A Very Merry Match--Includes a Bonus Novella

by Melinda Curtis

  “But then Mary Margaret will be in your back seat all alone.” Edith angled to face the evening’s hero. “You can’t steal a kiss that way.”

  Kevin chuckled.

  “Drop me off first,” Mary Margaret pleaded, grateful to be in the back seat.

  “No,” the pair in the front chorused.

  After they dropped Edith at her house, Kevin pulled up in front of Shaw’s Bar & Grill.

  “What are we doing here?” Mary Margaret’s hands were tucked between her legs. They’d just stopped trembling.

  “Earlier…back at the cookie table…I wanted to ask you something.” He turned to face her. “But there’s something about you that takes my breath away.”

  The lights in Shaw’s parking lot illuminated the dark whiskers on his sculpted chin. And wow. She could practically feel the scrape of his dark stubble across her skin as he nibbled his way around her throat to that sensitive spot below her ear.

  “I wanted to ask you out,” he continued with that seductive smile of his. “But confrontations with men in dark parking lots require nightcaps with friends.”

  “I…” Am so disappointed. Until she realized she shouldn’t be at the bar alone with him. But she didn’t want to be at home alone either. “Friends.” She latched on to the word. “I could use a drink with a friend.”

  Friends? Who was she kidding? Her heart was playing the hubba-hubba sing-along.

  “Friendship is a good place to start.” Kevin smiled, which seemed to be the key to loosening her shoulders, despite the danger any kind of relationship with Kevin might cause. “And a drink with me will have the added benefit of annoying Barb.”

  “That alone should be a reason I don’t go inside.” But Mary Margaret was already boots on the ground. She needed a bit of liquid courage if she was going to sleep alone in her bed tonight.

  They sat at the booth Mary Margaret usually occupied with her friends. The familiarity and Noah’s skimpy Charlie Brown tree decorated with sparkly red garland helped ground her. Unlike Mary Margaret, the bar owner was unapologetic about his lack of holiday spirit.

  Kevin waited until he had a beer in hand before asking the inevitable. “Who were those guys? Weren’t they at the coffee shop the other day? The truth please, since Edith isn’t around to hear.”

  Mary Margaret shrugged. She’d ordered a cheerful strawberry daiquiri. She wasn’t the cheerful strawberry daiquiri type, and Noah had given her a worried look when she’d ordered. And then she might have snapped at him to turn off the Christmas music. He’d obliged and was now playing country.

  “Oh, you know…” Mary Margaret ate the cherry off the red plastic sword in her drink. “Derek and his debts. Those guys haven’t accepted the fact that there’s a long line of creditors I’m working through.”

  They’d never accept they weren’t first in line to be paid.

  She clasped her hands beneath the table to stop them from shaking.

  “Hence the need for a second job.” Kevin nodded in understanding. “You know, I could—”

  “If you say loan me money, I’m going to walk home.” Without finishing her drink, which would be a shame, because on the eve of her widow-versary she’d forgotten how good the youthful, cheerful drink tasted.

  Kevin tsked. “I was going to say that I could ask around to see who’s hiring.” He scratched that stubble. “Have you considered tutoring? I heard the Bodine twins might not graduate high school.”

  “Very few people hire a kindergarten teacher to tutor their kids in geometry.” Ned’s offer to dance was looking like her only way out. She slurped daiquiri through her straw and then glared at Noah behind the bar. He’d gone light on the rum.

  “Okay.” Kevin’s optimism drew her attention back to him. “You could work as Santa’s assistant at the mall in Greeley, picking up babies and positioning them in Santa’s lap.”

  “Santa deserves someone with more holiday sparkle.” That wouldn’t be her this year.

  “Or you could offer to house sit someone’s ranch over the holidays. You know, feed cattle, make sure their water supply isn’t frozen.”

  Mary Margaret slurped her daiquiri too quickly. It gave her brain freeze. How appropriate. She massaged her temples. “In the scheme of odd jobs, I’ve already tried being a bull sperm collector.” Was that even a term? She rubbed her forehead. “Tried and failed. So any type of farm job is out.”

  “Ranching,” Kevin corrected.

