His First and Last (Ardent Springs #1) (4 page)

“Why not show special movies and charge more for concessions?”

“Lorelei, the place is nearly condemned. They haven’t shown a movie there in five years, and the owners have ignored it since they closed the doors. It was already in disrepair then.”

The Ruby was the place where Lorelei fell in love with acting. Where she’d spent countless hours dreaming of a glamorous life. She’d been ten when Granny started letting her go alone, and she’d spent nearly every weekend from then until she’d graduated high school basking in the glow of Hollywood.

The Ruby was where Spencer had put the ring on her finger that she’d eventually thrown back in his face.

As the credits rolled on
The Count of Monte Cristo
, he’d taken her hand as he’d done a hundred times before and slid the thin gold band with the tiny stone onto her left ring finger. She’d looked at him with eyes wide, but he never said a word. Just shrugged that one shoulder as if he’d done little more than shared a piece of gum.

That was Spencer. Understated to the end.

“If the place is falling down, what good is a bake sale going to do?” Lorelei asked. “Don’t get me wrong. Your recipes should be available nationwide, but it’s going to take more money to fix up a theater than you can make selling nut bread and cookies to the locals.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Granny placed the last brownie on the heap, then covered the dish with clear wrap. “I’ve signed you up for the Ruby Restoration Committee.”

Chapter 3

“You did what?” Lorelei yelled, as Spencer walked through the front door pulling a T-shirt over his head.

“You loved that theater,” Rosie answered. “When you agreed to come home, I signed you up. We need fresh ideas. Someone with youth and energy who’d be willing to fight for the theater.”

“Morning, ladies,” Spencer said, ignoring the tussle. He’d assured Rosie that Lorelei wouldn’t appreciate being obligated to something without at least being asked, but that didn’t mean he was stupid enough to join an argument between two stubborn women.

“Good morning, Spencer,” Rosie said.

Lorelei barely spared him a glance, but said, “It’s about time you put on a shirt,” before returning attention to her grandmother. Spencer would have questioned the shirt comment if he hadn’t been so distracted by how little she was wearing. “I’m not here to join a cause. The least you could have done was ask me first.”

“If I’d have asked you, you would have said no.”

“If you knew that, then why did you do it?”

“Because we need you and you need this.” Rosie smacked the countertop. “You need something to do besides sit here feeling sorry for yourself, wallowing about all the things that haven’t panned out in your life.”

Lorelei’s lip twitched. “Gee, Granny. Tell me what you really think.”

She kept her chin up even as her eyes misted over. The woman had an iron will. Not a single tear slid down her face. Spencer had to bite his tongue to keep from defending her.

“I love you, Lorelei. More than anything on this earth. You’re a fighter by nature, though heaven only knows where you got that trait. But right now, you need to stop fighting with yourself and put your energy into something more productive.” Rosie let out the long breath she’d probably been holding all morning. “You loved that theater. Help us bring it back to life. You never know. You might bring yourself back to life in the process.”

The argument was sound, filled with love and compassion, but Lorelei had always been the type who needed to come to things on her own terms, in her own time. There was nothing she hated more than being told what to do. Spencer waited in silence as the two women stared each other down, prepared to comfort Rosie when Lorelei walked away.

“I’ll have to think about it,” Lorelei said, surprising them both. “How much money are you trying to raise?”

Rosie glanced to Spencer, hope glistening in her eyes.

“We’ve raised three thousand,” Spencer said. “We need seventeen thousand more before the owners will let us go in and make repairs.”

Lorelei shook her head. “I should have known.”

“Spencer is helping us map out the improvements,” Granny said, following Lorelei into the living room. “He knows what we’ll need and drew up the designs we presented to the council as well as the owners.”

“Of course he did.”

“This isn’t about you and Spencer, Lorelei, and I don’t appreciate
this attitude. If anything, this is further proof that you need to learn that not everything is about you.”

Rosie was really going for the tough love this morning. She’d told Spencer she had no plans to coddle Lorelei, but he hadn’t realized that meant staging a full-frontal attack on her first morning home.

“Look,” Spencer said, taking the chair across from Lorelei. “Check out the theater for yourself. If it seems like something you want to help with, then you’re in. If you want nothing to do with it, then you’re off the hook.”

Rosie opened her mouth to argue, but Spencer motioned for her to hold silent. He knew what he was doing. The moment Lorelei laid eyes on the inside of that theater, memories would flood in from every corner. She’d not only join the fight, she’d demand a leading role.

Lorelei gnawed on her bottom lip, eyes cast down to the floor. Spencer could almost see the wheels turning. He waited her out, giving her the time she needed to weigh her options.

Rosie waited, too, but less patiently. She shifted from one foot to the other, slammed her hands onto her hips, then threw them in the air and charged back to her baking.

“I get to decide,” Lorelei said so softly Spencer wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or to herself. Then she met his eyes. “How bad is it?”

He pinched his lips and nodded. “Bad.”

She sighed. “I need to take a shower first. I assume you’re done washing your truck.” The smile was subtle, but it sent his heart galloping around his chest. That explained the shirt comment when he’d walked in. She’d been watching him.

“I am and you do,” he said, sharing a grin of his own. “You stink.”

Lorelei threw a pillow at his head, which he ducked as he strolled into the kitchen. Snagging a muffin before Rosie could stop him, he said, “I’ll meet you outside in thirty minutes. Wear something you won’t mind getting dirty.”

Then he walked out the door, letting the screen slam behind him.

Lorelei checked her hair in the mirror for the third time, while reminding herself for the fifth time that she was not trying to impress her old boyfriend. Nor did she care what anyone in this flea-bitten town thought of her. The locals weren’t likely to have forgotten her little go-to-hell episode. Memories ran deep here.

