit & Stitch (13 page)

She finally opened her eyes and gave him the most earnest
stare she could muster. “I just don’t love you. I mean, I love you like a brother, not a husband.”

He reached out and covered her hand with his. “Don’t be stupid, Mol. We’re perfect together. We’re friends. How many couples start out that way?”

She looked down at his broad workman’s hands and couldn’t help but compare them with Simon’s. They both had very talented hands. Good-looking hands. But their hands were as different as night and day. It was wrong to be thinking about Simon right now. Or maybe the fact that she was thinking about Simon was the root of the problem. Because she found Simon attractive and sexy. And Les, not so much.

“Uh, Les, you make a good point about us being friends. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

He let go of her hand and placed both of his on the table in front of him, palms down. He said nothing, but Molly could read his growing annoyance even though he was trying to hide it.

She hated hurting him. He was her best buddy. “I’m really, really, really sorry. Please don’t be disappointed. It’s sort of like that old George Strait song, you know? ‘You Can’t Make a Heart Love Somebody.’ ”

“Is there someone else?” he asked.

“Les. Come on. You know the answer to that without asking. In fact, if you thought about it, instead of getting all caught up in Miriam Randall’s mischief, you’d realize I’m the kind of woman who isn’t ever going to fall in love and get married. It’s not for me. I’d be a crappy wife all the way around. You’d be unhappy with me. Heck, any man would be unhappy with me. I’m not an easy person to love.”

“That’s not true, Molly.”

“Of course it’s true. I’m blunt, and I’m never ever going to be sweet. And I’m not comfortable around kids. I don’t think I’d be a very good mother. And we argue all the time. In fact, we’re arguing right now.”

“That may be, but one day you are going to fall in love.”

“No, Les, I’m pretty sure that’s not ever going to happen.”

“You’re wrong, Mol. If Miriam tells you that there’s a soulmate waiting for you, you will find him. It will happen. I only wish you’d open your eyes and see that I’m the guy. Because, honey, you’re the only one I want.”

“Les, please. Cut the drama. You don’t want me. A few nights ago, you were all over going out with Tammy Nelson. Be sensible.”

“I don’t want to be sensible. I want you to see it my way. Marry me, Molly.”

“No, Les. And one day, when you look back on this, you’ll thank me for saying no. You will, I promise.”

He stood up, knocking over a wineglass. It shattered on the sparkling floor. “I don’t think so, Mol.”

“Trust me, you’ll get over this. You’ll find some great woman who really appreciates you. Someone who’s girlier than me. Someone with a sweet temper who can bake and stuff. Someone who wants to get married, unlike me.”

“You know, Mol, one day some guy is going to walk into your life and sweep you off your feet. And then you’re going to feel like you can’t live without him. I hope he tells you no, because then you’ll know exactly how I feel right this minute.”

The Purly Girls had knitted a grand total of 103 poppies, all out of inexpensive crimson Red Heart yarn. And
today, on the Sunday before Memorial Day, a few of the girls had gathered in the fellowship hall at Christ Church to sell some of the poppies on behalf of the American Legion. Similar sales were occurring this morning in every church in the county. Later this afternoon, a brigade of vets would be putting American flags on soldiers’ graves in every cemetery. There were four large cemeteries in Allenberg County, and at least a dozen small graveyards, some containing soldiers from as far back as the Revolution.

Molly had gotten roped into organizing the sale and the flag distribution at Christ Church. This was something Momma did every year, and with Momma gone, naturally Molly was nominated. It wasn’t as if anyone asked either. They just assumed.

Of course, with the Shelby still locked up, she had the time. And staying busy would keep her away from Les, who attended church with the Baptists. After he’d left last night, Molly had rattled around the house like a loose marble in a cigar box. She’d finally settled down with some knitting and watched TV for a while. But her heart was sore.

Not broken, just bruised. She didn’t want Les to be mad at her. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to marry him just because Miriam had some idiotic forecast for her.

She pushed thoughts of Les to the back of her mind and focused on the task at hand. Molly stood behind a card table where a couple of Purly Girls had showcased their poppy pins. Some of the poppies were a little misshapen, but the congregation didn’t seem to mind. Charlotte Wolfe and Luanne Howe were handling the sales, which had been pretty brisk. Charlotte was managing to
make change without any problems. But Luanne, who was eighty years young, seemed to think she was at the kissing booth at the Watermelon Festival. She had already laid big ones on Reverend Ellis, Hugh deBracy, and Dash Randall.

