“Can she get away with that? What about that thing about ‘conflict of interest’?” Jenn asks, worry shining in her eyes.
I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “The media has a lot of leeway. But I’ve seen Blair operate before, so this really isn’t a surprise. Let’s think positively. Hopefully no one will pay any attention to her inane reasoning.”
By midmorning I’ve managed to make myself believe my own reassurances. No one has mentioned “Get Real, Shady Grove.” Well, no one besides Norma, of course. I got an earful from her as soon as I cleared the front door of the clinic. But thankfully, my patients obviously have better things to do than watch a reality segment on the local morning news.
I smile brightly at the elderly woman waiting for her adjustment. “Mrs. Swanson, come on in. How’s your shoulder doing?”
“Pretty good. But my lower back is killing me.”
I nod. “Been working in the garden again?”
A sheepish smile spreads across her wrinkled face. “You caught me.” She shakes a playful finger under my nose. “Speaking of caught, are you sure you’ve got your mind on my aches and pains instead of that handsome cowboy you’re so crazy about?” She trills a laugh at her little joke.
I force an anemic chuckle. “Mrs. S., all I have on my mind right now is you.”
By the time my final patient for the day, elderly Mr. Duncan, arrives for his appointment, my good humor has gone from anemic to nonexistent. How could so many people watch “Get Real, Shady Grove”? Don’t my patients have lives?
Still trying to think positively, I remind myself that Mr. Duncan is usually so busy listing his aches and pains, we don’t discuss anything else. Why should today be any different?
Sure enough, as I write his complaints in his chart, my hand almost cramps. Just about home free.
“Let’s get you fixed up,” I murmur and lower the hi-lo table.
“So, young lady,” he wheezes as he lies facedown on the adjusting table, “went out and got yerself a feller, huh? About time, I’d say.” His raspy chuckle echoes through the room.
So much for home free. “It was just a date,” I mutter.
“Huh?” he yells.
“Nothing.” I refuse to let Blair ruin my professional life as well. I work on him in silence. Then when he’s standing again, I smile. “You get to feeling better, Mr. Duncan.”
He takes his hat from the hook on the wall and puts it on his head. “I always do feel better after I see you. You’re a fine doctor.”
For the first time in hours, calm rushes over me. “Thank you.”
He clasps my hand in his bony fingers. “I had a wonderful marriage for fifty years before my Sally went to be with the Lord,” he wheezes. “Don’t let some busybody reporter stop you from grabbing happiness if you get a chance.”
My throat clogs with tears and I nod then reach out to pat our clasped hands with my other hand. “I won’t. Thank you.”
When he’s gone, I sink down at my desk and rest my head on my arms. I don’t have to let Blair keep me from happiness. I’m doing a fine job of that myself.
After I wallow a little, I pick up the phone and punch in Jack’s number. He answers on the first ring. “Don’t even think of backing out tonight.”
“My throat,” I croak, mostly joking.
“You’ll have to try something else. I can do all the talking, but you still have to be there.”
“Jack, I can’t do it. Did you see that show this morning?”
“No, but I heard about it. I know how you feel.”
“You do? So you’ve had patients teasing you about your ‘romance’ all day, too?” My face grows hot just saying the word to him.
“Well, no,” he admits. “But so what? Romance is nice.” His voice is husky. “And at least no one took Blair’s accusations seriously. She ended up looking foolish just like you said she would, don’t you think?”
I fumble with the calendar on my desk and think about his words. “I guess so.”
“I know so. So I’ll see you at Coffee Central in an hour.”
“Jack.”
“Yeah?”
“We have to get along on everything. We can’t give her any ammunition for tomorrow morning’s show.”
He chuckles. “Are you sure we shouldn’t argue to refute what she said this morning?”
I groan. “Does this have to be so complicated?”
“Not if we ignore Blair and concentrate on the job at hand. Listen, I’ll figure out a way to distract attention from us. Trust me.”