  She blinked at him. At handsome him.

  On the one hand: Falling for the handsome, newly divorced mayor isn’t going to help me.

  On the other hand: Falling for the handsome, newly divorced mayor could be just the distraction to help me sleep tonight.

  Mary Margaret stared at the melting little squares of ice in her drink and slurped some more, avoiding temptation on the other side of the booth.

  “There aren’t any farms out here,” Kevin explained, oblivious to her fatal attraction. “We call them ranches.”

  “I knew that.” She’d been here for five years, after all. She just didn’t much care. She risked another peek at Kevin.

  He grinned.

  Mary Margaret took a steadying breath. She liked that grin. She liked it a lot.

  She liked her job a lot too. If she let that grin win her over, Barbara would see to it she was fired. Barbara was president of the school board.

  Mary Margaret slurped to the bottom of her drink and slumped against the wooden back of the booth where it was all too easy to take in Mr. Handsome and that touch-me hair.

  Mary Margaret swallowed. Anyway she looked at it, she was in trouble. “Just my luck. I never thought of you as dangerous before.”

  Kevin’s grin morphed into a killer smile, more than ready to slay her defenses.

  “I mean, you’re the mayor,” she babbled. “Super nice. Always well-groomed.” He smelled nice too. “I’ve never seen you dance a woman into the shadows at Shaw’s.” Now there was a tempting thought. “I’ve never seen you tell Barbara off either.” And boy, if anyone deserved to be put in her place, it was Barbara.

  Mary Margaret ran her fingers over the scar at the nape of her neck and frowned. Powerful people hurt little people all the time. “Please do me a favor. Don’t censure your ex around me. Barbara cuts my hair, you know.” And she’d been known to take out her slights on her customers. “Just last July, Wendy Adams made the mistake of asking Barbara why she was still wearing her wedding ring. Barbara gave Wendy a pixie cut.” The style hadn’t complemented Wendy’s face. “And growing it out…”

  Kevin chuckled.

  Mary Margaret liked his laugh. It was deep and throaty, emanating from a heartfelt, special place.

  Uh-oh. It was possible that Mary Margaret was a little tipsy off the limited rum Noah had given her.

  “No one ever told me about Wendy,” Kevin admitted with an honesty she found endearing. “I’ll give her a kind word about her hairstyle the next time I see her.”

  “I take it people don’t flat-out tell you about Barbara’s…activities.” Mary Margaret was definitely tipsy or she wouldn’t be bringing up his ex-wife quite so much.

  Kevin shook his head but his carefully neutral expression indicated they didn’t have to tell him. He knew Barbara was the town’s self-proclaimed queen bee. “Did you vote for me in the last election?”

  Good conversationalist that Mary Margaret was, she nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Because you seemed nice and my grandfather recommended you.”

  “A politician can’t really build a reputation off likability alone.” His voice lost every note of lightness. “I want people to vote for me because I make a positive difference in their lives. I want people to say, ‘That Kevin. He really turned things around.’”

  That Kevin. He was wound up tighter than a fresh spool of kite string.

  “But I can’t seem to make people realize, if we don’t make a change now, things will get worse.”

  “Does thi
s have anything to do with the proposed development by the highway?”

  He nodded. “It’s a problem for the town and my career.”

  “I could be a problem for you.” For his career, what with bullying debt collectors and a possible stint as a burlesque dancer.

  “I doubt that.” Some of his tension unwound. Some of his sex appeal returned.

  Mary Margaret tried to laugh, pressing her lips together almost immediately because she was rapidly turning into that pathetic woman who drank too much and used it as an excuse to dance between the sheets with a handsome guy she barely knew. She had no routine for this. “I can’t solve any of your problems.”

  And he couldn’t solve any of hers; more’s the pity.

  “We skipped over an important point in the conversation.” Kevin drank his beer and studied her. “Why do you think I’m dangerous?”

  “Because…” Mary Margaret cut herself short. She couldn’t tell him the truth. But she couldn’t tell him nothing either. He was only halfway through his beer, and the thought of walking home with Laurel and Hardy on the prowl chilled her in more ways than one. “Because although we’ve greeted each other before, I’ve never…” Acknowledged your hunkiness.

