Last Chance Knit & Stitch (17 page)

“Uh, Ricki, don’t cry, honey. Maybe I could talk to Molly.” Les checked his watch. “It’s almost quitting time. Maybe we could go up to the Knit & Stitch and talk to her right now. Okay?”

“Now?”

“Sure. I’ll just go wash up a little, and we’ll see if we can get Molly to take you back.”

His smile made everything seem like it was going to be okay. “All right,” she said through a sniffle. She reached into her purse, pulled out a tissue, and blew her nose. Her mascara must be a complete mess. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, honey. Let’s see what we can do.”

Molly sat at the little table in the Knit & Stitch, the Purly Girls surrounding her. They were all busy knitting away at prayer blankets in various shades of Red Heart
basic acrylic yarn. A box of red velvet cupcakes sat in the middle of the table. Angel had brought them along with a note from Simon to his mother, who’d come today on the senior center’s bus. Molly thought Simon was sweet to remember that the girls liked to have refreshments when they came to knit. Angel said Simon himself had bought the cupcakes at the bakery in Allenberg this morning when he’d dropped his mother off at the senior center.

Molly was finding it difficult to stay angry with Simon. He was so thoughtful. And his assistant was a good teacher and extremely patient. So all in all, this week’s meeting was coming off without a hitch, in stark contrast to last week’s complete disaster.

“I think Russell is having an affair,” Luanne Howe said in a quavery voice. She was knitting her blanket in the variegated colorway called Favorite Jeans.

“Really?” Mary Latimer responded. Mary might be almost eighty-five but she still had a surprisingly girlish voice. She leaned forward, never missing a stitch, ready to get the juicy gossip. “What tipped you off? Did you find someone else’s underwear in his car or something? You know that happened to Grace Watkins. That man of hers was fooling around something terrible.”

“No,” Luanne replied, “it’s nothing like that. It’s just that he’s been ignoring me.” She turned to Miriam Randall, who wasn’t knitting because her hands were badly afflicted with arthritis. “Do you think I should hire a private investigator?” Luanne asked.

“I don’t know. That can get expensive,” Miriam said. Thank goodness she didn’t remind Luanne that her husband of forty years, who had been the morning voice of WLST, the local radio station, had died last spring. All the
members of the Purly Girls were widows. It was kind of sad, really. And Luanne missed Russell something fierce. This idea of him cheating on her wasn’t anything new.

Miriam picked at her red velvet cupcake. The old lady had been off her feed recently. Miriam had lost her husband just a few months ago, too.

Mary Latimer leaned toward Luanne. “Well, I say you should definitely hire a private eye. You don’t want to end up like Grace.”

“How did Grace end up?” Angel asked.

Mary blinked a few moments. “I don’t remember.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, she ended up divorced. But she got her revenge. She got the house and the car and the dog,” Charlotte said. “And then she went off and got a boob job.”

“You think I need a boob job?” Luanne asked.

“Hush up. Your boobs are just fine,” Mary said. “If Russell doesn’t know a good pair of boobs, he’s blind.”

“Well,” Luanne said, “he’s been having some trouble with his eyesight, you know.”

“Well, he doesn’t have to look at them. I mean, it’s all about—”

The front door opened, thankfully cutting short Mary’s discussion of breast enhancement in the older generation. The girls stopped talking as Les and Ricki strode into the store. Les looked out of his element standing amid the shelves of yarn, wearing his greasy coveralls. And Ricki looked like a slightly trashy fashion plate who, judging by her messy mascara, was about to come apart at the seams. Her dog looked exactly like that, too.

“Hey,” Molly said getting up from the table. She braced herself for what was surely going to be an unpleasant conversation.

“You have to take Ricki back,” Les said.

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“But if you don’t, she’s going to be unemployed.”

Molly was about to point out that technically she, herself, was unemployed. Then Ricki said “please” in a whiny voice. And her little dog started whining, too.

“We all thought T-Bone would take her back, but he won’t,” Les said.

“We all who, Les?”

Her best friend hung his head. And it was kind of impossible to be all that angry at him. He thought he and LeRoy had it all worked out. Typical.

What the heck was Molly supposed to do now? Momma would be so calm in a situation like this. But all Molly wanted to do right now was scream.

