Twice in a Blue Moon (7 page)

As he always did, when the window on the world opened, Barney stuck out his head. She smiled at his look of bliss, sniffing the air, wind puffing out his lips and pulling back his ears. As they wheeled through town, people turned to stare.

Thanks to the internet, she knew the only place for what she wanted was Coast Hardware, on the way to the town of Solvang. She snagged a parking place in front and helped Barney out.

Tied to a bike rack in front of the store was the ugliest bulldog she'd ever seen. Mostly white, but with the pink of his skin showing through. A pink scar zigzagged down his back. He sat, tongue lolling, drooling on the sidewalk. Though the dog looked as though he were smiling, she approached with caution. Barney's tail moved in a slow, “hello, I think” wave.

The dog stood on stumpy muscular legs, his butt wiggling in glee.

Barney walked up and gave him a sniff. The bulldog licked his face and flopped on his side, exposing his belly. Barney sat looking like an old man trying to figure out what to make of this damp, happy thing.

“You two play nice. I'll be back in a bit, Barn.” She tied the leash around the bike rack and, with a last look over her shoulder, walked through the door.

She hadn't seen a store like this since she'd left Humboldt County. A small-town operation, they carried a variety of products, catering to tourists up front, selling postcards, beach balls and souvenirs. She wandered the aisles, just in case...

Pay dirt. Tucked between the pool blow-up toys and the beach towels was a stack of yoga mats. She gathered each and every one in her arms. They weren't heavy, but they were awkward. Deciding not to backtrack for a cart, she waddled to the home section.

She turned a corner while looking at the signage overhead and ran into a body. “Oof.”

A strong hand gripped her elbow. “Hang on there, Miss. You all right?”

She looked around the mats to a man in jeans, a T-shirt and a black carpenter's apron. The plastic pin on his shirt read, “I'm Tim. How can I help you today?”

“Here, give me those. I'll get you a cart.” He took the mats from her and laid them on the cement floor. Then he was gone, jogging down the aisle before she could protest, returning a few seconds later with a shopping cart. “Here you go, Miss.” He lifted and dropped the ungainly mats in.

“Thanks. I should have done that from the beginning.”

Blue eyes in a tanned face sparkled as he looked her over. “I'm here to help in any way I can.”

Somehow, she didn't think he was referring to her hardware needs. She dropped her smile. “Could you just tell me where I'd find mirror tiles?”

“I can do better than that. I'll take you there.” She followed him to the end of the tile aisle.

“We have the gold-veined variety, or plain, in several sizes. Which were you looking for?”

“Plain.”

“You didn't look like a seventies kind of lady to me.”

She scanned the boxes, avoiding his smile and his invitation to flirt. “What are the largest squares you have?”

“Twelve-by-twelve.”

She sighed. It would take forever to mirror the entire wall in her new yoga room that way.

“What are you using them for?” He must have caught her hint, because his voice was all business.

“I'm mirroring a long wall.”

“In that case, I suggest mirror sheets. Much easier to install, and they look more modern, too.”

He took her around the corner to show her a display bathroom with the sheets installed. They looked like a silver mosaic up close, but if she backed up, she could see herself in them. If you weren't happy with what you saw in the mirror, with a shift of focus, you'd disappear. These would be wonderful. “But they're expensive, aren't they?”

He pointed to a roll on the pallet rack below the display. “Actually, they're cheaper than the tiles. It's easier to manufacture and transport these.”

“Great! I'll need to work out how many I need.”

“And I'll need to check stock. Come with me.” He led her to a desk with a computer and held out a chair for her. “How large is the wall?”

He sat in the other chair, grabbed a calculator and did the math. The total he came up with was less than she'd feared—and they had them in stock. She handed over her credit card. The expense for the spa side of the business would come out of her meager personal account. It seemed important that she be able to track the profit that her knowledge brought to the winery.

“Do you want them delivered?”

She bit her lip. No way seven rolls would fit in her Audi. “I'm afraid you'll have to.” She recited the address of the winery for his records.

He pulled a business card from his carpenter apron and wrote on the back. “I'm Tim Benton, manager of the store. That's my cell number.” He handed it over. “We'll get this out to you by noon tomorrow. But you let me know if there's anything else I can do for you.” He had laugh lines at the corner of his eyes when he smiled.