  Don’t say that!

  She tried again. “You’ve always been the mayor. The married mayor,” she amended.

  “And you’ve always been Mary Margaret Sneed, kindergarten teacher, and possibly good Catholic girl, seeing as how you have two first names.” He was back to teasing her.

  She sighed, liking the smiles, the flirting, the feeling that she was interesting. “I’m not Catholic. My father has his own ministry. I think he liked the idea of a daughter following Mary Magdalene’s footsteps.”

  “We all disappoint our parents at one point or another,” Kevin said cryptically. “I think your grandmother was wrong.” His gaze was warm and heated her in places that could only lead to more trouble.

  “If you think Grandma Edith was wrong about Laurel and Hardy, you’re right.” They weren’t your average door-to-door scammers.

  “No.” He shook his head. “She was wrong about us not being ready to date. I’d like to take you out to dinner sometime.”

  The air was sucked out of her lungs.

  “That’s my cue to leave.” Mary Margaret gathered her jacket and purse. “Finish your beer. I can walk home.”

  He made no move to get up or make a scene, not that there was anyone but Noah in the bar to witness it. “You’ll go out with me.”

  “You’re wrong there.” It took her three times to find the armhole of her jacket.

  “I don’t think so.” She really wished he wouldn’t flash that grin. “I have a feeling you’re attracted to danger.”

  “Sinner!” Her father drew back his fist to strike.

  “This is as much danger as this girl can take.” Mary Margaret didn’t bother fastening her coat. “I’ve learned the hard way that a walk on the wild side isn’t worth it in the long run.”

  Chapter Six

  Edith shimmied happily into the Saddle Horn the next morning for breakfast and coffee, singing to the radio in the kitchen. “I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus.”

  Kisses. How appropriate.

  There were men on the horizon for both herself and her granddaughter. Last night, David had sent her a good night text, and Kevin had driven Mary Margaret home.

  “Why are you singing and dancing?” Mims grumped when she saw Edith boogying toward the corner booth where the Widows Club board sat. She wore a frumpy hunting hat that covered most of her hair and a frumpier camouflage sweatshirt, which might have explained her foul mood.

  Or it could be that she’d left the poetry slam without another date with David.

  “For the first time in a long time, I feel like a woman who isn’t past her prime.” Edith swiped a prune from Mims’s plate. “Boo-yah!” She slid into the booth. Her rump on the cushion created a current of air that gave Mims, Clarice, and Bitsy a ride. “Isn’t it a glorious morning?” She passed her jacket to Bitsy to add to the pile in the corner and then waved the waitress over. “Pearl, I’ll have the special.”

  Pearl slid a cup of coffee with room for cream in front of Edith. “Hold the mushrooms, the tomatoes, the cheese, and the onions?”

  Edith nodded, beaming at the world. “I feel loved.”

  “Scrambled eggs coming right up.” Pearl hurried off.

  Frowning, Clarice closed her notebook, dropped her pen, and then picked up the end of one pale braid, brushing it beneath her chin. “Why can’t you just order scrambled eggs?”

  “Because the special is one dollar cheaper.” Edith dug French vanilla creamer pods from her purse. “I’m on a fixed income.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Bitsy sipped her hot tea. “And so, it seems, is the rest of the town. Ticket sales for our Christmas Ball are slow.”

  “How slow?” Mims asked, tucking more gray curls under that hideous hat.

  “We’ve sold ten, and that includes the four of us, Mary Margaret, the mayor, and his parents.”

  “Remind me.” Edith stirred her coffee, trying to transition from the power of a natural woman to that of club vice president. “What does this ball benefit?”

  “Us.” Clarice laid a hand on her neck. “Our club.”

  Edith sipped her coffee and decided it needed more creamer. “Huh. Why is the stodgiest event of the year, during the busiest time of the year, ours?”

  The board quieted.

  “I mean…” Edith added more flavored cream. “There’s the bachelor and bachelorette auctions. The bake sale competition. The wrapping booth. The fashion show. People—okay, let’s be honest—men don’t want to rent a tuxedo at the holidays when they stress about buying gifts for the women in their lives.”

