Back to normal
.
The last time she’d spoken to her contractor, everything had been going well. And right now the same could be said for her book. With any luck, both would be finished in another five to six weeks. When she’d arrived in Kings Meadow, staying here for the summer had felt like a prison sentence. Now—
The telephone rang, surprising her from her thoughts. She picked up the portable handset and pushed the Call button without glancing at the caller ID. “Hello.”
“Good morning, Charity. Guess who.”
It took her a couple of heartbeats to recognize the voice. “Nathan?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Been awhile. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” She pushed her hair over her shoulder. “You?”
“I’m good. Real good. Where are you? The message on your mobile phone didn’t say. Just gave this number to call.”
“I’m at my folks’ house in Kings Meadow for the summer. Cell service isn’t reliable up here.”
“Oh.”
What do you want, Nathan?
As if she’d asked the question aloud, he said, “I was hoping to see you, Charity.”
A confusion of feelings washed over her, completely mixed together so that she couldn’t identify any of them singly.
“I could drive up there, if that’s all right,” he added after a lengthy silence.
“When?”
“Soon, I hoped. Today. Or tomorrow if that’s better for you. Or next weekend.”
A tiny, panicked feeling burst through the confusion. Did
she want to see Nathan? She had ended things between them because he wanted a different kind of life than she did.
“Charity?”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea, Nathan.”
“Come on, Charity. Just to talk, to catch up. You’ve been on my mind a lot lately.”
Would it change anything, seeing him? Then again, would it hurt anything? She supposed not. The end of their relationship hadn’t been an ugly one. It had gone out on a whimper, not a roar.
“What do you say? A few hours. That’s all I’m asking.”
“All right. I suppose it would be okay. But I’m busy today. Come tomorrow afternoon, if you want. Say around two o’clock.”
“Great. Thanks, Charity. I was only up there with you the one time, but I think I remember the way.”
“Don’t count on your memory. The streets around Kings Meadow can be confusing. Better print off a map.” She gave him her parents’ address and a few easy instructions as reminders.
“Great, Charity. I’ve got it. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
After pressing the End button, she put the handset back on the nightstand, still not sure how she felt about seeing Nathan again.
“Well, I guess I’ll find out soon enough,” she said to Cocoa.
The dog came over to the bed and waited for a pat on the head. Charity leaned down, looking Cocoa straight in the eyes. “You never liked Nathan the way you do Buck. Why is that?”
That train of thought would get her nowhere.
She rose and headed for the shower.
B
UCK PUSHED OPEN THE GLASS DOOR AND STEPPED
into a world of high-pitched giggles, ponytails, black leotards, and pink tights. Some girls sat on the floor, removing their dance shoes. Others were getting help from their mothers. Many of those same mothers noticed him and stopped what they were doing to stare—as if he were a creature from the dark lagoon. Instinct told him to turn around and leave this feminine domain. Immediately.
“Hi, Buck.”
He turned to his left.
Skye Foster, the local dance teacher, smiled at him, laughter in her eyes. No doubt she knew a duck out of water when she saw one. “What can I do for you?” She walked toward him.
“Maybe I should come back. Looks busy in here.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I only have one class on Saturdays in the summer, and we just finished up. Everybody’s getting ready to leave. Why don’t you wait in my office?” She pointed toward an open door, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s less chaotic in there than out here.”
With a nod to Skye, he went into the small office. He couldn’t blame her for laughing at him. He must have worn a strange expression. He liked kids and he’d always thought his two nieces hung the moon. But
that
many little girls in one place? Nerve wracking.
It didn’t take long for the studio to empty out. When silence reigned again, he stepped into the office doorway. “Safe to come out?”
Skye laughed aloud this time. “It’s safe. But the gossips will be wondering what a bachelor was doing at my Saturday ballet class.”
“I did feel out of place.” He chuckled. “I should have called you instead of coming over.”
Her eyebrows arched in question.
“I got a harebrained idea this morning. I heard you give dance lessons to adults. Line dancing and swing and such. And I . . . I thought maybe I’d like to take a few lessons.” He shrugged, then added, “It’ll be good exercise for my ankle.”