He makes it sound so simple that I feel silly arguing. “Okay, but be warned. I may contract some dread disease between now and then and not show up.”
“Then I’ll just have to come get you. You can run, but you can’t hide. I’ll always find you, Rachel.”
Promises, promises. Thankfully I use a little discretion and don’t say that aloud. I’m in enough trouble as it is.
I slip in the door of Coffee Central ten minutes early. I thought about being fashionably late, but I decided I’d rather be manning my battle station when the enemy arrives. Jack waves to me from across the room, and I head that direction and then stop. Someone’s already at the table. He turns, and I recognize Ron, who shoots me a rueful smile.
“Mayor Kingsley, nice of you to join us,” I say coolly. It doesn’t take a professional detective to figure out who filled Blair in on last night’s rendezvous at Chez Pierre. Blair says “reliable source.” I say “snitch,” “fink,” “stool pigeon.” Take your choice.
He chuckles. “I figured I owed you one.”
Jack clears his throat.
“And Jack figured I owed you one, too.”
Before I can speak, Alma comes up holding two coffees. She sets one in front of Ron and leans over expectantly. He gives her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, sweetie.”
“Thanks, sweetie?” I mouth to Jack over their heads.
He grins and shrugs.
“You two want to catch us up on the rodeo details before the Wicked Witch of the West gets here?” Alma asks as she sits down next to Ron.
“Don’t look now, but I think she just flew in,” Ron says.
I’m laughing. I can’t help it. “You two are so bad.”
Alma looks indignantly at Blair and her cameraman making their way toward us. “If she thinks she’s going to accuse my son of dishonesty and get away with it, she’s got another think coming.”
Jack pats the chair next to him, and I sit down. “Tonight we get to just sit back and enjoy the show,” he murmurs. “And possibly feel sorry for Blair.”
I shoot him a puzzled look, and he mouths, “Trust me.”
When Blair approaches the table, she raises an elegant eyebrow. “What have we here?”
“A committee meeting,” Jack volunteers. “Some of our members were able to make it back tonight.”
“Well, in that case”—Blair smiles for the camera—“Shady Grove, let’s talk rodeo.”
“Actually, let’s talk manners,” Alma says. “And liability.”
Blair whips around so fast I think maybe a hair came out of place. She makes a cut motion across her throat, and the cameraman drops his camera and steps back.
“First of all, we’re volunteers, and you will treat us with respect, or we’ll rescind our permission for you to attend our meetings. Second, if you ever accuse my son or Dr. Donovan of impropriety again, you’ll be standing in the unemployment line. Do you understand?”
“Well, I—”
Alma draws herself up, her shoulders back, her chin high, and her eyes leveled on Blair. I feel a little nervous, and she’s not even looking my direction. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Blair licks her lips and brushes her hair back from her face. “May we start filming again?”
Alma shrugs. “You could have filmed that if you’d wanted to. You’re the one who told him to cut.”
Blair nods then motions for the cameraman to begin filming
again.
Thirty minutes later, we have all the current business taken care of, and I think Blair’s cameraman is nodding off. Blair stands. “We’re going to go.”
“Come back anytime,” Alma says sweetly.
“Yes, well, we’ll see when we can fit it into our schedule.”
When she’s gone, I look at Alma and drop my mouth open. “Wow. Where did that come from?”
She laughs. “Years of teaching sixth grade. You learn how to tame bullies.” She looks pointedly at Ron. “Especially the ones you care about.”
Ron blushes. Wait, hold the phone—Ron blushes? He reaches over, takes her hand, and looks deep into her eyes. I hold my breath, sure I’m going to hear our crusty mayor declare his undying love for Alma Westwood. What comes out is no less proof of the taming of Ron Kingsley. “Alma, honey, can I get you some more coffee?”
When I get home from Coffee Central, I call Lark. As much as I’d like to, I can’t put it off any longer.
“Saw you on ‘Get Real, Shady Grove,’ ” she says first thing.
“Yep. We were at Chez Pierre.”
