by Cathie Linz
“The one with the lock that doesn’t work? Of course I warned them not to touch that door. But did they listen to me? Nooooo.”
“So how did you get them out?”
“Who says I did?” Ruby Mae growled.
“You said they’re talking to the mayor.”
“That’s right. They called him on their cell phone to complain about cuts in our budget that don’t allow for the lock to be repaired. He came over to talk to them face to face. It was one of their demands.”
“Their demands?”
“Your grandmother came up with most of them. Better coffee was one of her demands and I have to say I go along with that one,” Ruby Mae admitted.
Connor closed his eyes and counted to ten.
“I don’t suppose we could just leave them locked up now that the mayor knows where they are, huh?” Ruby Mae’s raspy voice actually sounded a bit hopeful.
“I’m sorry they’ve disrupted things.” He was prevented from saying more by the arrival of Mayor Bedford.
“You certainly do have a unique family,” the mayor said.
Connor sighed. “Yes, I do.”
“Don’t worry. I called Digger Diehl. You know, the Drain Surgeon? Anyway, he’s also a locksmith. He got them out.”
“Too bad,” Ruby Mae muttered.
“What?” the mayor asked.
“It’s too bad they locked themselves in there. They don’t follow orders very well.” Rita Mae shot an it’s-your-fault glare at Connor. “I specifically told them to avoid that cell.”
“Anyway, all’s well that ends well,” the mayor said in that cheerfully hearty voice of his, the one Connor thought sounded like Santa Claus. “They told me how much they are looking forward to the town’s Rhubarb Festival tomorrow.” He puffed out his chest. “I may have bragged a bit about it.”
“Where are my relatives now?” Connor asked.
“At Cups Café, having lunch.”
Connor nodded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Such a devoted family man,” he heard the mayor say as Connor was leaving. “His grandmother told me how disappointed she is that he isn’t married yet.”
“She’s going to be even more disappointed when he reads his stubborn granny the riot act,” Ruby Mae said. “Talk about a train wreck.”
* * *
Connor walked into Cups Café to find his mother and grandmother calmly sipping coffee and eating grilled cheese sandwiches.
He could tell by the way that everyone in the place turned their heads to stare at him that they all knew about his family getting locked in the holding cell. The owner was one of Ruby Mae’s contacts. Or maybe his mother had filled in the large lunch crowd.
He yanked out an empty chair at their table.
“Connor.” His mother gave him a radiant smile. “I’m so glad you could join us for lunch.”
“Are you trying to get me fired and sent back to Chicago? Is that your plan?” he growled.
“Of course not.”
He could tell by her expression that his mother was telling the truth. But he could also tell that, in her eyes, the idea had some merit. She just hadn’t thought of it.
GM patted his hand. “You look like you’re having a hard day. Want some of my sandwich?”
“No. I want you two to stay out of trouble. Do you think you can manage that?” He glared at them both.
They serenely smiled back at him.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” his grandmother said.
“Getting locked in that cell? Ring any bells?” he said. “Demanding to speak to the mayor?”
“He seems like a very nice man,” his mom said.
“He’s married,” the woman at the next table leaned over to say.
Connor’s glare extended to her now as well. “We’re trying to have a private conversation here.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come to Cups,” the woman said before returning her attention to the menu.
He didn’t know who she was, but she was right. This wasn’t the proper place to have this conversation. “I expect you both to return to my apartment when you are done here.”
“We were just trying to be helpful.” His mom gave him one of her trademark reproachful looks meant to instill guilt.
“Well, don’t,” he said.
“You weren’t this crabby when you lived in Chicago.”
“Yes, he was,” GM said. “Sometimes.”
“Gee, thanks,” Connor said.
“You’re welcome.” She patted his hand again before holding up half of her grilled cheese sandwich. “Sure you don’t want a bite?”
“No, thanks.”
“Don’t you worry. We’ll cook you up something good for dinner,” his grandmother said.
He just prayed they didn’t cook up any more trouble.
* * *
“You owe me,” Marissa told Connor that evening as he walked by the library booth she was setting up for the Rhubarb Festival the following morning.
“I do?”
She nodded. “You owe me big-time.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Your mother and Spider got to talking in the library this morning and once she told him who she was, he talked her into setting up a Facebook account online using his laptop.”
Connor swore under his breath.
“He told her how she could post photos for her family and everyone to see. She was about to pull out your baby brag book when I interceded.”
“Tell me she didn’t flash that photo around,” Connor said.
“Did I hear you mention ‘flash’?” Flo asked as she walked by.
Marissa had seen Flo earlier setting up the divorce support group’s booth where they were selling homemade strawberry-rhubarb jam to raise funds. Their slogan was “We Help People out of a Jam.”
“Are you talking about the Rhubarb Flasher?” Flo asked Connor. “Is he back?” She looked around nervously.
“No, he’s not back,” Connor reassured her.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because he’s locked up in Statesville Prison in Illinois for unrelated charges.”
“Thank heavens for that,” Flo said. “Then I can look forward to a peaceful festival.”
As soon as she left, Connor resumed his earlier conversation with Marissa. “So did Spider get my mom on Facebook?”
