Tumbleweed Weddings (13 page)

Callie raised her eyebrows. “Did Bruce sign it?”

Aggie sobered. “Well, no. But he did agree to a meeting with the citizens. After all, his reelection is coming up in November. He has to consider the popular vote.” She brushed her fingers against her hair. Today it was back to pink and looked like spun cotton candy. “I’m so excited! We have a date.”

“You and Bruce?”

“No, no!” Aggie cackled out a laugh. “As if he would want to date an old hen like me.” Her smile faded. “A date for the meeting, girl, held at the Elks lodge on Saturday, August 30, seven o’clock.” She tapped a red-manicured fingernail on the desk. “Write it down, sugar. We’ll beat the pants off those old councilmen!”

“Really, Aggie.” Callie tried to hide her smile but didn’t quite succeed. “So we need all those signatures by the thirtieth?”

“Oh, I’ll have them long before then. Why, that’s two weeks away. Plenty of time.” She placed the clipboard in front of Callie. “And I need to get your John Hancock, Miss Callie Brandt. Sign right here.” She pointed to the next available line.

After Callie wrote her name and address, Aggie picked up the clipboard. “By the way, sugar, did you see that article by Herb Dreyfuss this morning?”

“Yep. Looks like we have a political machine right here in Fort Lob.”

“I know!” Aggie knit her brows together. “Ya’ll don’t think Herbert Dreyfuss snuck into our protest meeting, do ya?”

“Well … I don’t think so.”

Aggie brayed out a laugh. “Just kidding.” She glanced around. “Think I’ll take a little traipse through the library and have everyone sign up.” She ambled into the conservatory and soon struck up a conversation with Mrs. Anderson.

Shaking her head, Callie pulled out a reserved book. That Aggie was a real character. But … could she be right? Was Herbert Dreyfuss actually at the meeting Tuesday night?

Callie sank down on the stool. First the Yellowstone article—after Lane had checked out all those books about Yellowstone. Then the one about New York, Tammany Hall, and the political machine—after he had checked out books on those subjects. And he
did
have an uncle Herb.

But that must be a true coincidence. His uncle had been dead for seven years. However, a rumor had circulated a few years ago that Herbert Dreyfuss was dead. Everyone thought it was speculation, and Callie herself had never believed it.

Maybe Lane was Herbert Dreyfuss’s agent. Yes—a
book
agent. That must be the type of agent he was. And perhaps … perhaps Lane did the man’s research for him.

“That’s it!” She jumped up from the stool just as two teen girls walked by the desk. She smiled at them sheepishly before looking again at the reserved books.

Probably Lane looked through dozens of books for each article, found good material, then called Dreyfuss and talked it over with him. Maybe he e-mailed him through the Wi-Fi at the Trailblazer Café. She once saw Lane at a table in there with a laptop sitting in front of him.

With a smile, Callie nodded. She’d figured it out. And she felt 100 percent better knowing Lane’s secret.

A week later, Aggie breezed into the library. Callie stood at the checkout desk beside Miss Penwell, who had just arrived.

“We did it!” Aggie laid down the clipboard, stuffed with a sheaf of messy papers. “Girls, we have collected enough signatures. I am so excited I could scream!”

Miss Penwell pursed her lips. “Please don’t do it here, Agatha. Take your screams elsewhere.”

“Oh, Lucille!” Aggie cackled out a laugh. “Ya’ll are a riot! I’m gonna drive out to Bruce MacKinnon’s ranch and throw this petition in his lap. Why, practically the whole town signed the thing!”

Callie folded her arms on the desk. “I sure hope it saves our library.”

“It won’t.” Miss Penwell turned to the computer. “This building will be gone before you know it.”

A cloud of depression settled over Callie. Miss Penwell was right. The library was history, and so was Callie’s relationship with Lane Hutchins. She had tried to call his apartment several times in the past four days, but there was no answer. Finally, in desperation, she had called Mrs. Wimple who informed her that Lane was out of town. He said he wouldn’t be back until the end of the month.

She couldn’t believe how much she missed him.

But Aggie had no such reason to dampen her spirits. “Now, Lucille, don’t be such a wet blanket. I think this petition will do a world of good. And don’t forget that Bruce agreed to a meeting on the thirtieth. That’s only eight days away.”

Miss Penwell glanced at Aggie before looking back at the computer. “Bruce may well be impressed with the number of signatures you’ve collected, Agatha, but some of the other men on the council won’t be swayed. They have no use for Fort Lob’s history. They would tear down every old building in this town if they could.”

Aggie patted Miss Penwell’s hand. “That’s not true, hon. Besides, some of them are up for reelection this year, and they’ll probably agree to give it time. At least they’ll fix the electrical or something. I think—”

“You don’t know the councilmen like I do.” Miss Penwell wagged her finger at Aggie. “These old buildings are expensive to maintain, and they don’t want to spend the town’s money. They’d rather put it in their pockets.”

“But, Lucille—”

“Do you know what kind of books Vern, Ralph, and some of those other men check out? They’re all about finance and investing and making money. That’s all they care about.”

Aggie sighed, her good mood seeming to deflate for the first time. “I guess some of them men are greedy, Lucille, but that don’t mean we can’t persuade them to see our side.” She tapped the papers on the clipboard, her voice lifting with each word. “Look at all these signatures! Why, when the men see all these names representing people—the people of our town—who want to save our library, the idea will take wings and fly.”

“It will never get off the ground.” Miss Penwell pursed her lips.

Aggie ignored her. “Callie, hon, why don’t you go with me to see Bruce? He likes you, and maybe you can add your two cents. Ya’ll can represent the younger crowd.” She turned to Miss Penwell. “That okay, Lucille? You won’t need Callie for a few minutes, will ya, sugar?”