She took the card and stood. “Thank you. You've been very helpful.”

Wheeling the cart to the front of the store, she realized she was no longer a normal woman. Yes, she was still mourning Harry, but it was more than that. It wasn't only that she had no interest in sex; she had no interest in the opposite sex. She couldn't imagine ever dating, much less... As if Harry had taken all that with him when he left her.

But that was okay. She'd had
everything
for four years. More love, intimacy and companionship than many women had in an entire lifetime.

She returned the cart from where Tim had gotten it and gathered the yoga mats.

It was only selfishness that made her want it back—want Harry back. A lonely wind whipped through her chest, sucking it hollow.

She wrestled her way through the door to find Barney alone and forlorn on the sidewalk. She stashed the mats in the trunk of the car and strode back to liberate her dog. “Come on, Barn, we have no time for the lonelies. We're on a mission.”

CHAPTER SIX

D
ANOVAN
PUSHED
HIS
cart past the iceberg lettuce to the fresh portobello mushrooms. The only so-called food in his cupboards came in cans, and the fridge was worse: a box of baking soda, a tub of margarine and a lone egg. He'd been on his way to talk to Indigo when he noticed her car gone, so he'd decided to get this chore out of the way. He'd be up late working, and he couldn't survive much longer without real food.

He unrolled a plastic bag and put two perfect mushrooms in.
Maybe some fresh basil—

“Well, look what crawled into the light. I'll just grab some of that roach spray in aisle five.”

The familiar voice made its usual nails-on-a-blackboard screech across his brain. His neck burned. “Go away, Roxy.”

He didn't turn. He didn't need to see the roof-of-the-mouth
tsk
of irritation or the hair flip that always followed.

“I'm not surprised you can't face me. Frankly, I'm amazed you have the balls to show your face in public. Hasn't anyone stoned you yet?”

The heat climbed to his ears. He froze his shoulders to keep them from doing the same. “I believe being stoned is
your
specialty.” He pushed the cart to the broccoli, hoping she'd totter off.

“I mean, decent society usually shuns men who murder babies, don't they?”

Fury shot from the chained box in his chest. It surged through him, a red-hot fountain of lava. He spun and spit out his next words. “Don't. You. Dare.”

Startled, she shrank back a step, whipping her head of black witch's hair right and left to make sure they weren't alone. Seeing other shoppers, the fear fled her foxy face, replaced by a twist of malice. She leaned in. “Lissette never loved you, you know. She used you for sex. And I'll bet you're not even good at—”

She stopped with a squeak when he leaned in, only a breath away from the skin of her face. The words came out hot, squeezing past the molten fury in his throat. “You are a spider, sucking the goodness out of people. When you're done feeding, you cut the husk out of your web and move on to the next victim.” He forced his fingers to release her arm. “Get away from me. You're not worth it.”

He wrapped his fists around the basket handle to give them something to squeeze besides her neck. Walking away, he thanked God she had enough self-preservation instinct not to follow.

He'd never liked Lissette's party-girl BFF. The feeling became mutual when he'd turned down Roxy's under-the-table advances. In the beginning, Roxy was an infrequent visitor—only around when Lissette wanted a dance on the wild side. But like a wasting disease, she soon took larger and larger chunks of Lissette's naïveté until, at the end, his ex-wife had more in common with Roxy than with Danovan. And things went downhill from there.

The fury had burned through his thick layer of insulation, baring his own truth.

He'd taken Lissette's innocence first.

* * *

“C
OME
ON
, B
ARNEY
, almost done. Next stop is lunch, I promise.”

With a sigh, Barney stood and plodded out of the shade.

She'd asked almost every business on Hollister to put her flyer in their window. The drugstore ahead was the last. Hopefully the eye-snagging lime-green advertisements would get the word out that Widow's Grove would soon have a yoga spa because her personal checking account was evaporating like a puddle on desert sand.

When they reached the blond brick of Hollister Drugs, she tied Barney's leash to the trunk of a small tree sheltering the sidewalk and walked to the door. The buildings downtown blocked the spring breeze and the blazing sun had raised the temperature to summertime levels. She stepped in, grateful for the air-conditioning that bathed her warm face. The smell of grilling meat from the old-fashioned soda fountain to her left pulled her feet that way. Her mouth watered, and her stomach ground out an SOS.