“No, I stopped them in time.”
“How did you manage that?” he said.
“Do you mean how did I manage to do that with your ‘Resistance Is Futile’ mother? You have the same trait, you know. You also inherited her stubbornness.”
“She claims I got that from my dad. You really did talk her out of it?”
“I took her aside and told her about the dangers involved with social networking. We talked about the predators and the security risks. And then I helped her set up an account.”
“You what?”
“You heard me. But I did the privacy settings so the access was limited and we discussed inappropriate content and photos.”
“Is your mom on Facebook?” he demanded.
“Yes. Both my parents are.”
“Hi there,” her mom said as she joined them. “I finished our Women’s Club booth so I thought I’d stop by the library booth and see if you needed some help. But I see you’ve already got a nice strong man here to assist you.” She gave an approving nod at Connor’s presence.
“Connor isn’t pleased that his mother just opened a Facebook account,” Marissa said.
“Is this about the naked baby picture thing?” Marissa’s mom asked. “Because if it is, I can assure you both that as moms it’s our duty to embarrass our kids every chance we get.” She laughed at their aghast expressions. “I’m only kidding. Geez, can’t you guys take a joke? Oh, there’s Connie. I’ve got to run. We’re both judges in the Rhubarb Queen pageant tomorrow and there are still a few things to iron out yet.”
Marissa looked at Con
nor. “I’m sure they’ll behave.”
“Your mom and Connie?”
“Your mom and my mom.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Connor said.
“But then my bud Connor was born a doubter.” Marissa recognized the newcomer as Kyle Sullivan aka Sully. He’d recently spoken to her teen group about a day in the life of a firefighter. Sully was one of those guys who never met a woman he didn’t like, who could have posted for a Hottie Firefighter calendar, and who had a self-confessed thing for Chicago-style hot dogs served at a place by the interstate. His blue eyes and sun-bleached light brown hair made him look like a bit of a beach bum. But she had the feeling that when that fire alarm bell rang, he was all business.
“This place is as crowded as Union Station in Chicago during rush hour,” Connor grumbled.
“It’s good to see you again, Marissa,” Sully said with a grin.
“What do you mean again?” Connor demanded.
“We hooked up at the library,” Sully said.
“Hooked up?” Connor was growling now.
Marissa couldn’t help it. She was enjoying Sully’s flirting and Connor’s apparent jealousy. She could have explained that Sully was a guest speaker. She probably should have explained. But she didn’t. Instead she grinned back at Sully, which didn’t please Connor one bit.
“She doesn’t need your help,” Connor told Sully. “She’s got me.”
“Does she?” Sully said.
“She does.” Connor stood there and crossed his arms as if daring Sully to proceed further.
“What if she doesn’t want you?” Sully said.
Both men turned to confront her. She sighed. The flirting game was clearly over and pissing rights were about to begin. They’d just converted her into a prize to be won. Or territory to be fought over.
Which was ridiculous. She knew from word around town that the two men were good friends. They were both probably having fun at her expense.
That possibility irritated her. “Go away. I don’t need or want either one of you. I’m doing just fine on my own.”
“Translated, that means she wants you to go,” Connor told Sully. “And me to stay.”
“I think you’ve got that backward. She wants you to go and me to stay,” Sully said.
“If you both insist on staying then I’m putting you to work,” Marissa warned them. “The bunting needs to be hung from the top of the booth. The ladder is here.” She pointed to the back of the booth.
“I’ll do it,” Sully quickly said, shedding his white T-shirt. “It’s hot,” he explained with a grin.
Since Connor was in uniform, he couldn’t remove any articles of clothing. And when a moment later a resident from the Hopeful Meadows Senior Center asked for Connor’s help setting up their booth, he was duty-bound to go. But the glare he sent Marissa over his shoulder told her that this wasn’t over.
“He’s a good guy,” Sully told her.
Maybe, but was he the right guy for her? Marissa wished she knew the answer to that question.
Chapter Twelve
“I was just wondering…does really size matter?” Connor’s mom asked Marissa the next day.
Marissa almost spit out the rhubarb lemonade she was sipping. The Rhubarb Festival was in full swing here at Hopeful’s lovely Centennial Park. Marissa had done her morning shift at the library booth without any hint of trouble, so she was completely unprepared for a question like the one that Wanda had just posed to her.
“In the contest for the best rhubarb leaf contest,” the older woman clarified. “I was just wondering.”
“Um, yes, I believe size matters as well as condition,” Marissa said in her best librarian voice.
“That’s good to know,” Connor said, appearing out of nowhere as he so often did. “How about stamina? Is that a requirement as well?”
Marissa refused to blush. Since glaring at him hadn’t worked in the past, she tried something new. She decided to confront him. It didn’t matter that he was in uniform and wearing those sexy cop sunglasses of his. It didn’t matter that their kiss had been as incredible as she remembered. He wasn’t going to intimate her. “Are you still talking about rhubarb?” she said.
He adjusted the sunglasses so he could eye her over the rim. “Of course.”
“Then stamina doesn’t matter. Not for rhubarb.”
