Chance of a Lifetime (23 page)

F
RIDAY NIGHT
H
ARMONY LIBRARY

A
T QUARTER TO SEVEN
E
MILY WATCHED
G
ERALDINE
E
DISON
walk across the street with a plate of cookies and what had to be her
next chapter
to read to the group stuffed into her huge red purse. Zack Hunter was right behind her and offered to carry the cookies, but Geraldine didn’t look like she quite trusted him.

The pair reminded Emily of a plus-size Little Red Ridinghood and an aging, slightly hunched-over Big Bad Wolf.

She tried to keep from laughing as she welcomed them and followed them upstairs where Rick Matheson sat with his legal pad, ready to take notes for Martha Q. A tall, thin woman with black hair stood near the windows as if on guard. Snow White, Emily thought, hoping the seven dwarfs didn’t show up because there wouldn’t be enough chairs.

“What’s the lawyer doing here?” Sam whispered from just behind Emily. He held his broom at the ready as if it
were a weapon. She’d often thought the janitor would consider it a good day if no one came into the library.

He wasn’t smiling, but then he never smiled, Emily thought, as she whispered back, “He’s taking notes for Martha Q Patterson. They’re good friends. I think he’s staying at her place while she’s gone.”

“I don’t like it.” Sam, who usually did his best to not get involved with anything except spills in the library, surprised her. “Meetings like this shouldn’t allow drop-ins, and I’m not sure Martha Q should trust him. Just ’cause his name is Matheson don’t make him honest or reliable.”

Before she could comment, Rick waved at her.

As she moved toward him, she glanced back to Sam, but as always he’d vanished. “Yes, Rick?”

The lawyer smiled a grin that was downright adorable. Prince Charming, Emily thought. He was a few years behind her in school, but Emily couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t know who Rick Matheson was.

“Got any idea how long this meeting will last?” He didn’t look like he was looking forward to the evening.

“The library closes at nine. They have to be finished by then.” Like everyone in town, she’d heard he’d been hurt, but with his jacket on she couldn’t see any bandages. “You all right?”

He flashed her a not-so-bright smile and shrugged. “Sure. Thanks.”

Emily tried her best to act relaxed as the others came in, but it was almost seven and she hadn’t heard a word from the town council. They’d never been so late. Something had to be wrong. Maybe she’d have to face budget cuts or, worse, lose her job. Part of her wanted to run as fast as she could over to the town hall and tell them that she had nowhere to go if they closed the library, but that wouldn’t be professional.

George Hatcher arrived with two closet writers he’d discovered. One was a man in his late forties named Simon Bishop. He had the hint of a British accent and told everyone he wanted to write suspense. The other looked like she
might have spent too much time in outer space. She had wild red hair and mismatched socks. Even at first glance Lily Anne Loving had that “phone home” look about her. When Emily asked her what she wrote, she said she was working on a memoir about her motherland before she was abducted and sent to earth.

Peter was the last to arrive and asked to go first. He passed out one page of poetry he said he’d been working on all week. He rushed around the room with willow-in-the-wind kind of movements.

George Hatcher told him that poets starve.

Peter answered that to write poetry is to live. He pulled his pipe from his pocket and held it in one hand as he read. The group was polite. Lily Anne said she loved it. George said it had a nice beat.

Geraldine agreed with George and passed around the cookies.

Peter deflated in the chair next to Rick. The lawyer handed back the poem with
Grand!
written two inches high at the top. Peter nodded his silent thank-you and straightened a bit in the chair.

Emily sat back and smiled. She was already thinking of how she’d tell Tannon all about the Friday night writers’ meeting. She had to fight to keep from taking notes. Martha Q might not be in attendance, but all the others were raring to go.

Geraldine read the second chapter of her historical romance. The Southern belle had lost her major due to old battle wounds and she was now making love in one of the abandoned underground railroad hideouts. Her new lover was a spy, a Yankee in a tattered Confederate uniform, but the heroine didn’t notice until they were in the mindless bliss of mating. It seemed he dropped his accent about the same time she dropped her drawers.

Everyone loved the chapter except Peter, who told her that there were so many legs and breasts flying around he thought he was at a Baptist fried chicken cook-off.

The girl George Hatcher brought read a two-page scene
about learning to walk with only two legs. Lily Anne said her real last name translated to something close to Star, but she had been forced by her earthly captors to go by the name of Lily Anne Loving.

When she finished reading, no one said a word. Emily jumped in and claimed she couldn’t wait to hear more and everyone quickly agreed. Apparently, alien abductees were temperamental.

The last to read was Zack. He reread the first chapter of his mystery, only he’d added in clues to the murder. The work was still disjointed and choppy, but he’d improved so much everyone gave him a round of applause. Even Rick acted as if he’d enjoyed the chapter, but since he was in the middle of his own mystery, he didn’t seem to step into fiction too quickly.

At nine o’clock, they all hurried out talking. Emily stepped in her office and pulled on her coat suddenly in a hurry to go home. It had been a long day.

Pamela Sue was waiting at the door so they could walk out together. They were halfway to the cars when she said, “Oh, I almost forgot, the chairman of the town council called and told me to tell you that the library budget has been increased by five percent with a three percent raise for you.”

“Really?”