The lunchtime crowd was long gone. Only one couple shared a milkshake at a tiny wrought iron table in the sea of black-and-white checkerboard tile. Her heart swelled, ponderous with sadness. She turned away from the familiar ghosts, stepped to the bar and perched on the red vinyl stool.

The soda jerk stood polishing a glass, snapping her gum like machine-gun fire. She wore a pink '60s throwback A-line dress, a white frilled apron and a pink pillbox cap perched on flamingo-pink shoulder-length hair. The rims of both ears were encrusted with stud earrings, and her lipstick and short nails were both painted black. She looked like the love child of Joanie from
Happy Days
and Marilyn Manson.

“Hi. Do you have a menu I could look at?”

Snap, snap.
The girl rolled her eyes to a menu board on the wall and kept polishing.

“Okay, great. But first, could I have some water for my dog?” She pointed out the window, where Barney watched her, looking worried she'd forget his burger.

The girl put down the glass. “I think that dog needs a few Xanax. He's got serious depression issues.”

Indigo smiled at him and held up a finger.
Hang on, Barn.
“It's nothing that a hamburger patty won't fix.”

The girl reached under the counter and pulled out a Styrofoam to-go box, filled it with water and handed it over.
Snap, snap, snap.

“Thank you.” Indigo glanced at the board. “Could I also have a plain hamburger patty for Barney, and I'll take...” She scanned the menu board.
Salad. Or maybe a BLT.
“A strawberry milkshake.” She slid off the stool to take the water outside.

How often did you get a milkshake made the old fashioned way, with whole milk, full-leaded ice cream and fresh strawberries?
Tomorrow. I'll start eating better tomorrow.

When she returned, she sat, mouth watering, relishing the sound of the mixer whirling in the metal cup. When it stopped, she asked, “Could I have it to go?”

Snap, snap, snap, snap.
“Sure.”

“Is it okay if I leave a flyer in your window?”

“Depends. What of?” She poured the lumpy pink heaven into a huge cup. “I wanted to put up a poster once, for a battle of the bands between Bullets and The Mangy Sherpas for Valentine's Day. Boss didn't like it.”
Snap, snap.
She flipped Barney's burger.

“Hard to imagine why.”

“I know, right?” The girl set the milkshake in front of her and started to move away.

“Don't even think of taking away that silver thingy.” Indigo pointed to the stainless container in the girl's other hand. “That's the best part.”

A zirconia flashed when she smiled. “I think so too.” She set down the container and took Barney's hamburger off the grill, dumping it into another Styrofoam box. “Oh, hey, Priss.”

Indigo looked up to see a young woman with black, spiky hair and a widow's peak walking to the counter, holding a baby swaddled in a pink blanket.

“Hi, Sin.”

The flamingo-haired girl held out her arms. “You're not leaving without me drooling over the princess.” She made “come on” motions with her fingers. “Hand over the goods.”

Priss smiled and carefully passed her armload to Sin. “Watch it. The princess just ate. She's likely to burp all over you.” She turned to Indigo. “Oh, sorry, you're eating.”

“No worries. Nothing could ruin this.” Indigo upended the icy metal container, relishing the chunks of strawberry at the very bottom.

Snap, snap.
“Hey, Priss, this lady wants to leave a flyer in the window. Okay with you?” The odd girl shifted from foot to foot, cooing to the baby, “Olivia, queen of Bolivia.”

Priss's delicate black eyebrows came together. “What of?”

Indigo licked her lips and extended a flyer. “I'm Indigo, owner of The Tippling Widow Winery. We're now offering yoga classes, aromatherapy and massage. I'm trying to get the word out.”

Priss took the flyer and looked it over. “Yoga, huh? That may be just what I need to get rid of the baby fat.”

Indigo didn't see any fat on the woman's powerfully built frame but nodded anyway.

“Sure, you can put it in the window.” She handed the flyer back. “I may check it out myself. Now, hand over your goddaughter, Sin. We've gotta get to the bar.”

Snap.
“You're
not
taking her to the bar.”

At the look of outraged impropriety on Sin's face, Indigo hid her smile in her milkshake.

Priss held her arms out for the baby. “Oh, don't look at me like that. The regulars just want to see her.”

Sin looked the baby in the eye. “Just remember, Princess, sometimes people are a lesson in what
not
to do.” She handed the baby over.