Though her fellow citizens liked to call themselves good Christians, forgiveness was often in short supply. She’d learned that as a child when no one ever forgave her mother for getting pregnant off a one-night stand with a stranger.

As the child of that shameful behavior, Lorelei hadn’t been treated with any more generosity.

So what? So she’d get some dirty looks and see folks whispering as she walked by. Lorelei had often enough been the topic of beauty parlor gossip in her youth. If anything, she was better prepared to handle it now.

Thirty-five minutes after Spencer had made his cowboy swagger exit, Lorelei stepped onto the front porch wearing cutoff denim shorts, a gray knit shirt thrown over a red tank, and a pair of white Keds.

“You’re late,” Spencer said as he leaned against his truck, cowboy hat pulled low, ankles crossed. If he’d once again been shirtless, he would have fit right into one of those Studs and Spurs calendars. Tipping up his hat, he asked, “Are those your getting-dirty clothes?”

Lorelei looked down. This was as casual as she could muster. What did it matter? It wasn’t as if she were going off to dig ditches or something.

“What you see is what you get,” she said, stomping around to the passenger side so she wouldn’t have to see him looking so sexy. “And thirty minutes isn’t nearly enough time to take a shower and get ready for anything, even something that involves getting dirty.”

She heard the sigh followed by, “Lord, give me strength not to dump this woman on the side of the road.” And then: “Champ, you stay here with Rosie. Maybe she’ll let you chew on some of Lorelei’s fancy shoes as a treat.”

“If that dog so much as slobbers on my shoes—”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad.” Spencer climbed in and clicked his seat belt. “Champ would go for your underwear first. Your shoes are safe.”

Lorelei was not about to discuss her underwear with Spencer, so she dropped the conversation altogether and focused on staring at the trees as the truck flew down Pratchett Lane. Not that they were flying very fast. Spencer seemed to have lost his teenage penchant for driving like a maniac.

Now he drove like Granny headed for Sunday church. Scratch that. Granny drove faster than this. At least he honored her desire to remain silent, forgoing any attempts at chatter until they’d reached their destination.

The Ruby Theater looked much as Lorelei remembered it. The marquee was empty, which reflected the lack of operation, but the red-brick front looked as sturdy as ever. The box office, centered between two sets of double doors, wasn’t even boarded up.

Hadn’t Granny said the building was nearly condemned? This looked more like the place needed a good dusting. Lorelei noticed the For Sale sign in the window.

“You guys didn’t say it was up for sale.” She stepped down out of the truck. “Why don’t you wait until a new buyer takes over and let them fix it up?”

“No one’s buying,” Spencer said, joining her on the sidewalk in front of the box office. “The current owners keep the sign there, but it’s pointless. They’ve agreed if we raise the funds to do the major repairs, they’ll front the money for the smaller stuff and reopen the doors.”

“I don’t get it.” Lorelei looked at Spencer, holding her hand over her eyes to block the blaring sun behind him. “Aren’t they losing money by letting it sit empty like this? Why should anyone else have to pay for the repairs if they’re the ones who didn’t maintain it correctly in the first place?”

Spencer motioned for her to precede him to the entrance. “The building is paid for. All it’s costing them is the taxes, and those are less than what it would cost to invest in renovations. The owners have enough other successful theaters to cover the taxes on this one.”

As Spencer pushed open one set of doors, Lorelei expected the familiar scent of popcorn to fill her senses. Instead, she was hit by the smell of mildew and something rotten. “What the hell is in there?” she asked, remaining on the sidewalk.

“The better question is what
isn’t
in there.” Spencer flipped the stopper down to hold the door open. “Try not to breathe too deep. We’re safe enough if we don’t stay long.”

Not sure she believed him, Lorelei pulled her shirt up over her nose and followed Spencer into the building. The interior stood in complete contrast to the outside. The front concession stand, which had been a fifteen-foot glass display case showing off everything from Jujubes to Whoppers, was little more than a metal frame with small shards of glass sticking up from the bottom every few feet.

Debris littered the floor, forcing them to watch every step they took. At one point, Spencer reached out his arm, pressing it against her stomach to stop her movement. He held a finger over his mouth, then pointed up.

Not sure what she’d find, Lorelei followed his directions, only to spot three sleeping bats hanging from the ceiling. She attached herself to Spencer’s back and managed to scream only in her head. As he tiptoed to the doors that led into the screen room, Lorelei moved with him.

To an observer, they probably looked like a bad sketch from a Stooges film, but she was not about to get separated from him. If those
bats woke up, or if God knew what other wild creature came at them, she was more than prepared to use Spencer as a shield. If something bad happened, it was his own fault for bringing her in here.

She’d expected the theater to be even darker than the lobby, but she had to blink several times when Spencer opened the door. Sunshine poured through holes of varying sizes in the roof. Water-damaged seats rolled out before her, some torn, others shredded to nothing, their burgundy velvet upholstery fallen victim to something with incredibly sharp claws.

Lorelei squeezed tighter to Spencer until he whispered over his shoulder, “Not that I’m complaining about this sudden longing to be near me, but you’re making it hard to breathe.”

Her arms loosened enough to let his lungs expand, but not enough to allow air between them.

“Thanks,” he said, then led her down the left side aisle, stopping halfway down. “This is what we’re looking at.” He raised his face to the ceiling. “We’ve put tarps over the holes several times, but they either blow off, or the animals work at them until they slide over.”

She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Couldn’t reconcile this mess with the place she’d loved. The place that had served as her home away from home for so many years. The screen sported a dark stain along the left third and a deep gash in the upper right-hand corner. The curtains that had draped the walls lay on the floor as if someone had dropped them all at once, leaving exposed brick behind them.