Angel came to her rescue. “Um,” he said rising from his seat at the table, where he’d been finishing up his gorgeous sweater, “I don’t mean to interrupt this discussion, but what Ricki just said is not exactly true.”

He came to stand beside Molly and continued, “I think T-Bone would take Ricki back, but Ricki wants to bring Muffin to work with her.” He smiled at the dog.

And damned if the dog didn’t stop shivering and smile back.

And then she defected. She launched herself out of Ricki’s grasp and right at Angel. Good thing he had skills as a dogcatcher.

The pooch immediately settled into his arms, while the man began to croon baby talk to her. It was a clear case of love at first sight.

“That’s my dog.” Ricki’s voice sounded brittle.

“I know. But you can’t take her to work at the Kountry
Kitchen. It would be a health code violation,” Angel said in what Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer, would probably call a calm, assertive voice.

Les turned toward Ricki. “You said T-Bone didn’t want you back.”

“Well, not on the terms I wanted. I can’t leave Muffin alone.” She gave the dog a desperate look. “She chews things when I’m not looking. She destroyed my only pair of Fendis. But without her, I …” Ricki almost choked. It was clear that despite the dog’s misbehavior, Ricki loved Muffin.

“Well,” Les said, completely missing the emotionally charged moment, “you’re not really unemployed then. You can confine her in your apartment’s kitchen until she’s housebroken, and you can walk her on your breaks or something.”

“But she’ll be lonely.” There was such aching sadness in Ricki’s voice.

“Oh, that is no problem. I have a perfect solution,” Angel said.

“You do?” Les, Ricki, and Molly practically spoke in unison. Meanwhile, the Purly Girls were knitting like a bunch of Madame Defarges at a public execution.

“Of course,” Angel said. “I will babysit Muffin.”

Ricki’s gaze bounced from Angel to Muffin and back again. She burst into tears. And before anyone could say another word, she ran right out of the yarn shop. Molly was impressed by how fast Ricki could move on those spike heels.

But that wasn’t nearly as impressive as the way Les took off after her.

“And so it begins,” Miriam said.

“What begins?” Angel asked, turning toward Miriam.

Miriam gave him a long, assessing look from behind her rhinestone-studded trifocals. “Your love affair with Muffin,” she said.

Luanne giggled like a schoolgirl, but Angel seemed not at all perturbed as he stroked the head of the little, useless dog. “I have wanted a dog for a long time. Alas, Rodrigo is not a dog person.”

Miriam regarded him soberly. “And that should tell you something right there, young man.”

Whatever comeback Angel was about to give Miriam was cut short by Simon’s arrival. He burst through the door, making the little bell jangle like an alarm. His brow was folded into a scowl, his dark eyes looked bright and angry, and his jaw had a hard-as-steel look to it.

“Molly,” he said, “I need you.”

Miriam giggled at this sudden display of alpha-male behavior.

“For what?” Molly asked.

He glanced at his mother and then back. “I need you to come with me right this minute.” He turned toward Angel. “Take care of Mother.”

And with that he locked his long, masculine fingers around Molly’s arm and started to pull her toward the door.

“Stop that man,” Charlotte said, standing up. “He’s a molester and a thief.” She shook her finger at Simon, and for a fleeting instant Molly saw the hurt in Simon’s eyes.

“Mrs. Wolfe, it’s okay,” Angel said, stepping between mother and son. “It’s just a fight between Molly and her boyfriend.”

Miriam giggled again, and Molly tried to pull away.
But Simon put the kibosh on all her attempts at escape. He had some really powerful hands.

“Molly,” Charlotte cried, “don’t go with that man. He’s no good for you. You can see that, can’t you? I mean, look at all that hair. Your father would never approve of a man with hair that long.”

Which, actually was sort of true. Even so, Molly was tempted to tell Charlotte to put a sock in it for what she’d just said. Since when did she require Coach’s approval—for anything? And then she realized she didn’t need Coach’s approval because Simon wasn’t her boyfriend. Which was a good thing, wasn’t it?

“Don’t be difficult,” Simon whispered. “I’ll tell you what’s going on when we get outside. There are too many gossips in this room.” He cast his gaze toward Angel and then back to Molly.

“I’ll be back in time for tonight’s knitting class,” she said to the Purly Girls, who looked as if they hadn’t seen this much excitement in years.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Miriam said.