Callie looked at Miss Penwell, knowing
that
petition would never fly.

The older librarian adjusted her wire rims. “Well—”

“Oh, you’re such a sweetie!” Aggie leaned over and gave Miss Penwell a quick hug. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Callie hung on for dear life as Aggie’s open Jeep bounced over the dirt road to Bruce’s ranch, which was four miles southwest of town. Even though Aggie hit every pothole in the road, she managed to talk the entire time she was driving. Callie kept her mouth tightly shut, hoping to keep the dust and bugs out. When they finally pulled up in front of Bruce’s two-story farmhouse, she prayed she wouldn’t look as disheveled as she felt.

Aggie parked the Jeep in front of the porch.

Callie got out, hot and covered with a thin layer of dust. She couldn’t wait to get into Bruce’s air-conditioned house.

“Oh, look at these roses!” With her clipboard, Aggie pointed to the red flowers growing profusely on trellises beside the porch. “How Bruce can keep his roses growing like that in August, I’ll never know.”

They ascended the steps to the front door. Before Aggie could knock, Bruce opened the screen door for them. “Come on in. I heard through the grapevine that you’d collected enough signatures, Aggie.” His
r
‘s rolled with the lilt of his voice. “Thought you might be over today.”

“Now isn’t this the most gossipy town ever? I only told one or two people.” Aggie walked past him into the house. “Maybe three.”

Callie smiled when Bruce winked at her.

Aggie took a large blue easy chair in the living room. “I brought Callie with me to represent the younger set, Bruce.” She dropped her voice and nodded at Callie. “Now ya’ll be sure to jump into the conversation, sugar.”

Thankful for the cooler air, Callie took a seat on the comfortable blue-and-white-plaid sofa. “Well, I—”

“Oh, Bruce.” Aggie glanced around. “Every time I come to your house, I’m impressed all over again! I just love the way ya’ll decorate.”

“Why, thank you, Aggie.” Bruce handed her a glass. “Iced tea? I remember that you like plenty of sugar.”

“Oh, ya’ll are just the sweetest thing!” Aggie smiled up at him as she took the glass.

Callie stared at Aggie’s face.
She really likes him!
Callie had never thought of old Agatha Collingsworth falling in love with someone. But this was too funny—a down-home, overweight Texas gal falling for a sophisticated and staid Scotsman. Aggie had mentioned that Bruce wouldn’t want to date an old hen like her. Evidently she had no hope for a relationship with him.
Just like me with Lane
.

Callie thanked Bruce for the glass he handed her, grateful for something cold. Taking a sip, she glanced around. She had always loved his spacious home. Instead of carpet, the highly polished wood floor was partially covered with a large, braided blue rug. A nautical theme, in blue and white, dominated the room with lighthouses on the fireplace mantel and a ship’s wheel attached to the white-paneled wall.

Aggie talked on about nothing while Bruce took a seat in a wooden rocking chair. After ten minutes of her blabber, he glanced at his watch. “Don’t you have a petition to give me?”

“Oh, land’s sake! Course I do!” She plucked the clipboard from her lap and thrust it at him. “Now don’t forget about our meeting at the Elks lodge. Just one week away, Bruce.”

“Yes.” He glanced through the sheaf of papers. “I plan to call some of these petitioners—random calls, of course—to make sure they signed willingly.” He looked at Aggie. “I’m simply satisfying my curiosity. Did all of these people sign the petition because they want to keep the library open, or did you talk them into it?”

“Well, in all my days!” Aggie sputtered the words out. “Everyone who signed that thing wants it open, and some were stubborn as a mule about it.” She glared at Bruce. “Ya’ll on the council do not give a hoot for the pulse of Fort Lob. Only twelve people in the whole town refused to sign, and most of them were councilmen!”

Callie glanced between the two. So much for falling in love! She cleared her throat. “Uh, Bruce, I have a question. If the council does decide to keep the library open, will they demolish the mansion and build a new building?”

“No, I believe we’ll try to renovate the Dorsey-Smythe house.”

“Oh good.” Callie let out a relieved sigh. “I’ve always loved that old place. It has so much history in it, and I would hate to see it torn down.”

Bruce grunted his agreement. “But some of the council members don’t see eye to eye on restoring the mansion. They don’t value our town’s history.”

“Like that Vern Snyder!” Aggie folded her arms. “He certainly has a mind of his own.”

Bruce smiled. “Like a number of our citizens, Aggie. But you realize, of course, that in renovating the property, we will be forced to increase local taxes.”

“So what’s a few more bucks? It’s like that nice young fella, Lane Hutchins, said. The Dorsey-Smythe is one of the best libraries in the country with a great collection of Wyoming books.” Aggie glanced at Callie. “Remember when Lucille went on that spending spree to get all them books?” Barely waiting for a nod, she turned back to Bruce. “And did ya’ll see the column by Herb Dreyfuss in this morning’s paper? ‘The Influence of Libraries in America.’ You’d think old Herbert knew what our citizens have been going through.”

Bruce nodded. “I read it. In fact, it convinced me to be more open about keeping a library right here in our town. Our children and young people need it.” He looked at Callie. “And I suppose you want to keep your job.”

“I certainly do!” Callie smiled, but her smile was for Herbert Dreyfuss.

I
t was good to be back.

Lane rode his Harley down Main Street and turned in at the Stables parking lot. The sun was high overhead, warming the air to ninety-seven degrees. He had removed his helmet as soon as he left the interstate, and he enjoyed the warm wind hitting his sunglasses and whipping through his hair.