The Coldwater Warm Hearts Club (21 page)

Miss Holloway's ninth-grade class will present
Shakespeare's
Macbeth
in the high school
gymnasium this Friday at 7 p.m. Don't miss this tragedy.

 

—from the Fighting Marmots Notes section of the
Coldwater Gazette

 

 

 

O
n Thursday morning, Lacy dropped by the Lutheran Church to take a picture to go along with her article on the Royal Order of Chicken Pluckers. It took longer to corral the members than she anticipated.

For one thing, it was hard to pull them away from their assigned “royal” duties. The men lifted heavy pans in and out of the ovens for the ladies, boned the baked chickens with willing hands, and mopped up after themselves when a whole platter of white meat was dropped on the way from one counter to the other. Snapping candid pics of them doing the work was no problem.

Setting the Chicken Pluckers up for a group shot, however, was a challenge. At first, Lacy made the mistake of asking them to arrange themselves by height. No one wanted to admit to being the shortest man there, so it turned into a back-to-back showdown with much surreptitious tiptoeing and stretching. In the end, she instructed half of the fellows to take a knee as if they were a football team posing for the high school yearbook.

Then once she got them all lined up for the shot, invariably after she snapped the shutter, someone would claim their eyes had been closed and she needed to take another picture. In the end, she took a full dozen shots and promised she'd print the one with the least number of visible eyelids in the bunch.

Then she dropped by the post office to mail a package. After studying the painting she'd bought at Gewgaws and Gizzwickies a week ago, she was still tantalized by the suspicion that it might be more than a clever imitation. She just had to know for sure. Neville Lodge, a colleague from her art institute days back in Boston, with art history credentials out the wazoo, had told her to send it to him for verification. He'd be able to tell if it was merely a copy of an Erté or—and Lacy scarcely allowed herself to hope—if it was something much more.

The value of a genuine, previously unknown Erté would go a long way toward retiring her loan to the O'Leary brothers.

So after her parcel was on its way to Beantown, Lacy's day off from the
Gazette
began in earnest and she headed out to meet Jake to work on his mother's lake-house chair. When she pulled into her parents' driveway at nine-thirty, Jake was already there. He and her dad were deep in conversation near the garage's open door. Her father handed him a steaming mug of coffee and, not having been forewarned, Jake accepted it.

Dad often claimed his coffee separated the men from the boys. He also maintained that keeping the wimps away from the door was a father's main task when raising a daughter. In this respect, his five-alarm coffee was better than brandishing a big stick. After taking a manly gulp, Jake didn't show any ill effects. Her dad smiled approvingly at him.

Evidently, Jake passed the “Trial by Caffeine” test.

He was still the Coldwater Cove poster boy for “tall, dark, and handsome.” Lacy's chest constricted.

And there was no doubt Jake had the potential to be trouble. Even laying aside his player past, there was still the problem of those flashbacks. Until he got a handle on them, any romantic entanglements might just muddy the waters for him. She didn't want to be the distraction that kept him from working through his issues.

And the truth was, after Bradford's betrayal, Lacy was still guy-shy. She couldn't trust her judgment about men. Or her emotions.

Especially those fluttery ones. Just thinking about spending the whole day with Jacob had them kicking up a ruckus in her belly.

“I see you brought your mom's chair,” she said, wanting to slap a hand over her own mouth at her grasp of the obvious.

“It's a dandy, isn't it? Surprisingly sturdy,” her dad said. “Jake and I have just been talking about what to do with it. I'm thinking a good quality oil-based paint to liven things up. Maybe bright orange or—”

“George Evans, not another word.” Tying a scarf over her head to save her coiffure from the breeze, Lacy's mom came into the garage through the mudroom off the kitchen. “You stop bossing those kids around.”

It never failed when Lacy showed up at her folks' house. Now not only was
she
twelve again, Jake had been reduced to kid status, too.

“That chair is
their
project,” Mom said, “not yours.”

Well! That was a nice surprise. Lacy could have kissed her mom and did.

“I'm only trying to lend a hand,” her dad said.

“That's nice, dear, but they don't need your hand. They have four of their own. However, since you're in a helpful mood, you
can
help me.” Mom slipped a hand into the crook of Dad's elbow. “I signed up to sell tickets for the high school production of
Macbeth
and I've got ten left.”

“Oh, Shirl, why'd you go and volunteer to do that? You know that play is bound to be rated PC.”

“Politically correct?” Lacy lifted a questioning brow at her father.

“I wish.” Dad shook his head ruefully. “PC means parental consumption. You have to have a genetic connection with one of the actors involved in order to squirm through it.”

“Now, George, I'm sure the play won't be as bad as you think.”

“No, it'll probably be worse,” he said morosely. “I could understand volunteering to sell tickets if we still had a kid in high school, but we have
old
children now.”

“Hush, George. Admitting to having old children makes us even older.”

“I just mean, why do we have to sell tickets for this thing since we don't have a kid in it?”

“Because we want to be supportive members of the community,” Lacy's mother said as she took his hand, led him out of the garage and down the driveway to their waiting SUV. “If you don't want to sell them, would you rather pay for the ten tickets yourself?”

“Yes, if it'll get me out of coercing our friends to buy them.”

“Fine. We'll buy the lot, invite four other couples, and make an evening of it,” Mom said brightly. “There's nothing like good theater, you know.”

“I know. And this'll be nothing like good theater,” Dad said with a frown. “Seriously, Shirl. Just because we pay for tickets, it doesn't follow that we actually have to show up and use them.”