His ankle wasn’t the real reason for his interest in lessons, but he wasn’t about to admit it to Skye. The real reason was Charity. He’d watched her dance with other men on the night of the Fourth. He’d seen how much she enjoyed it. She was good at it too. His skills on the dance floor were okay but not great. That hadn’t mattered in the past. It mattered now.
After yesterday’s ride, he’d realized how much he would like to take Charity dancing. Take her out on a real date. He’d like to hold her in his arms and whirl her around a floor in time to the music. He’d like her to look up at him and smile, the way she’d done to other lucky guys three weeks ago. For Charity, he didn’t want to be “good enough.” He wanted to impress her. Because a woman like her didn’t have to settle for “good enough.” Not in anything.
Skye said, “I don’t have another adult class starting until September. You could—”
“How about private lessons? Do you do those?” Man,
he sounded desperate. He didn’t care for that. Then again, maybe he was desperate.
“Sometimes,” she answered. “Is this for a special occasion? Like a wedding. I love to get a couple ready for that first dance as man and wife.”
At the word
wedding,
Charity’s image—this time in a cloud of white satin and lace—popped into Buck’s head. He blinked it away. “Uh . . . no. No special occasion.”
“Too bad.” Something in her gaze said she didn’t believe he was telling the whole truth.
Buck liked Skye Foster—in a kid-sister kind of way. Five years his junior, she was a petite and slender thing with straight black hair and dark-brown eyes. He’d always thought she resembled that actress Angie Harmon, in every way except height. A little bit of tomboy toughness. Not given to frills or froufrou. Always ready to laugh, but with a serious side as well.
“I could do an hour on Wednesday evenings at seven, if that would work for you,” she said after a lengthy silence. “When would you like to start?”
“This coming Wednesday.”
“This coming Wednesday it is. I’ll see you at seven.”
C
LIPPITY
D
O
-D
A
,
THE BEAUTY SALON LOCATED
around the corner from the library, was always a busy place on Saturdays. Midge Foster had opened her salon back in the late seventies, and almost every woman who lived in or around Kings Meadow eventually came through her door, either to see Midge or one of the two other stylists who worked for her.
Charity opened that door to Clippity Do-Da a few minutes before her scheduled appointment with Midge. A little bell announced her arrival. Conversations ebbed, all eyes turned in her direction, and then the chatter resumed.
“Have a seat, Charity,” Midge called to her. “I’ll be finished in a flash.”
Charity went to one of the chairs by the large plate-glass window. After sitting, she grabbed one of the worn and torn beauty magazines and thumbed through it, not truly interested.
The bell rang again. Along with the others, Charity’s gaze went to the door. This time the newcomer was Midge’s daughter, Skye.
“Hi, hon,” Midge said as she removed the cape from around her client’s shoulders. “You done for the day?”
“Yeah. You’ll never guess who—”
Midge held up a finger, silently asking for one minute. She went to the small counter, took her client’s check, and booked the woman’s next appointment. Then with swift efficiency, she swept up the hair on the floor around her chair and deposited it in a waste can.
“Come on over, Charity.” Midge looked at her daughter again. “Sorry, hon. What were you about to tell me?”
Charity sat in the swivel salon chair, and Midge whipped a fresh cape around her.
Skye said, “Buck Malone came into the studio just as my class was letting out. He wants some private dance lessons.”
“Well, good for him,” Midge replied. “Wish more men would do that and save their sweethearts’ toes.”
“But Buck doesn’t seem the type for lessons. Know what I mean? He gave some lame excuse that it would be good for
strengthening his ankle.” Skye lowered her voice. “I think what he really wants is to ask me out.”
Charity felt a chill, as if the air conditioner was blowing right on her.
“Would you want him to ask you out?” Even as Midge asked Skye that question, her attention returned to Charity. “What do you want done?” she asked, their gazes meeting in the mirror. “Just a trim?” She raked her fingers through Charity’s hair.
Charity nodded.
“How much off?”
She indicated about an inch with her thumb and index finger.