“I wish I’d had you give them a piece of my mind while you were there.”
“Really?”
“They fired Sheila because she was having some morning sickness.”
“Really?” I know I sound like a broken record, but I don’t know what to say.
“She’ll find something else soon.” A worried tone creeps into her voice. “I think.”
“One of the waitresses mentioned her.”
“That’s odd.”
“Well, I brought her name up actually. I just asked if she worked there.”
“I bet they were embarrassed. Imagine—firing someone for being pregnant and sick.”
Why is it so hard to tell her this? “The waitress I talked to said Sheila quit.”
“Ha.”
“She was serious. She said Sheila told one of the other girls that she’d found a cushy situation with a family.”
Silence. “I’m sure she misunderstood.”
Oh, what to say?
“Or maybe Sheila did say that to one of the girls to keep from having to admit she was fired.”
“Yeah, maybe. But, Lark?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
“I am.”
“I love you.”
“Love you, too, Rach. I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m praying for you.”
“Thanks. And thanks for calling. I know it wasn’t easy to tell me that.”
“No problem. Good night.”
When the connection is broken, I send up a prayer that God would make the truth known in this situation. So easy to pray for Lark.
But what if Jenn is praying the same prayer in her quest?
Fourth of July morning, the sweet aroma of cinnamon prods me to consciousness. In that little space between sleep and awake, I’m back at my parents’ house, about to get up and eat some of Tammy’s specialty—cinnamon toast.
I stretch and smile as Jenn pops her head into my room.
“Breakfast is served, Aunt Rachel!” Jenn has one of my aprons tied around her small waist.
I throw on my favorite hot pink robe and slide my feet into some slippers.
“It smells delicious. Cinnamon toast, right?”
She nods, her eyes sparkling.
“Just like your mom used to make.”
A few minutes later, I pour myself some orange juice and plop down at the kitchen table.
“I used real sugar on the cinnamon toast.” Jenn grins. “Hope it still tastes okay to you. I hated to ruin perfectly good cinnamon toast with your fake sugar.”
I grab a slice from the plate. “I think once in a while, and in moderation, real sugar is fine.” I take a bite and savor the taste. “And I don’t use ‘fake’ sugar. What I use is an herbal supplement that happens to sweeten things.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.” Jenn sits down beside me and heaps her plate with toast. “So what time should we leave for the lake? What kind of stuff does Shady Grove do for the Fourth of July?”
“Well, let’s see. The community picnic starts at five, and then there will be games, music, and, a little while before sundown, the annual canoe race. I think the guys are coming to get us around four so we can get to the park in time to get a good table.” I wipe my mouth. I won’t admit it to Jennifer, but the real sugar tastes delicious. The Pinkies would have a fit if they saw me right now. “Then they’ll set off a fireworks display over the lake as soon as it’s dark.”
“Are you gonna make me and Dirk stay with you and Jack the whole day?” Jenn finishes one of her slices and looks at me expectantly.
I laugh. According to everyone and his brother, it’s time I cut her a little slack where Dirk is concerned. Today might be a good day to try giving her some room. Alone in a crowd, so to speak. “Maybe not the whole day. But it would be nice if you guys would at least eat with us, and I think if the four of us team up, we might just win the canoe race.”
The expression on Jenn’s face tells me I’ve just won a million cool points. Now if only I can put my money where my mouth is and let her spend some time with Dirk today without freaking out.
“Besides, you probably want some time alone with Jack anyway, right?”
Oh, now that was subtle. Not.
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t really consider a community-wide picnic and fireworks display ‘time alone,’ but, yes, I am looking forward to our afternoon at the lake.”
Surely the news of my date with Jack at Chez Pierre has blown over by now and people won’t think much of seeing us together. Of course, the way things have gone lately, Blair will probably pop up from the bed of the pickup on our way to the lake, microphone in hand, wanting to question us about our rodeo budget. Maybe I should invite Alma to go with us as insurance.
