The Red Hat Society's Domestic Goddess (22 page)

As usual, Kim was helping Mr. Lindstrom, shouting out instructions above the droning of all the machines. His hearing aid
screeched, either from the racket or her yelling. Then as he pushed the cleaner, the cat jumped out of the basket into the
path of the vacuum’s head. Before it could move, Mr. Lindstrom sucked up its tail. Its yowl curled Millie’s toes.

Kim reacted fast, pulling the cord on the vacuum to cut off its power supply. Millie rushed to help her friend but hesitated
reaching for the hissing animal. It slashed its claws across Kim’s hand, drawing blood, but she quickly freed its tail. “I’m
sorry, Millie, but I have to leave. I need to bring it home,” she said.

“I understand.” The cat mattered to Kim. Despite all her protests to the contrary, she’d become attached to it.

“I didn’t see it,” Mr. Lindstrom said. “It came out of nowhere. Did I hurt the poor thing?”

Millie patted his thin arm. “It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Lindstrom.” But at least they knew he could pick up cat hair. “We’ll
move on to emptying the bag or bagless canister on your cleaners and some general maintenance, like replacing belts.” She
imagined Mr. Lindstrom’s machine would need a new one after sucking up a cat.

Since there was no cooking, the class was a short one. In addition to vacuuming, they covered mopping. Although these were
probably Millie’s least favorite
housekeeping duties, her class seemed to enjoy them, judging by their laughter.

“Will your friend’s cat be okay?” Brigitte asked Millie as the class wrapped up.

Millie nodded. “Kim will take care of it. Don’t worry. So what did you think of the class?”

“It was fun. I really like hanging out with Dad and Uncle Mitchell. And Victoria’s funny. So is Mr. Moelker.”

“Good.”

“But the best part is you, Grandma,” Brigitte said, giving Millie a quick hug. “You make cleaning fun. You’re pretty cool.”

Cool was not old-fashioned at all. Millie loved it.

“So do you need me to drop you home?”

“I’m going to do it,” Steven said, as he walked up behind his daughter and put his arm around her thin shoulders. Either the
class or stress had dropped a few pounds off his frame, so that his belly didn’t strain at the buttons of his shirt anymore,
and his jeans were looser. “I love hanging with my best girl,” he said.

“Dad,” Brigitte protested, as if embarrassed. But her eyes were bright and she smiled. Happy. Hopeful. Like Millie, she probably
suspected that Brigitte wasn’t the only girl he wanted to hang with tonight since he was going home.

Not for good. Not yet. But Millie hoped it would happen. “What’s your brother doing?” Coming over to her house to mooch another
meal?

“He talked Victoria into going out with him,” Brigitte revealed, as if sharing a salacious secret.

But since Mitchell and Victoria walked out together, it was hardly a clandestine affair.

“It’s just coffee,” Steven said. “But still, I thought she was too smart to be taken in by his questionable charm,” he added,
shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Millie wondered if Steven didn’t live a bit vicariously through his single brother. Didn’t he see that
that
life could be lonely? Millie could tell him that. She was lonely, especially so as she watched everyone leave the community
center in pairs. Even Mr. Lindstrom had someone helping him home. But Charles wasn’t gone yet. As usual, he was helping to
pick up.

“So what do you think about Mitchell taking your niece to coffee?” she asked, figuring he’d either whoop over the success
of his matchmaking or admit he’d changed his mind about them.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he said, with a wide grin. “Want to join me for coffee?”

Millie shook her head. “If we showed up at the café, too, they’d think we’re spying on them.”

“We don’t have to go out,” he said. “Remember, I know how to make coffee. I make a pretty good cup, if I say so myself. How
about coming back to my place?”

She might have agreed, if she really believed they’d just drink coffee. But he might finally manage a kiss before someone
interrupted them. And Millie knew that was all it would take for her to change the plans she’d made.

If she were true to her plan, she wouldn’t be a domestic goddess much longer. So she had to figure out exactly
what that left her. She needed to learn that for herself, before she could begin a relationship with anyone.

“I can’t,” she begged off. “I have to start planning the next class.” She restrained a flinch over her lie. The lessons were
all planned out and carefully labeled in her binder.

Charles stared at her, his brow wrinkled as if he were trying to find the pieces to a puzzle. She had to be confusing him,
blowing hot and cold. Heck, she was confusing herself. But his returning to work had changed her plan, reminding her of the
nights when she’d waited on Bruce hand and foot when he’d come home after a long day at the office. She’d had his meal waiting,
warm in the oven; she’d even brought his slippers, not like a dog but like a dutiful wife. She didn’t resent or regret any
of those years.

He’d worked insurance; she’d worked the home. But she didn’t want to work anymore.

“Millie…”

“Charles, I’m sorry. This class is keeping me so busy.”

“It’s a success,” he praised her. “Being successful at anything takes time.”

That was what she was afraid of; he’d be spending long days at the office. She’d be just as alone with him as she was now.
“Yes,” she agreed. “You understand.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t say that. Maybe next time?”

Millie nodded. Maybe by then she would have figured out exactly what she wanted.

The travel, the cruises, or Charles.

Chapter Sixteen

“I would be content being a housewife if I could find the kind of man who wouldn’t treat me like one.”

—
Terry McMillan

K
nuckles rapped against the glass of the patio door. Kim glanced up, instantly recognizing the shadow outside her walkout basement.
She gestured for George to come inside.

“Different welcome from last time,” he remarked, as he closed the door behind himself, “when you knocked me over and held
a gun on me.”

“You fell over,” she felt obliged to remind him, “and Harry’s not a real gun.”

“Where is Harry?” he asked, glancing around. “I haven’t seen him around in a while.”

