Love in a Small Town Box Set 1

by Tawdra Kandle

  “Exactly.” She folded her hands on the table in front of her, and I noticed how small they looked. Her nails were short and unpolished but still managed to look more feminine than the girls I’d seen with red-painted talons. “I had another suggestion, something that came to me ... well, actually, it occurred to me in church on Sunday.”

  I chuckled. “Divine inspiration. I like it.”

  She smiled, and I was struck once again by how it transformed her whole face. Her big blue eyes danced, and those bow-lips curled up, making me want to lick—

  God almighty, what the hell, Mason? I kicked myself mentally. Was I that hard up for a woman that this little slip of a thing looked good to me? I tried to concentrate on what she was saying.

  “—so I know it might not be something you really want to do, but if you’ll just think about it, you might change your mind.”

  “Um, sorry, what was that?” I shifted in my seat, dropping my hands to the table so they lay inches from hers. As I watched, her eyes followed the movement. All I would have had to do was extend my thumb the slightest bit, and it would stroke her pinkie finger. I waited, but she didn’t draw her hands back. Instead she cleared her throat.

  “Um, I was saying that for some people, the idea of going to a bar for lunch is—well, it’s just not exactly what they’re comfortable doing. And The Road Block does have a reputation as a hot night spot.” Her tongue came out and ran over her lips. “So what if you gave your lunch time hours a different name? Called it ... I don’t know, The Road Block Café or something like that. Something less ... threatening to some people’s way of thinking.”

  “The Road Block is threatening to some people? Who?”

  Rilla nodded. “Well, people who wouldn’t usually frequent a bar. Church people. Maybe some professionals who don’t want to be identified with a place that sells alcohol.”

  “We still sell alcohol at lunch, you know.”

  She stared at me for a minute and then closed her eyes and shook her head a little. “Yes, all right, but it’s not your main focus. I knew you might not like the idea. It’s fine, you don’t have to do it. It was just a thought.”

  “I’ll take it under consideration.”

  “Fine.” She lifted her hands to fold them under her chin. “Do you have any other questions?”

  One shorter strand of hair had escaped and curled near her forehead. I fought hard to keep from reaching across and brushing it away. “No, I don’t think so. Not right now.”

  “Good. Then are we ready to move forward?”

  I pursed my lips, looking at her. “I think so. If you’re sure you can handle working for a big bad bartender, who sells alcohol.”

  She laughed and leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think that’s a little redundant. Is there such a thing as a bartender who doesn’t sell alcohol? Anyway, I don’t think you’re so big or bad.”

  I shrugged. “Even after the way I acted when you first got here?”

  “Everyone has off days.”

  “Yeah.” I gave a quick, humorless laugh. “Today’s been one of those, for sure. Sorry I took it out on you.”

  She studied me. “Want to tell me about it?”

  I was surprised that she asked, and even more so to find that I did want to tell her. “You don’t want to hear about my problems.”

  “Maybe I do. I’m a good listener.”

  “Yeah, well ... ” I sat up a little straighter. “You heard me on Saturday, telling Miss Evelyn about my mom, right?”

  Rilla nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry. Meghan had actually told me about the whole situation. She said after your wife—after you lost her, you came back to Burton so your mom could help you raise Piper, and then a few months ago, you found out your mom has leukemia. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much the story. It sucks, but you know, we figured stuff out.” I paused and glanced up at Rilla. “Is sucked considered swearing? I don’t want to get into trouble again.”

  She cast her eyes up as though pretending to consider. “We’ll pretend you meant it sucks eggs. That’s only vulgar slang, not cursing.”

  I nodded, fighting to keep a straight face. “Of course that’s what I meant.”

  “Suuuuure.” Rilla’s lips curved into a half-smile. “So what happened today?”

  I rubbed my fingers over one of the chair’s decorative dowels. “I hired this wonderful woman to come in and help with Mom and watch Piper, too. Mrs. Murphy’s been a life saver. She works around my crazy hours, she has endless patience with both Mom and Piper ... God, she even cooks for us. So this morning she came over as usual, right before I was ready to leave, and I could tell she’d been crying. Turns out her own mother was just diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and Mrs. Murphy has to move to Arizona to take care of her. She said she’s been wracking her brain to find a solution, but time’s run out. She has to leave Saturday.”

  Rilla leaned forward and laid her small hand on my arm. “Oh, Mason, I’m sorry. That’s got to be so hard on you. There’s no one else? Family, friends?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. My mom’s from Mississippi, and she was the baby of the family. All her sisters are pretty old, and they don’t leave their hometown except for funerals. I’m an only child. Mom has a lot of friends in town, but no one I could ask to do what we need.” I rubbed my forehead. “I’ve been looking up caregiver referral sites, but in order to use those, I have to commit to steady hours. I need someone with flexibility. And I’d also have to hire one person to help Mom and another to watch Piper.” I looked down at Rilla’s hand, still on my arm, absently thinking how tiny and white it looked against my tanned skin.

  She bit the side of her lip. “So you don’t need someone with nursing experience? Really just a caregiver, right?”