At least Luanne still had sense enough to know a handsome man when she saw one.

At the moment, Luanne was making eyes at Simon Wolfe, who had come to church this morning dressed in a dark gray suit that looked like it had been hand-tailored for him. His tie was silk, his shirt starched, and his shoes shined. He sure didn’t look like a starving artist.

He sauntered over to the table. “Oh, hello,” Charlotte said, smiling up at him. “I don’t know you, do I? Are you one of the new people who works for the textile mill?”

Molly’s heart tumbled when she saw the hurt in Simon’s eyes. Jeez, he was always kind of self-contained, but if you looked really hard at his eyes, they gave him away every time. Now that she’d seen him in action taming toddlers and delivering babies, not to mention sorting laundry, he really didn’t seem to fit the mold of a hard-ass who would walk away from his family and never look back. Or the kind of man who would callously shut a business and throw people out of work.

Luanne stood up. “Hey, honey, I’m going to enjoy kissing you. Kisses are only five dollars.”

“Luanne, I wish you would stop saying that. We aren’t selling kisses now. We’re selling poppies, and they are only three dollars.” Charlotte gave Luanne the evil eye.

It bounced right off Luanne, who leaned across the table and puckered up.

Simon put a five-dollar bill on the table. “Ms. Howe,
you make my heart sing,” he said. Then he stepped around the table, took Luanne into his arms and dipped her, like some Hollywood swain. He laid a pretty tame kiss on the old lady’s lips then put her back on her feet and steadied her.

Luanne opened her eyes and smiled up at him, revealing a mouth shy of a few teeth. “Oh my, who are you?”

“A friend of Millie Polk’s,” he said, the corners of his mouth displaying those sexy, adorable apostrophes that made Molly’s RPMs head into the red zone. But she wasn’t about to admit that to anyone. Simon wasn’t her type. For one thing, he was a snazzy dresser and she wasn’t. Who wanted to be with a guy who was always checking himself out in a mirror?

Not that she’d seen Simon do that, but really, turned out like that, he probably was hopelessly vain.

“Oh, I remember you,” Charlotte said. “You’re the hired help. You have no business kissing Luanne.” She picked up his money and handed it back to him. “We don’t do business with your type.”

Oh, boy, Charlotte’s ugly side had just come out. “Now, Miz Charlotte,” Molly said, “we’re going to take his money because we’re selling poppies for the VFW. You remember that, don’t you? And it’s not your place to decide who Luanne kisses.”

Charlotte’s frown deepened. She handed the five-dollar bill to Molly. “All right. For the VFW.” Then she turned toward Simon. “You’re fired, young man. You tell Millie I want someone else to take care of things. I don’t need a man in my house who goes around assaulting older women.”

Simon’s smile faded. “All right, I’ll tell her,” he said in
a calm voice. Then he turned and walked away without even picking up a poppy or his change.

Half an hour later, Molly found Simon sitting on the bench by the big magnolia that screened the graveyard from the church parking lot. He was contemplating the red earth over his father’s newly made grave.

“I’m sorry about the ugly things your mother said to you,” Molly said as she sat down beside him. She had a box filled with small U.S. flags. Her helpers were scheduled to arrive in about twenty minutes.

Glorious May sunshine had sent the temperature up into the eighties. Distributing flags would be hot work, so Molly had changed out of her dress slacks and into a pair of comfy combat shorts and a Willie Nelson Farm Aid T-shirt.

Simon was still wearing a suit, and he hadn’t even taken off his jacket.

She handed him a knitted poppy and two dollar bills. “You forgot your poppy and your change.”

He studied the knitted flower. “Why do people wear poppies on Memorial Day, anyway?”

“It comes from that poem. You know, about World War One—
In Flanders fields the poppies blow. Between the crosses, row on row…
I had to memorize that poem in ninth grade, I think. Momma always organizes a poppy knit-along every year. I inherited it this year, since she ran away from home.”

“Keep the change.” He pinned his poppy to his lapel. “Your mother ran away?”

She put the two dollars in the envelope destined for the VFW. “Yeah. She took off a few days ago. And it’s mostly Coach’s fault.”