“I don’t need Harry anymore,” she said. “I’ve got you.” Then realizing what she’d revealed, she sputtered, “I mean, who needs
a fake gun when you have a cop living next door with a real one—a real gun?”

He puffed out his chest, still clad in his navy blue
uniform, and faked a deeper baritone. “That’s me, I live to serve and protect.”

He might have said it as if in jest, but she knew he meant it. He was like her dad; it was the motto by which he lived.

“So serve,” she said, giving in to the worry she’d been fighting since the class.

“You, gladly. You up for my after-shift snack?”

“No, not me. I know someone with a problem.”

“And they need a cop? Are they in trouble?” he asked, instantly on duty.

Kim shook her head. “We don’t need a cop. But we could use your advice.”

“About what?”

She nodded toward the cat sitting on the floor near her yoga mat.

“Are you still trying to pawn that cat off on me?” he asked with a deep chuckle.

“No.” She could admit it, at least to herself—she didn’t want to get rid of the cat. And she didn’t want to lose it. “I think
it’s sick.”

“Sick?”

“Hurt. Maybe.”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked, bending over to look at it more closely.

“Well, Mr. Linclstrom sucked its tail into a vacuum cleaner tonight.”

“What—oh, your class. Vacuum lesson,” he surmised. “Do you think it’s broken?”

“It can move. So I don’t think so. But even before the vacuum, it was acting strange. Quiet. Hiding. I think it’s
sick. Really sick.” She waited for him to mock her, to call her on her concern for the cat.

“Put it back in that basket,” he said, pointing to Millie’s picnic basket on the floor near the cat. “I’ll change out of my
uniform and be right back.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Take the two of you to an emergency vet clinic,” he said with soothing logic.

She watched as he ducked back out the slider and into the night. As he did, her heart moved, as if to follow him. It belonged
to him now. Just that simply, she’d fallen for him. She should be mad; this was something that had happened beyond her control.

A short time later, as she sat in the car next to him, he reached across the console between them and touched her hand. The
scratch shone in the dim lights from the dash, an angry red gash. “It got you pretty good. Are you all right?”

No, she wasn’t.

“You said the cat was being quiet. It’s not the only one. You’re really worried.”

Yes, she was.

“This is a great vet.”

“You don’t have any animals,” she reminded him, wondering if the vet was someone he’d dated after his divorce.

“Not anymore. I had a dog, though.”

“Had? I take it the dog didn’t make it. Are you sure this is a good vet?” she asked a bit anxiously, as she tightened her
arms around the picnic basket on her lap.

He smiled. “Ollie died from old age,” he assured her. “Still broke my son’s heart, though.”

“Your son?” She’d thought he didn’t have any kids. She’d never seen any weekend visitors at his place.

“Yeah, he’s away at college now,” he answered her unspoken question. “Great kid. Smart, confident. Loves to work out. He’d
love you.”

“College,” she said, still trying to wrap her mind around George being a father. “What’s he going for?”

“Criminal justice. He wants to be a cop.”

“Like his old man,” she said, expecting his smile to beam with pride.

But he was frowning instead. “That’s what his mother says.”

Kim had a feeling it wasn’t a compliment. “Is she worried he’ll get hurt?”

“I’m not sure.” He sighed.

“Are you worried about him?”

“No, he’s a smart kid. He’d be a good cop. But his mother may succeed yet in talking him out of it.”

“He’s a smart kid. He’ll do what he wants,” Kim assured him.

His smile flashed again as they pulled into the brightly lit parking lot of the emergency vet. “You’re right. And now that
you’ve made me feel better about my kid, let’s see if I can make you feel better about yours.”

“This cat is not my kid,” she protested, but not too strenuously as she followed him into the clinic.

Fortunately the waiting room was empty and the assistant showed them to an examining room right away. The vet, a quiet young
man, had probably chosen animals
over people to treat because he lacked any bedside manner. But he thoroughly checked out the gray tiger.

“She’s not sick,” he said. “She’s pregnant.”

“She?”

“You didn’t know,” George laughed. “And you were raised on a farm. What will your dad say?”

“Hey, I thought it was fixed,” she defended herself.

“Well, she’s not,” the vet assured them. “She’s got quite a litter in there, too. You’re going to have a lot of kittens very
soon. I’ll get you some vitamins you can put in her food.” He rummaged through a cupboard behind his small examining table.

Great, she was going to play midwife to a feline. And she’d become what she’d always been afraid of becoming, an old maid
with a bunch of cats for company. The cat lady of Hilltop. She sighed, knowing Mrs. Ryers would have a field day with that.
But then she didn’t care what anyone else thought. She had, however, come to care about the cat.

“Fine,” she said, as she accepted the small bottle.

“You’re going to be a grandma,” George taunted her.

Grandma to a litter of cats. That was something she would have never expected, like her feelings for George. But she was going
to have to find a way to deal with both.

T
he aroma of rich coffee teased Theresa’s nose, waking her from a light sleep. She turned her head to the bedside table, where
steam wafted in spirals from a mug emblazoned with cats in Red Hats and purple scarves.

“You’re finally up, sleepy head,” Wally teased, his voice low as if wary of waking her too abruptly.

She stretched, then scooted up to rest her back against the cushioned leather headboard. “What time is it?”

“Early.”

She couldn’t stop herself from asking. “What are you doing up then?”

“Early tee-off time.”

“You’re going golfing?” He hadn’t gone in so long; she hadn’t even known whether or not he still had his clubs. She’d figured
he might have sold them with the business.

He wore a golf shirt in deep green that made his eyes bright, and khakis. He nodded. “Yes, I’m going golfing. Here, try the
coffee,” he said, handing her the mug.

She would have liked to brush her teeth first, but tempted by the rich aroma, she took a sip. “Mmmm, that is good.”

“I’m glad you like it. I tried a new blend.”

“You went shopping?”