S
imon didn’t want to drag Molly to the sidewalk. He didn’t want to argue with her either. His argument with Uncle Ryan was already one argument too many. But when people started behaving like idiots, sometimes a man just had to act. Otherwise the anger could eat right through him, like acid.

“Stop being difficult,” he said. “I’m here to help you.”

He loosened his grip on her arm, and she pulled away. His hand felt empty the moment she escaped.

She whirled on him. “I don’t like being manhandled.”

“Sorry. But what we’re about to do requires stealth.”

“You call manhandling me out of my shop stealthy?”

“No. But explaining why I need you out here would have been stupid. The biggest gossips in Last Chance are in your shop right at this moment. I didn’t want to discuss my plans in front of them. We’re about to commit grand theft. Sort of.”

“What?”

He turned and headed down the sidewalk toward Bill’s Grease Pit. “Do you want your Shelby back or not?”

“Are we going to break into Wolfe Ford?” Her voice carried, and half a dozen pedestrians on Palmetto Avenue turned to stare.

“Keep your voice down,” Simon whispered. “And don’t act suspicious.”

“Right. But what exactly are you talking about?”

“My uncle Ryan is an a-hole. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“Well, I’m glad you and I agree on something,” Molly said.

“Why didn’t you tell me Uncle Ryan was trying to steal your car?”

“I told you days ago that the car didn’t belong to the dealership.”

“I know. But you didn’t say one word to me about how Ryan had locked it up and was insisting that it belonged to the dealership in payment of rent due. That’s just ridiculous. I talked to Les and Bubba, and they both confirmed that Daddy wasn’t interested in charging you rent for that garage space.”

“Oh, is that the excuse Ryan used for hanging on to the car? He stonewalled me when I spoke to him about it. He pretended my bill of sale wasn’t good and that I would need to go get a lawyer.”

“You should have told me.”

“I didn’t think you would give a darn, to be honest. I thought you were just in a big, hot hurry to get back to Paradise.”

He stopped and looked down at her. Her eyes were as amazing as her hair. Their color was so unique and changeable. He wanted to get lost in that look she was giving him. And suddenly all the rage disappeared, replaced
by the simple need to make things right for her. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I can be very aloof. It’s just my way of staying out of arguments.”

“But you’re getting into the middle of this one?”

He nodded. “Yes. I am. We’re going to get your car, right now. I don’t like bullies.”

“But—”

“Hush, we can’t talk here.”

Molly struggled to keep up with Simon as he strode down Palmetto Avenue toward Bill’s Grease Pit, where Bubba Lockheart was waiting in the parking lot, leaning up against the flatbed truck, idly tossing and catching the keys.

“Hey, Molly, I’m real sorry about what LeRoy did. That was low, in my opinion, even if Les is a great mechanic.”

“It’s okay,” she muttered.

“Well, no, it’s not, which is why I told Simon that I’d be happy to help you liberate the Shelby. Anything for Coach’s daughter, right, Simon?”

“Absolutely.” Simon gave Molly an I’m-up-to-no-good, devilish kind of smile that didn’t show any teeth. This time it made her feel light-headed, but maybe it was just the excitement of finally doing something about the car situation.

Or maybe it was the fact that Simon was drop-dead gorgeous. And his take-charge attitude was sexy. Especially since he’d dressed for a car heist in skinny black jeans, a black T-shirt, and a pair of boots that had been polished to within an inch of their lives.

He looked bad. All he needed to complete the outfit would have been one of those Celtic-motif tats around his upper arm. Sadly, he appeared to be tattoo-free.

“Hey guys,” Bubba said, “I have a question. The dealership is all locked up. How are we going to get in? I’m not down with breaking windows or anything like that.”

Simon reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a shiny brass key. “We’ll use this. It’s way more civilized than breaking and entering.”

“You have a key?”

“I reckon I do.”

“How did you get that?” she asked.

“I told my uncle’s secretary, Miz Linnette, that Mother and I were heartbroken about not having Daddy’s football memorabilia—you know all those team photos he’d hung all over the dealership. Not to mention the game ball from the 1990 championship season. Miz Linnette may work for my uncle, but I reckon she’s just about the biggest Rebels booster there is, now that Daddy’s passed. I promised her the autographed team photo.”