“I guess you’re right.” Jenn smirks a little. “Although I’m sure if you wanted to, you could find a way for some time alone.” Now she looks at me curiously. “Aunt Rachel, how old were you when you had your first kiss?”
Uh-oh. Where did that come from? This conversation is heading in a direction I don’t want to go, but I’m not sure there’s a good way out of it. At least not one that I can see right now.
“I was a little older than you. Why?” Maybe I’m right to panic at the thought of Jenn and Dirk spending time together.
“No reason, really. I just wondered.” She looks embarrassed. “I’m the only girl in my class who hasn’t kissed a boy. I just wondered if I’m normal.”
I reach over and touch her hand. “There’s no need to rush into grown-up stuff. You’ll have plenty of time for that later.” Like when you’re thirty.
“I guess.”
“I think the barrel racing is really coming along well.” There—how’s that for a natural segue? Kissing. . .barrel racing. Well, okay, maybe not natural, but we’re not talking about kissing anymore, are we? Mission accomplished. I take one last sip of juice and carry my dishes to the sink. “The rodeo’s just a month away. Anything in particular you want to work on today?”
She shakes her head. “It’s all so much fun! And I think I’m getting pretty good at it. Dirk even thinks I have a chance of winning my category.”
Guess my change of subject wasn’t so brilliant after all. At the mention of Dirk so soon after Jenn’s curiosity about kissing, I feel myself stiffen. The thought of her falling for a cowboy still makes me sick to my stomach, even if everyone who knows him thinks he’s a nice guy.
“We all think you have a great chance.” I look at her over my shoulder as I rinse my plate and glass. “Your form is good, and you certainly have the skills. You just need to keep your mind on it. Don’t get distracted,” I say pointedly.
“I know, I know.” Jenn rolls her eyes and starts clearing the table. “You’ve said it a million times.”
I put my juice glass in the dishwasher. “Let’s get ready. I know Sweetie wi
ll be happy to see you.”
Later that afternoon, I lay out a pair of khaki walking shorts and a green polo shirt on my bed. At the last second, I grab a navy shirt and swap it for the green. I don’t want Jack to think I’m wearing his favorite color, do I? Wait a minute. Strike that thought. I don’t care what Jack thinks.
But I know deep down that I do. I change the shirts back. I feel like wearing green today.
Our date at Chez Pierre has been on my mind all day. While riding Lady, I played our conversation inside my head over and over, obsessing not only over Jack’s words, but the tone of his voice. Jenn thought it was hilarious that I kept getting distracted during our lesson, especially after all of my “keep your mind on barrel racing” speeches. Thankfully, she has no idea what was on my mind.
I finish dressing and look at my reflection in the mirror. Considering the sweltering heat that is July in Arkansas, I decide to put my red hair in a high ponytail. Feeling a little defiant, I tie a green scarf around the holder. See, I don’t care what he thinks.
After a touch of makeup, I’m ready. And nervous. Am I ready to be seen with Jack in front of the whole town? I’m afraid that maybe Jack is ready to confirm to Shady Grove that we’re a couple, and he thinks this picnic will do that. At the same time, I’m afraid he’s just clueless and thinks that this “double” date will stop any residual gossip resulting from Blair’s report.
When the doorbell rings, I nearly collide with Jenn in the hallway. She looks very cute in denim shorts and a white top, with her ponytail sticking out of her Braves baseball cap.
She steps back and lets me go first. I opt not to say anything about the touch of mascara and lip gloss I’m pretty sure I detect.
“Sit, girls,” I order Shadow and Cocoa as I open the door. And there he is. Mr. Cowboy. And behind him, Mr. Cowboy Junior.
“Well, don’t you ladies look festive.” Jack’s suntanned face is in stark contrast with his even, white teeth. “Can we carry anything out to the truck?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Jenn grinning at Dirk, who peers around Jack’s shoulder. “We’re ready to go. We just need to get the food. Could you help with the picnic basket and cooler? They’re in the kitchen.”
Along Came a Cowboy Page 17