Welcome to Serenity (4 page)

3

Tom had one more meeting on his calendar for Friday and then he intended to head to Charleston for a command appearance at one of his mother’s charity events. He’d promised to spend the night, but he intended to be back in Serenity first thing on Saturday so he could start looking for an apartment or a house. His phone buzzed. “Cal Maddox is here to see you,”

Teresa chirped with her unflagging cheeriness.

“Am I supposed to know who he is?”

She sighed. “I’ll be right in.”

“I didn’t ask you to come in,” he muttered, but he was talking to a dead line. His office door was already opening…

and closing.

With her short, steel-gray hair, rounded figure and penchant for flowered blouses and pastel slacks, Teresa looked as if she ought to be home baking cookies, but she ran this office with the efficiency of a drill sergeant. Right now she was regarding him with motherly dismay.

“If you and I are going to get along, you have to pay attention when I talk to you,” she scolded. “Or at the very least, read what I write on that calendar I give you every morning.”

Tom winced. “Sorry,” he murmured, shuffling papers until he found the neatly prepared schedule for his day that he’d barely glanced at. He’d jotted his own notes on an At-AGlance calendar. This meeting wasn’t on that.

“Okay, here it is,” he confirmed, finding it on Teresa’s schedule. “Cal Maddox, high school baseball coach.” He stared up blankly. “Why does he want to see me? I don’t have anything to do with the school system.”

Teresa gave him an impatient look and gestured toward the paper.

“Regarding starting a Little League program in the town,” he read aloud.

She nodded. “I do my job. You need to get used to my system.”

Tom barely contained a grin. In most places he’d worked, it was the boss who got to devise the system. “I’ll try,” he promised dutifully.

She regarded him with blatant skepticism. “We’ll see,”

she said with a little huff. “Shall I send Cal in now?”

“Please do.”

A minute later, the coach walked in, a grin on his face.

“What’d you do to tick off Teresa?”

Tom hesitated, then shrugged. “Almost everything I do ticks off Teresa. Most recently I failed to read her notes.”

Cal held out a callused hand, shook Tom’s, then said,

“Just so you understand, Teresa’s been essentially running Serenity for the past fifteen years. You’re an interloper.”

“She was town manager?” Tom asked, startled by the information. “No one mentioned that.”

“No way,” Cal said, laughing. “But your predecessors pretty much let her run the show. If you actually expect to do this job your own way, you’ll have to ease her into it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tom told him, grateful for the insight. It put a new spin on the uneasy relationship he’d had with his secretary since his arrival. He gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat. What can I do for you? Teresa’s note said something about starting a Little League program.”

Cal handed him a folder. “It’s all in there. I’ve described the benefits to the town, the costs, the businesses who’ve committed to sponsoring the teams, the other communities that have similar summer programs.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Start-up funding,” Cal said. “That figure’s in there, too. And I need another coach. I figure we’d have enough kids for at least two teams, one for the younger boys, another for the older boys.”

Tom gave him a questioning look. “You’re suggesting I coach?”

Cal nodded. “You did play ball at Clemson, didn’t you?

First base, as I recall.”

Tom gaped. “How on earth do you know about that? I only played college ball for a year before I was injured and had to give it up.” Then his eyes widened. “Cal Maddox?” he said, the name finally sinking in. “You played for the Atlanta Braves?”

Cal nodded. “Briefly. I was sidelined by an injury, too, but I was there when the scouting reports on you came in. You were a hot prospect, which I figure qualifies you to coach Little League in Serenity. Will you think about it?”

“First you need to have a Little League program in place,” Tom said. He gestured toward the folder. “I’ll go over your proposal this weekend and see if it fits in with the budget the town’s about to finalize, then we’ll talk again.”

“Fair enough,” Cal told him, standing up to leave.

“Hey, before you go, you’re an athlete. Where do you go to get a good workout in this town?”

The confident man before him looked oddly disconcerted by the question. “If you swear never to repeat it, I’ll tell you,” he said at last.

“Confidentiality is my middle name,” Tom assured him. Cal leaned closer as if he feared Teresa or someone else might overhear. “I sneak into The Corner Spa after hours.”

Tom stared at him incredulously. “You’re kidding me!

I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that the place is off limits to men.”

“It is,” Cal confirmed. “I’m married to one of the owners. She pretends not to notice that I borrow her key from time to time. Of course, if anyone ever catches me in there, I suspect my wife would throw me to the wolves and deny knowing me, much less admit she gave me tacit permission to sneak in.”

Tom laughed. “Sounds like an interesting relationship.”

“You have no idea,” Cal said. “Maddie’s a fascinating woman and the best thing that ever happened to me. I’m sure you two will cross paths before too long, especially if we get this Little League thing pulled together.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Tom said. “And I’ll be in touch within the next week or so about your proposal.”

“Thanks. Enjoy your weekend.”

Tom thought about the formal event ahead of him tonight and the inevitable lecture from his father likely to be on tomorrow’s agenda. Enjoyment didn’t enter into any of it. Jeanette had gotten through yet another day without crossing paths with Maddie. She was hoping to keep it that way. She’d picked up her tote bag and purse and was headed out the side door when Maddie appeared.

“Sneaking off?” she inquired lightly.

Jeanette grinned. “I was trying to.”

“Can you stay for a minute?”

“Is that a request or a command?”

“A request, of course,” Maddie insisted. She held up two glasses of tea and a clear box that held two cranberryorange scones, Jeanette’s favorite. “I brought bribes.”

Jeanette released a sigh and turned toward the outdoor patio, Maddie following on her heels.