“If you buy the tickets, of course you have to go. Besides the fact that Miss Holloway's class has worked on the play for weeks, I was not raised to be wasteful.”

“Honestly, dear,” Mom went on, “how will all those young people feel if Coldwater Cove doesn't support their efforts? They deserve an enthusiastic audience.”

“They better hope for a forgiving one.” Dad pulled his red Oklahoma Sooners cap from his back pocket and slapped it on his head. “All right, dear. Let's head over to the country club and see if I can corner somebody who owes me a favor. That's the only way we'll unload those things.”

“Lacy, there's some fried chicken in the fridge and other picnic fixings if you kids want to head down to the park. I hear there's a band concert at one. If you're done here by then, of course,” Mom called over her shoulder as Dad opened the passenger-side door for her.

But it was kindly meant and her mother had neatly maneuvered Lacy out of having to accept her father's help with the chair. He had good intentions, but all his DIY projects ended up like the disastrous squirrel repellent.

“Thanks, Mom. A picnic sounds great.” As her parents drove off, she could still hear her dad grumbling through the vehicle's open windows. Lacy turned to Jake. “Will that be okay with you or did you have other plans for today?”

Jake smiled down at her. “My only plan is to spend as much of the day with you as I can. Oh! And to make sure Speedbump isn't making a nuisance of himself.”

“Where is he?”

“In the backyard with Fergus. I hated to leave him alone at my place. The little guy seems to enjoy company,” Jake said.

“Will he be all right back there?”

“Sure. He and Fergus clicked like magnets. But we'd better check on him from time to time. I can't promise he's not a digger.”

“Having a dog is sort of like having a furry child, isn't it? They need to be with you,” Lacy said. “Having a cat, on the other hand, is like having a roommate. You can go your own ways with no repercussions. Well, at least not many. Effie has been known to sharpen her claws on the couch if I stay away longer than she deems appropriate.”

Jake set his coffee cup down on her dad's workbench. “Let's see what we can get done on the chair.”

They removed the cushions and donned safety glasses while they sanded the wood surfaces with fine-grain paper. It felt good to work beside Jake, to enjoy the way the muscles in his arms bunched and flexed, to catch a whiff of his clean masculine scent.

Remember, Lacy, just friends,
she told herself.
We're just friends.

Just friends who'd shared a kiss that curled her toes. She forced away the memory.

“Now we wipe the chair down to remove all the dust and then rub in some teak oil. Not much. It doesn't need more than a touch of oil,” Lacy said. “I wouldn't use any at all if it was an outdoor chair.”

“Why is that?”

“If it was outdoor furniture, you'd want the wood to darken from honey to gray, but since your mom uses this chair inside the lake house, a little oil will keep the natural wood tone fresh.”

“You're the boss.” Jake followed her instructions.

After he was finished and the chair was gleaming, she said, “Let's let it rest for about twenty minutes, and then see how it looks. Maybe you can check on how Fergus and Speedbump are doing in the backyard while I fix us some iced tea.”

“Good idea. That little stinker may have burrowed halfway to China by now.”

Speedbump hadn't. Instead, Fergus had taught him to patrol the perimeter of the fence, making sure the backyard was safe from squirrel incursions, no doubt.

Lacy watched out the kitchen window while she poured the tea. She almost didn't recognize Speedbump. Now that he was clean and professionally trimmed, he was terminally cute. Only his slight underbite saved him from looking like a total frou-frou dog. Jake tossed a ball for the dogs to chase across the yard. Sometimes, they fetched it back to him quickly so he could throw it again and sometimes, they played keep-away with each other.

Lacy noticed that Speedbump's right front paw was turned at a ninety degree angle each time he stopped and when he ran, there was a hitch in his get-along. Maybe that was why Jake had bonded with him so quickly. They both had mobility issues, but they weren't about to let that slow them down.

By the time Lacy brought out a tray with frosty glasses and a tall pitcher, Jake was sitting on the back deck steps, both dogs collapsed in panting bundles at his feet.

Lacy bent to give Fergus and Speedbump each a pat before she sat down beside Jake and handed him a full glass. Speedbump rolled over to present his tummy for her to stroke.

“He seems to be settling in with you pretty well,” she said.

“I guess that's the charm of a stray. Speedbump is grateful for any scrap of attention.” As if he recognized his name, the dog sat up. Jake reached down to scratch behind Speedbump's ear, setting the dog's hind leg thumping in sympathy.

“He's a good boy,” Lacy said.

“Someone has spent some time training him. He's already housebroken. Not a single accident since he came to live with me,” Jake said. “Makes me wonder if I should have you put another ad in the paper about him. He must belong to someone.”

“If he does, they weren't doing a good job taking care of him. And they aren't looking for him very hard. I checked some of the back issues of the
Gazette
.”

“No one put in a ‘lost dog' notice matching his description?”

Lacy shook her head. “And he'd obviously been on his own for a while because he was in such miserable shape when we found him. Did the vet check for an identifying chip when he had his surgery?”

“Yeah. There wasn't one.”

“Then I think you've done enough to find his previous owners,” she said. “He may have a weird name now, but it comes with a good home. And that's the important thing.”

“Hey! He likes being called Speedbump, don't you, boy?” As if to prove his master's words, the dog reared on its hind legs and did a happy pirouette, pawing the air. “This little guy is trying pretty hard to fit into my life and honestly, I'm glad to have him. He practically turns himself inside out to welcome me home when I'm done for the day.”

“Hence the popularity of dogs,” Lacy said. “If Effie is feeling magnanimous, she may lift her head to acknowledge my presence.”

“Don't go maligning that poor cat again. She seemed to like me just fine.”