Indigo slapped a ten and a five on the counter and picked up her shake and Barn's burger. “Thanks for letting me leave the flyer.”

“No problem.” Priss settled her bundle in her arms. “You know, you look familiar, but I can't place...”

Indigo ducked her head. “I hear that all the time. I just have one of those faces, you know?” Sliding off the seat, she nodded to Sin. “Girl, you make a mean milkshake.”

The sun had almost touched the horizon by the time she arrived at the winery. She had the choice of lugging the mats all the way through the production facility or taking the short route, through the front door. She pulled into the parking lot, “should do” warring with “I don't wanna” in her mind. Was she really worried about the opinion of an employee? No. But she didn't want another confrontation, either. Sondra would fit right in with the harpies of Hollywood.

I refuse to allow her attitude to influence my actions.
Indigo pulled into a slot right up front. She had her pick; the lot was empty, save the employees' cars.

Stepping out, she helped Barney down, then pulled the mats from the backseat. “Come on, Barn. We
own
this place.” Slamming the door with her hip, she walked as fast as her bulky armload would allow.

Chin high, she strode into the tasting room.

Becky looked up from counting the till. “Oh, let me help you with those.” The quarters clattered back into the cash box.

Indigo shook her head. “Thanks, but I've got it. You do your thing.” She should have asked how the day's receipts looked, but she didn't feel that strong. She'd find out soon enough, anyway.

Natalie and Sondra stood behind the bar, straightening stock.

Indigo forced her feet to stop halfway to the door to the manager's quarters and the haven of her office. “Is everything okay here?” She used her owner's voice.

Sondra stared. “Why wouldn't it be? I think we're capable of handling eight customers a day.”

She felt herself flush. “Good. Carry on.” Why could this woman make her feel like a complete zero with a single sentence? Just as she was trying to work out how she'd wrestle the door open with no hands, it opened.

Danovan's eyebrows shot up. “Hey! I was just looking for you.” He held the door with his hip and took the mats.

“Thanks. They're not heavy, just awkward.”

Barney trotted to Danovan and sat at his feet. Tail whipping, he sniffed Danovan's jeans.

Danovan looked around his armload. “Come on, move, dog.”

“He's missing his—” Face flaming, she grabbed Barney's collar and dragged him back. “He's always liked men best.”

“Where do you want these?” His voice was soft as the sympathy in his eyes.

She let go of Barney's collar and followed Danovan down the hall. “Just dump them in my studio.”

He tossed a look over his shoulder. “Where is that?”

“The old junk room.” She scooted by to open the door for him.

He carried the mats in and laid them by the door. “Do you want to go over the budget now? I have the numbers ready.”

She swallowed the angst, bitter on the back of her tongue. “Let's do it.” After all, they might be better than she feared.

They weren't.

Two hours later, Indigo put her face in her hands, her brain feeling as crispy as overdone bacon. “There has to be money for marketing. If there's no marketing, there's no sales increase. If we don't increase sales, we're going down.”

Buck up, chickie.
She forced her shoulders back, dropped her hands in her lap and glanced out the darkened window of her office.
Failure is not an option.
“We'll have to go over it again.”

“Why don't you just lend the business some money? It would only be a short-term loan. Once we get things cranking and the sales up—”

“This business
will
stand on its own.” Her voice was as hard as the untilled dirt in the vineyard.

He ran his fingers through his rumpled hair. “Okay. But we've been over it three times already, and I'm telling you, there's no fat in this budget. As it is, if we get mold or a bad insect infestation, we'll have to find money for chemicals. Somehow.”

“There has to be a way.” She rolled the mouse down the spreadsheet on her laptop. “Let's look at the biggest expenses first. Labor—”

“We've already cut it once. No way The Widow can survive on less.”

Sondra.
If they let her go, it would solve two problems. Lower expenses, and improve morale—Indigo's, anyway. Sondra seemed to get along famously with everyone else. She opened her mouth to suggest getting rid of Sondra, then closed it. If they got busy, Natalie couldn't handle the tasting room solo, and Becky didn't have the knowledge any more than Indigo herself did.

Hell, I'm the only expendable employee. I'd fire myself, but I'm not collecting a salary.
Her tired brain finally spit out an answer. The only answer. “I've got it.”

Danovan looked up from his printout. “If you're going to suggest getting rid of Sondra—”