After they were seated, Jeanette took a bite of the light, flaky scone, then frowned. It was still warm. “Where’d this come from? I know we didn’t have scones in the café today. I checked.”

“I asked Dana Sue to whip up a batch and send them over,” Maddie admitted. “They just arrived a few minutes ago, straight from the oven.”

“You really are desperate for me to serve on this Christmas festival committee, aren’t you?” Jeanette said as she savored another bite. Between the comfort food and Maddie’s bribes she was going to be as big as a blimp.

“At the moment, I’m more interested in why you’re so opposed to the idea. I’ve been giving you some space and thinking about our conversation, and I don’t believe your reaction had anything to do with taking on a little extra work for a couple of months. Am I right?”

When Jeanette remained silent, she prodded, “So what was it about?”

Because she absolutely didn’t want to get into that, Jeanette looked Maddie in the eye. “I’ll do it.”

Maddie appeared taken aback. “Do what?”

“Be on the stupid committee,” Jeanette grumbled. “Isn’t that what we’re talking about?”

Maddie did not appear nearly as pleased by her capitulation as Jeanette had expected.

“Forget the committee for the moment. Tell me why Christmas upsets you,” Maddie said. “I’ve just realized that you always take your vacation at Christmas, but you don’t go home to visit your family, you don’t go away, you just hole up in your apartment. I checked with Helen and Dana Sue, too, and none of us can recall you accepting a single invitation to a holiday celebration with any of us. There has to be a reason.”

“I’m antisocial,” Jeanette said.

“No, you are not,” Maddie said, dismissing the reply.

“You’ve come to lots of things—Fourth of July barbecues, margarita nights, Thanksgiving dinner. No, this is all about Christmas. You have an aversion to that specific holiday and I want to know why.”

“It’s my business,” Jeanette replied stubbornly. “I know you want to help, but there’s not a problem. I just don’t like Christmas holidays.” She scowled at Maddie. “And don’t you dare tell me that everybody loves the holidays.”

“Well, they do. At least around here.”

“Then I’m an exception to the rule. Look, I said I’d serve on the committee. That should be enough.”

“What changed your mind?” Maddie asked.

“Boy, you really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Maddie merely lifted a brow.

“No, of course you don’t,” Jeanette muttered. “Part of it was to get you off my case and part of it has to do with Mary Vaughn. She begged me to do it because she has to do it.”

Maddie stared at her incredulously. “You’re doing this for Mary Vaughn? After the way she tried to steal Ronnie from Dana Sue?”

“He and Dana Sue were separated at the time,” Jeanette reminded Maddie, feeling the need to defend her client.

“Besides, she never had a chance with Ronnie, and everyone except Mary Vaughn knew it. The point is, she’s a good customer and she asked me to do this.”

“I’m your boss and I asked, and you didn’t have any problem saying no to me,” Maddie groused, then shook her head. “You’re doing this for Mary Vaughn. Wait’ll I tell Dana Sue and Helen.”

“I’m mainly doing this to get you off my case,” Jeanette corrected her. “And that hasn’t worked nearly as well as I’d expected, so I’m going home before I change my mind.”

Maddie opened her mouth, but Jeanette held up her hand.

“Leave well enough alone, okay?”

“I was just going to say, if you ever want to talk about anything, all of us are here for you, understood?”

To her regret, Jeanette’s eyes misted. “Understood,” she whispered, and then bolted before she could make a complete fool of herself by bursting into tears. Tom couldn’t wait to get on the road back to Serenity on Saturday morning. The charity function had been everything he despised about Charleston’s social scene. He could only imagine what the budget had been for the formal dinner and dance that his mother had organized for years. If that money alone had been donated directly to the cause, it probably would have equaled the amount raised. Whenever he mentioned that, she looked at him as if he’d uttered a blasphemy.

“This is what’s expected,” she’d told him more than once. “When you hold a position in society, it is your duty to do good works.”

“I’m just saying it would be more cost-effective to write a check,” he’d argued.

“An event brings attention to the cause. And it supports local businesses. Where would the caterers, the florists, the printers and so on be if we stopped holding these fundraisers?”

“So this is all about supporting the Charleston economy?”

She’d frowned at him. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you know it’s about more than that. I know you think what I do is frivolous and unnecessary, but one of these days I’ll reduce it all to dollars and cents for you and prove my point in a way you can understand.”

He’d grinned at her. “I’d appreciate that.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she’d declared.

“But you love me.”

“Most of the time,” she’d agreed. “Now, if you would just marry and provide us with an heir to the McDonald legacy, I could forgive all these silly arguments.”

“Mother, you have six lovely granddaughters to dote on. The next generation is off to a fine start.”

“None of them will carry on the McDonald name,” she’d reminded him. “Even if one of your sisters has a son, he won’t be a McDonald.”

“So I’m to marry and have a son, is that the plan?”

She’d given him a stern look, though there was a decided twinkle in her eye. “I’d appreciate it,” she’d said. If his mother was gently persuasive with her marching orders, his father was downright dictatorial, Tom thought as he finished the eggs, ham, grits and redeye gravy the cook had prepared for him. It seemed he’d never had a conversation with Thomas Barlow McDonald that didn’t end with one of them walking out in a huff. He’d give anything to avoid that this morning, but trying to slip away without paying his respects to his father would just lead to a tearful phone call from his mother later in the day. If arguing with his father was tedious, then listening to his mother’s guiltinducing lectures was worse. It was too late to escape, anyway. His father strolled in, already dressed for his regular Saturday-morning golf outing at the private country club where McDonalds had been members ever since the eighteen-hole course had been carved out of the countryside.

“I thought you were taking off first thing this morning,”