  “Yeah, Mrs. Murphy didn’t have any background in medical care. The visiting nurses showed her how to do a few things, but it wasn’t anything complicated.”

  Rilla stared at me for a long minute. She was leaning forward still, and the way she looked was a little unnerving. Her blue eyes drilled into me as though she could see my soul. I couldn’t tell yet whether she found it wanting. I stayed very still, waiting for her to speak again. When she did, I nearly fell off my chair.

  “I can help you.”

  This time, it was my mouth that fell open, and my eyes that stared. If Rilla Grant had just announced that she’d be willing to swim across the Atlantic naked and dance on the rooftops of Paris, I probably wouldn’t have been any more shocked.

  “Um, what?” It wasn’t an inspired response, but it was the best I could manage at the moment.

  “I could help you. Things are starting to slow down at the stand, and I think Sam would be willing to be flexible with my hours. I could work there when you don’t need me.”

  I blinked and nodded. “Rilla, I appreciate the offer. You have no idea how much it means to me, actually. But ...” How could I say this without insulting her? Or making her think her friends had been talking behind her back? “As I understood it, you still live at home. With your father. Your, uh, very overprotective father.”

  Rilla sighed. “Meghan?”

  I didn’t want to throw my friend under the bus, but I wasn’t going to lie, either. “Yeah, she mentioned it to me. Not in a bad way,” I hurried to add. “She wanted me to understand why you’re a little different from girls I’m used to.”

  She tilted her head, and warning bells sounded in my brain. Danger, danger! Abort, abort!

  “I’m ... different? That’s what Meghan told you?”

  “No. Not really. She just said you hadn’t had a lot of experience with new people until you started working at the stand, and that you’re quieter. Maybe a little shy.” When she didn’t respond right away, I went on. “Meghan was afraid I might overwhelm you. She says sometimes I don’t know my own loudness, I guess. Or whatever.” There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t make me sound stuck on myself.

  To my relief, Rilla
seemed to accept that. “I understand. I was really nervous when I came to work for Sam. I have lived on a farm my whole life, and my dad is really ... careful with me. The only new people I’ve ever met were through church, or if we were doing a youth group project. So it took a little while to get used to them, especially Sam.

  “But I think I do a good job now. I talk to customers all day long, and it doesn’t bother me. I’m not a freak, just because I was sheltered.”

  “No one’s saying you are, Rilla.” I gentled my voice, and this time, I covered her fingers so that they disappeared beneath mine. “I think you’d be perfect to help my mom and Piper. But from what I hear about your dad, he might not like you working in town, in my house. It could make him uncomfortable, and I don’t want to come between you and your family.”

  Her forehead wrinkled, and the corners of her lips turned down. “It’s not any different than when I help out people at church. I volunteered one summer, taking care of an elderly lady who was living alone. It wasn’t in town, but still. My father said it would be good for me.”

  “Yeah, but that’s an old lady. This is my house. Remember me, the big bad bartender? I have a feeling your father’d have a different take on this idea.”

  Rilla pulled back to sit up straight in her chair, and she stared me down. “I’m twenty-two years old. I’m not a child. If I decide I want to work for you, in your house, taking care of your child and your sick mother, that’s what I’m going to do.” Her chin went up and her jaw clenched. “As a matter of fact, if I decide I want to come into the bar and pour beer for people, I’m going to do that. My father doesn’t make my decisions. I do.”

  In that moment, I was honestly a little frightened of this girl—uh, woman—who sat before me. I’d assumed that she was all soft cotton, when she turned out to be steel. I’d thought of her as a timid mouse.

  Today the mouse had roared.

  IN THEORY, MY FATHER knew that I was meeting Mason at The Road Block that afternoon to finalize the publicity I was going to do for him. I’d told Gram about it before breakfast, while she and I were at the sink. Dad was at the table, reading his Bible and waiting for his eggs and toast, and I didn’t speak too loudly, not wanting to disturb him. Not that I would’ve known if I had; he hadn’t said a word to me since Saturday night, when he’d left the kitchen.

  But the point was that even if I hadn’t gone out of my way to tell him directly, I’d said the words while we were both in the same room. In my heart, I knew he’d call that quibbling, which had usually resulted in a stiffer punishment when I was younger. All the same, given the circumstances, it was the best I could do.

  Gram hadn’t said anything when I’d told her about my appointment at the bar. Her mouth had pressed into a thin line before she nodded. I figured that was her way of staying out of the middle.

  I’d worked the stand during the morning hours. Now that school was back in session, our weekdays were considerably slower. Sam hadn’t even blinked when I’d told him that I needed to take off the afternoon to meet Mason.

  “Maddy Weson asked me last week if she could pick up some hours at the stand, with Ali away now. She usually just helps out with the harvest, working in the barn and loading, but I guess now that her kid’s in college, she wants to make a little more money. So if you need to pull back on some of your time, I can always have her fill in.”

  Mrs. Weson showed up at ten minutes to noon, greeting me with a smile. I ran a receipt on the register, just the way Ali’d taught me to do whenever there was a transfer of cashiers, and then I jumped into Gram’s car and drove to the Reynolds’ house. Meghan had suggested I get changed for my meeting there, rather than go all the way home. I figured she realized that if I went back and saw Gram and Dad, I might chicken out on going to The Road Block.