  “I hate it when she makes sense,” Clarice mumbled.

  Mims stared at Edith with resignation in her eyes. “Edith comes up with more good points than you’d expect.”

  “Thank you, fellow board members.” Edith beamed at the women and then at the sparse crowd of customers in the Saddle Horn.

  “We can’t just change the theme.” Bitsy set down her tea mug. “We’ve been promoting it as a formal.”

  “To no success,” Edith pointed out kindly. “On a more important note, Clarice, what are the rules for the board’s holiday gift exchange?”

  Clarice seemed at a loss. She tugged one long braid. “We don’t exchange gifts.”

  “Oh.” Edith stared out the window. “I hope they take returns.”

  “Who?” Bitsy touched her hairband. In an ode to the eighties, it was velvet, of course, but today it was red to match her sweater.

  “I can’t say.” Edith was disappointed. She’d thought as board members they were a close-knit group. And close-knit groups always exchanged gifts. “It would be impolite and make you all feel bad. But, oh…” She perked up. “I think we should hire a deejay for the dance and give it a new title. Something hip, like you did with the poetry slam. How about Santa Jam?”

  “That’s actually not a bad idea.” Bitsy stopped fiddling with her hairband.

  “Really?” Clarice mumbled something about Robert’s Rules of Order.

  “It’s okay.” Edith didn’t want Clarice to feel bad. “I’m just a natural as vice president. Now, about Mary Margaret’s matchmaking.” Edith had made a mental list of topics she wanted to discuss, and she intended to check off every item before her breakfast special arrived.

  “Slow down.” Clarice tapped her notebook. “We have an agenda for this meeting.”

  “What’s on it?” Edith sipped her coffee.

  Opening her notebook, Clarice ran her finger across her chicken scratch. “We’ve covered everything except…Mary Margaret.”

  “Right.” Mims scrutinized Edith’s face.

  “I think we can cross that off our list.” Edith wiped her mouth with her napkin in case Mims’s stare meant she had a coffee mustache. “The mayor drove Mary Margaret home from the poetry
slam. I think he’s a fine catch. So tall and debonair.”

  Movement at the front of the restaurant caught her eye. The tall man with the unclear motives regarding Mary Margaret removed the red stir stick from his mouth and tipped it her way as if it were a hat.

  Edith didn’t know whether to shoo him off or give him a smile. Apparently, she’d gotten her mojo back. As a young lady, she’d never had a problem attracting men. It had been her superpower.

  “I always liked my men tall,” Bitsy said wistfully, admiring Edith’s admirer.

  “Hang on.” Mims pointed her finger at Edith. “I don’t think Kevin is the right choice for anyone yet.”

  “How can you say that?” Edith snuck another glance at the tall man settling up his bill. “Kevin is our mayor.”

  “Because of Barbara.” Mims looked at Edith as if she’d missed identifying a transitive verb on a grammar test. “We try to steer our projects from choppy waters.”

  “Are you just saying that”—a pit formed in Edith’s belly—“because it would mean that I failed?” That they could give her the boot from the board?

  “Listen to me,” Mims began. “If Barbara were a widow—”

  “Which she’s not,” Clarice interjected.

  “We wouldn’t consider her ready to move on again.”

  “She still wants to be with Kevin.” Bitsy nodded.

  The trio often talked like that, finishing each other’s sentences, making Edith feel like the odd man out, bringing back painful memories from her youth.

  “Barbara can’t still love him.” She’d stormed the poetry slam with annoyance in her eyes.

  “No. It’s worse.” Mims sat back while Pearl topped off her coffee. “Barbara still considers Kevin her property.”

  “It has nothing to do with love.” Bitsy’s gaze turned mournful, almost as if she was pining for her three lost husbands.

  “And you know Barbara can be as troublesome as poison oak to get rid of.” Clarice closed her notebook.

  The finality of the moment—of Edith’s tenure on the board—spun in the ensuing silence like an out-of-control carnival ride. “So? Where does that leave Mary Margaret?”

  “Out of luck.” Clarice sniffed.