“Okay. Come over to the bowl and we’ll give you a wash.”
Skye followed them to the sink. “I don’t know,” she answered her mother as if there’d been no lull in the conversation. “I mean, he’s awfully cute and all.”
Midge laughed softly. “No argument from me. He can even make my old heart go pitty pat.”
“
Mom!
” Skye drew out the word.
Whatever Midge said to her daughter next was lost behind running water and massaging fingers as Midge shampooed Charity’s hair. Which was fine. She didn’t need to listen in on that conversation. It had nothing to do with her. Nothing at all. She wasn’t remotely interested.
Although it did surprise her about the lessons. Skye was right. Buck didn’t seem the type to want them or even admit he needed them. Besides, most women wouldn’t care if he knew fancy steps or not. They would just enjoy being held in his arms.
Skye would no doubt enjoy giving him those lessons too. She was his type. Rodeo queen and all that. Back in high school, he’d always gone out with girls like her. Why should it be different now? Perhaps it was more surprising that he, apparently, had never asked her out before now. If rumors were true, he’d dated most of the single gals in Kings Meadow already.
“Hey, Charity. Where’d you go?”
She opened her eyes.
“Thought you’d gone to sleep on me.” Midge placed a towel over Charity’s hair, easing her upright in the chair at the same time.
Skye gave her mom a little wave. “I’m meeting some friends for lunch. See you later.” Her gaze flicked to Charity and she repeated the wave. Then she left the salon.
“Wish that girl would find the right guy,” Midge said as Charity settled once again in the swivel chair before the large mirror. “She sure couldn’t find a nicer one than Buck, so if he’s interested, I’m all for it. Always have liked that young man, even when he seemed to be breaking every gal’s heart between here and McCall.”
Charity wished Midge would be quiet about Buck. It bothered her in a way she couldn’t define.
“I was long married and had a couple of kids with a third in the oven by the time I was Skye’s age.”
Charity suddenly felt ancient.
“What is it with girls like you and Skye that you’re still not married at your ages? Not that either of you are that old,” Midge added quickly. “I know times are different now. We married younger in my day. And compared to my mother,
I was verging on being an old maid when I said ‘I do.’ ” She leaned in a little closer, once again looking at Charity in the mirror. “So how’s
your
love life, hon? Or are you too busy being a famous author to take time for romance?”
Heat rose in her cheeks.
“Don’t you go all modest and humble on me with that blush. I’ve seen those write-ups in the newspaper and those national magazines. I keep hoping Hollywood will turn your books into a movie. They’d be so good up on the screen. Oh, they’d be so good.” Midge began to trim Charity’s hair with a small pair of scissors. “I used to think I’d like to write a novel. But there never seemed to be enough spare time, what with my business and raising a family. Now the nest’s empty, and I’m just too blamed tired to try something new.”
Charity gave Midge a smile, thankful that the woman’s conversation had veered away from a discussion on her love life and toward the topic of writing. Still, she’d learned it was better to say nothing when others said they wanted to write a book. Unless they asked her point-blank for advice. Then she had a few simple but encouraging things to say.
Fortunately for Charity, Midge didn’t ask any questions about writing a novel and seemed content to move on to other topics of interest to most residents of Kings Meadow.
U
PON HIS RETURN FROM CHURCH THAT
S
UNDAY
, Buck tied one of his horses in the shade of a large tree and began bathing the tall black gelding. His movements were slow, almost languid, befitting the heat of the day. Neither horse nor master minded being splashed by the cold water coming out of the hose.
Buck had finished rinsing the animal’s coat when a small sports car—a convertible—pulled into his driveway. He straightened, then watched as the driver got out of the car. A frown wrinkled the stranger’s brow and nose as he looked around. Eventually his gaze landed on Buck.
Buck wondered if the man could be someone wanting to book a trip into the wilderness, but he dismissed the notion at once. This was a city dude if ever he’d seen one. He wouldn’t know the front end of a horse from the backside.
Buck turned the nozzle on the hose, shutting off the flow of water, and strode toward the man. “Can I help you?”
“Is this the Anderson house?”