  Once I was changed and back on the road, my nerves kicked in. What did I think I was doing? I didn’t belong in bar, and there was no way I was qualified to handle advertising for one. I must’ve had a screw loose when I agreed to meet Mason there. There’d be drunk men, and they’d look at me in ways men shouldn’t. I’d feel dirty and sinful.

  But if I didn’t go in, Mason wouldn’t hire me, and I’d be stuck living on my father’s farm until they carried me out feet first. Or the way I was feeling these days, possibly until the men from the loony bin came with the straitjacket. Neither of those sounded like a good option.

  The parking lot had been empty compared to Saturday night. I’d taken a deep breath and forced my feet to make the walk to the door. Once inside, though, I was surprised by how bright and airy the place was. It was clean; there was no lingering odor of alcohol, no stains on the floor, as I’d expected. On the other side of the bar was a seating area, and I saw that some of the tables were occupied. The lunch hours had just gone into effect a few days before, and clearly they were going to need some time—and maybe even some of my hard work—to catch on.

  The woman standing at the wooden podium smiled at me, and when I told her I was there to meet with Mr. Wallace, she pointed back to the huge oak bar that dominated the left side of the room. I glanced up, and suddenly I was having trouble breathing.

  When I’d seen Mason at the stand a few days before, I’d been so flustered by all the customers milling around us, by the idea of pitching my work to him, that I hadn’t had time to pay much attention to him. Plus, he’d been holding his little girl, and I’m sorry, no man can seem too intimidating when he’s cradling a sleeping child.

  But today was a different story. Mason Wallace stood behind the gorgeous polished oak of his bar, leaning over some kind of computer thing. His eyes were on me, and I had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. I was so far outside my realm of experience that I didn’t know which end was up. What was this naïve farm girl doing in a bar, of all places?

  Breathe, I reminded myself. And remember: this is all about work and being professional. It’s my ticket off the farm and into my own life. I had to keep all this in mind and try not to notice the way Mason’s scrutiny made me feel warm and breathless. Or the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he leaned. A thought flittered across my mind: he looked as though he belonged there, behind the bar. As though he’d simply grown out of the solid oak, just as perfect and just as invincible.

  No, I couldn’t think about any of that. Not now.

  I was ready with my formal greeting—Hello, Mr. Wallace. Nice place you’ve got here. I’m looking forward to working with you—when he spoke first.

  “Did you just come from a funeral?”

  I was confused at first, and then I was mad. He was making fun of me, making fun of my efforts, and that just got my goat, as Gram said. I was tempted to turn around and leave right there. But then I remembered my father’s face. The idea of having to tell him I hadn’t gotten this account because I’d been too scared to see it through and the thought of his smugness kept me from running.

  Our discussion, surprisingly, had turned around and actually been positive and productive. I was shocked when Mason had apologized for his earlier behavior. He’d opened up, telling me about his mother’s illness and his struggle to care for both her and his daughter. When I'd leaned forward without thinking to lay my hand on his arm, a spark zinged through me like I'd never felt, and something warm and intoxicating filled my head. The next thing I knew, I was offering to help him.

  Temporary insanity. That was all I could figure. It had to be.

  I wasn’t going to back out, though. I’d driven half-way home in a daze, wondering what I’d just agreed to do, and then once I’d reached my decision—I was going to take care of Mrs. Wallace and Piper, no matter what anyone said—a strange strength and exhilaration filled me.

  This was the perfect scenario. Mason had offered me a salary much higher than I’d expected, telling me it was the same he was paying Mrs. Murphy now. With that money, plus what I’d continue to earn at the stand, even with cutting back to part-time, and what I’d be making doing the advert
ising for both the stand and The Road Block, I could afford to move out. I could pay rent on the adorable little apartment I’d seen advertised in the newspaper.

  I’d pumped myself up by the time I got back to the farm. There was plenty of time before dinner; I’d change out of my dress and tell Gram the news, and then maybe she could help me break the news gently to my father.

  Not that it mattered. As I’d told Mason, my father wasn’t going to stop me. I was taking this job.

  “So what did your father say about your news?” Meghan leaned against the side of the apple bin, looking at me with equal parts sympathy and amusement.

  “I believe his exact words were, ‘Absolutely not. Have you lost your mind? Working in the home of a single man, performing household chores for him ... an unmarried young woman? No. I forbid it’.”

  She nodded. “Well, no surprise there, right? You didn’t think he’d like the idea of you working for a guy who owns a club.”

  “No, I wasn’t surprised. Disappointed that I was on target, I guess. Anyway, I told him I was doing it, and if anyone from church got squiffy, he could tell them I was doing God’s work, caring for the sick and the young.”

  “And you’re headed there now?” Meghan’s green eyes sparkled. “Rilla Grant. I have to say, I didn’t think you had it in you. You got spunk, gal.”

  I laughed. “Why, because I’m going to take care of sick woman and a little girl?”

  “No. Because you’re going to be working closely with Mason Wallace in not one job, but two. I honestly thought he’d scare you to death, but here you’re going to be in his house.”