Pamela Sue shrugged. “They must have looked out the window and saw the crowd of cars parked in the lot tonight.” She veered off to her car. “See you next week. Good night.”

Emily felt like dancing and squealing with joy, but she simply smiled and said, “Yes, it is a very good night.”

Thirty minutes later, she was wrapped in her robe with a bowl of soup when the phone rang. Within minutes, she’d told Tannon all about her night. All the writers and what they read and then the best news about the council giving her a raise.

Finally, she realized he was being very quiet.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing the doctor didn’t expect. There’s no change
with Mom and that is not good.” He let out a long breath as though the tiredness inside of him would take much longer than a night to heal. “On a good day I’m not much in the way of company and this hasn’t been a good day.”

“I’m sorry I rattled on and on about the group and the library.”

“No. I enjoyed it. It felt good to have someone talk to me about something besides vital signs. I only wish I could have been there to take you out tonight. This hospital makes the day seem endless. I think they pipe something in the air that makes you feel tired from the moment you walk in the place.”

“You want me to come tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

“I’ll be there before noon.” She had an idea of just how much it cost him to admit he needed someone. “I’ll try to get someone to cover my Saturday hours.”

“Pack a bag, Emily, would you? I’ll get you a room if you can stay until Sunday. It would be great to have someone to talk to for a change.”

“All right. I’ll come.”

“Thanks,” he said, “and one more thing, I wish like hell I’d kissed you this morning.”

Emily was silent for a few heartbeats, then she answered, “I wish you had too.” There was nothing more to say, and she hung up the phone.

B
UFFALO
B
AR AND
G
RILL

H
ARLEY HAD ALREADY TURNED OFF THE BAR LIGHTS BY
the time Beau finished loading up his equipment. The place had been packed tonight. Even Ronny and a few of her friends from the breakfast club came. Beau liked seeing what he called his new daytime friends and he liked seeing Ronny laugh. She was a nice woman who didn’t seem to get in her share of laughter.

Border reminded him that she had loved once, even if it was for a short time, but Beau wasn’t sure he believed his partner. What kind of man would leave a woman like her? She was nice-looking in the take-home-to-Mom kind of way. Ronny could cook and said she made all A’s in college classes, and best of all, she was kind. People who are truly kind are rare.

The guy who left her must have been a real bum.

Maybe it was that kindness that made her invite Border
to join the others for pizza when closing time rolled around. She’d also invited Beau, but he said no. At the time, he was too interested in why pretty women like Ronny and Reagan Truman always tried to feed Border Biggs.

Beau was still smiling as he walked out of the bar, thinking of how Border tried to convince him once that because Border shaved his head, women always figured he was cold and hungry. Since they couldn’t do anything about his hair, they fed him.

Halfway to his car Beau noticed the red Ford convertible parked in the shadows. It looked like something out of the past come to call. Beau didn’t care. If the girl and her car were simply ghosts, he was still going for the ride.

This time he dropped his guitar in the backseat of the Mustang and climbed in the passenger’s side. “Drive,” he said as he leaned back and pulled his hat low.

She did what he knew she would and pulled away from the bar and headed for moonlight.

His body relaxed into the seat as she turned the radio to a country music station. Beau decided he’d died and gone to heaven. No Pearly Gates, no streets of gold, just one angel beside him and “Thunder Road” flowing through the wind.

After a half hour, she stopped the car in the center of a back road. “Want to drive?”

“Not tonight.”

“Want to move closer and keep me warm while I drive?”

He slid closer and put his arm around her shoulders. As he leaned his head against her hair, he whispered, “You smell great.”

She laughed. “You smell like smoke and barbecue and beer.”

He kissed the side of her throat. “Drive,” he whispered against her ear as he slid his hand inside her coat. “I’ll keep you warm.”

She kept both hands on the wheel as he moved his cold fingers over her petite body. Through the layers of clothes, he dreamed of how she’d feel without anything on. She was slim but
definitely more woman than girl. Smiling to himself, Beau realized that if he removed anything she had on, all she’d feel was cold, so he settled back enjoying the night and the nearness of passion just beyond his reach.

All the town seemed asleep when she finally pulled back into the parking lot of Buffalo’s. Without a word, he kissed her on the cheek and climbed out of the car.

He turned to her after lifting his guitar out of the back. She smiled at him, pulled the ribbon from her ponytail, and handed it to him.

She was gone before he could think of anything to say. He decided she was his drug and tonight she’d given him all he really needed to keep going. She wasn’t like any girl he’d ever met. She didn’t want to talk and she didn’t mind where his hands roamed. All she offered was company and a ride in the wind.

Once he was alone in the duplex, he wrapped the ribbon around the neck of his guitar and began to play. She was his walk on the wild side, his inspiration for dreams.

No one passed the house except Ronny’s mom, spying on a daughter she’d disowned. Beau tipped his hat at Dallas Logan and smiled when she gunned her car and drove away. He thought about this little duplex tucked away between businesses and storage buildings. It seemed a place for those without a home. Ronny, Border and he weren’t runaways; they were more like tossed-aways, like old furniture put on the street next to the trash.

Beau felt his mood dance on his fingers over the strings. The people he lived with had little-used hearts waiting for a chance at love. Waiting for a chance to live and matter to someone. They had homeless hearts.