His grin told her he got what she meant. Now that she considered what she’d just said, she realized it could be misconstrued as flirting with him. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d flirted.
It felt surprisingly good.
What was wrong with her? She was standing here surrounded by Connor’s mom and grandmother, who were both eyeing her as if sizing her up for birthing offspring. Connor’s offspring.
“I’ve been collecting recipes. I had no idea that you could do so much with a fruit like rhubarb,” Wanda said.
“Botanically speaking, rhubarb is a vegetable not a fruit,” Marissa automatically said. “It’s a relative of buckwheat.”
“And Ohio is the buckwheat state,” Wanda said.
“Actually we’re the buckeye state,” Connor said.
Wanda patted his cheek.
Connor had his sunglasses firmly back in place but Marissa was sure that behind them he was rolling his eyes.
Since she didn’t know what to say next, she fell back on her standard patter for the event. “In seventeenth-century England, rhubarb sold for more than twice the price of opium.”
“You mean it’s a drug?” Wanda looked horrified at this possibility and glanced around at the surrounding booths as if she’d just walked into a huge pot party or a meth lab.
“No, it’s not a drug,” Marissa said. “It was just highly prized. You shouldn’t eat the rhubarb leaves, though. They’re toxic.”
“Come on.” Grandma Sophie tugged on Wanda’s arm. “I don’t want to miss the Rhubarb Rockers dancing in the band shell.”
Their departure left Marissa alone with Connor. Yes, they were surrounded by hundreds of people in the park but in that moment if felt as if the two of them were the only ones in the world. She recognized that this was a dangerous feeling, so she quietly blurted out, “I do not want to talk about what happened between us.”
“Neither do I. Wait, what do you mean by what happened between us?”
“That kiss the other night.”
“Right. Well, I don’t want to talk about it either.”
“You never want to talk about anything,” she muttered.
“And you do?”
“No.”
“We’re on the same page then.” He leaned closer.
He wouldn’t kiss her here in front of the entire town…would he? She certainly didn’t want him to…did she?
“What are you two talking about so intently?” her mother asked as she joined them.
“Nothing,” Marissa and Connor said in unison, leaning back so there was more space between them.
“I just wanted to let you know, Marissa, that the Rhubarb Queen pageant will be beginning soon. I was hoping you’d come watch. Your sister is already in the audience.” Her mom looked at her expectantly.
“I have to work at the library booth.”
Her mom was not pleased with this news. “I thought you already did that this morning?”
“I did, but now I’m helping my group of teens,” Marissa said.
“Our group of teens,” Connor corrected her.
“You sound like a pair of proud parents,” her mom said.
“No way. Not that I’m not proud of them, because I am. Jose designed the signs.” Marissa pointed to the small corner of the booth that had been allotted for their use.
“I was counting on you coming to support me in my work as one of the judges. Especially given the fact that your father chose not to attend.”
Her mother deliberately referred to him as Marissa’s father and not her husband when she was aggravated with him, which seemed to be most of the time t
hese days.
“Instead he’s dressed like Indiana Jones next to some mummy at the college’s booth,” her mom said. “What does that have to do with rhubarb?”
“I’m not sure,” Marissa admitted.
“He’s never before acted with such disregard for my feelings. He knows how important this is, so he’s always been in the audience in previous years. But now, when I need him most he abandons me for some mummy!”
“Do you want me to talk to him?” Marissa heard herself asking.
Her mother grabbed her hand in gratitude. “Would you? That would be great. I’ve got to get back.” She rushed off as quickly as she’d arrived.
Marissa turned to Connor. “I don’t suppose you could order my dad to step away from the mummy and head over to the pageant area, could you?”
“I’m afraid not. Looks like you’ve got some mummy issues to deal with.”
She patted his cheek. “Hey, you’ve got mummy issues of your own.”
His grin weakened her knees and left her feeling like she’d been hit by…well, hit by a sarcophagus. Her dad might be pleased by the analogy but Marissa wasn’t. She wasn’t supposed to feel this fluttering in her stomach.
She was too old for the sweaty-palms-dry-mouth sensations of a first crush. She shouldn’t even be considering jumping Connor and having her way with him, not when she was standing here in front of the Hopeful Memorial Library booth surrounded by crowds of people.
She wanted to rip off those sunglasses of his, look into his gray-green-blue eyes and see if she could read his thoughts. Thoughts of ripping had her eyeing the very official-looking shirt of his uniform. There was a reason male strippers often wore cop uniforms.
Okay, she had to stop this. She should not be thinking of Connor as a male stripper. That was not a good thing. Well, yeah, it kind of was a good fantasy. A damn fine fantasy, in fact. But that’s all it could be. A fantasy.
The reality was that she needed to step away from Connor and his sensual influence on her and head over to the booth where her father was hanging out with a mummy.
Marissa sighed.
“If you really need my help…” Connor began before she interrupted him.
“No, I can do this on my own,” she said and meant it. She couldn’t afford to lean on him, not when doing so could end up with her flat on her face. No, she had to stand on her own two feet. And those feet needed to move her out of Connor’s gravitational pull.