“Coach, really? That surprises me. I always thought he was a stand-up guy. But I guess that’s marriage for you.”

“Have you ever been married?” She had been dying to ask that question, because Simon had to be almost forty years old.

He snorted a laugh. “No. And I never intend to be. You’d have to be certifiable to get married.”

“And yet most people do.”

“And half of them go on to get divorces, and God alone knows how many others are miserable.” He gave her a long look. “But I suppose a person of your age is probably out there looking for Mr. Right?”

She shook her head. “Actually not. I’m much more interested in starting my own business. But that’s going to be hard to do if I’m permanently saddled with the Knit & Stitch. Honestly, Momma has seriously screwed up my life.”

“Well, that’s hardly surprising. Parents are notorious for screwing up their children’s lives.”

“Did your parents screw up your life? They seemed like pretty good people. I adored your father. And he adored your mother,” Molly replied.

“You’re kidding, right? My parents were miserable. Living with them was like living through World War Three. I probably deserve medals for the crap I went through.”

“Really? That surprises me. Ira was devoted to your mom.”

“Yeah, well, he used to argue with her all the time when I was a kid. And I was always in the middle of those arguments, somehow.”

“Is that why you left home?”

He stared silently at his father’s grave, and then he changed the subject back to poppies. “You know, I haven’t worn a poppy on Memorial Day since I left Last Chance. It’s not a big thing where I live now. I’d forgotten all about it.”

Darn it, he wasn’t going to answer her question, was he? Her curiosity would go unsatisfied. She masked her disappointment by making small talk. “A lot of city people have forgotten the true meaning of Memorial Day,” she said.

“I’m not a city person. Paradise is a small town about the same size as Last Chance. But they don’t knit poppies for Memorial Day there.”

“Well, I reckon we hang on to our traditions harder than they do.”

“Not every tradition is a good one.”

They lapsed into silence. And she was just itching to turn the conversation back to his parents and their marriage. Because Simon’s perception of Ira and Charlotte was different from everyone else’s. If ever there was a man devoted to his wife, it was Ira Wolfe. When Charlotte started losing her mind, Ira had stepped up and cared for her in ways that would warm anyone’s heart. And Charlotte adored her husband. It was kind of cute the way her eyes would light up every time Ira came through the Knit & Stitch’s door to pick her up. That man spun her world. And Ira seemed to be the only one who could soften some of Charlotte’s snootiness.

Just then the quiet of the late-spring day was shattered by the strains of “Livin’ la Vida Loca” supported by a bass so deep it rattled the church’s stained-glass windows. The sound swelled as a red Jeep Wrangler, trailing
a U-Haul, pulled into the church parking lot. The driver killed the engine and turned off the radio. The day was returned to the birds and their much quieter music.

“Finally,” Simon said as he got to his feet. He headed toward the break in the hedge that led to the parking lot.

Molly stood up to get a better view. She knew most every car in Allenberg County, and no one drove a red Jeep Wrangler. The women of Allenberg were smart enough to want a car with a better suspension, and the men knew a sissy car when they saw one.

Her gaydar started pinging even before the driver stepped from the Jeep. But once she got a good look at him, it went right off the scales. The fabric of his white guinea-tee stretched over a sculpted chest and exposed a pair of biceps that could only be achieved by hours in the gym. His dark hair looked perfectly tousled from his drive with the top down. His skinny jeans had neatly frayed slashes across the knees and backside. And jeez, he had one tight-looking behind.

In short, he was so pretty he might as well be a girl. But when he walked up to Simon and gave him a hearty slap on the back, everything kind of slowed down. No way. Simon was
gay
?

Boy, her gaydar must be slipping. She had never once considered the possibility that Simon was gay. But it looked like she had missed something important.

Maybe Simon wasn’t some idiot who left home and broke his parents’ hearts. Maybe it was the other way around. She doubted very much that either Ira or Charlotte would have been pleased to discover that their darling son was a homosexual.

M
olly spent Memorial Day in bed. She almost never did anything like this, but there was no point in getting up. She didn’t want to run into Les at the Memorial Day parade, she couldn’t do any work on the Shelby, and she was not about to open up the yarn store the way Momma did every year, hosting a little sidewalk sit-and-stitch while the parade passed them by.