Cat Killed A Rat

by ReGina Welling

  “By far the biggest news I got was that Luther’s jerky brother has been rumored to be partaking in a scandalous affair with a married Pines resident. And also hitting on co-eds, but no big shocker there. No names were mentioned, and I doubt the girls who were talking about him actually know anything anyway. But the rumor is definitely out there, and I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if it was true. He’s a smarmy, cocky ass, and I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

  “Gee, Chlo, tell me how you really feel.” EV snorted with a grin. “Let’s tuck that little bit of information away and see if we can find out the real deal. He’s going down, one way or another.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at Chloe suggestively and changed the subject. “You’re wrong, you know. Don’t you realize the biggest reason I’m trying to resuscitate you is that I want to know if you met a man. I half hoped you wouldn’t be alone when I got here.”

  Chloe rolled her eyes for what felt like the millionth time in response to the same question. “Why is everyone so pushy about finding me a man? Am I giving off some lonely hearts vibe that makes you all think I need to get a piece? I’m perfectly capable of making myself happy.”

  She scowled at EV's waggling eyebrows but after a moment, she couldn’t keep from smiling, too.

  “I’m just not comfortable hooking up with someone. It’s not like I’m going to form any real connection with some guy in a bar—especially not at The Yard where Objective #1 is to hook up with the first drunk girl who makes a bad decision. I’d like more than that, especially after being out of the game for so long.”

  She didn’t mention how lonely she had been lately. That would just add fuel to the fire and the last thing she wanted was to be set up with every moderately attractive man EV met. It was in her friend’s nature to meddle, especially if she thought she was helping.

  EV shot an appraising look at Chloe. “And there’s absolutely nobody you think you might be able to have a serious relationship with?”

  “I swear, the next person who mentions the name Nate Harper to me is going to get a box of dirty socks for Christmas.”

  “Save that for the Yankee Swap this year and stop being petulant. He’s good looking, has a job, and you know he’s not a psychopath or a big crybaby. You could certainly do worse.”

  “What makes you all even think he wants anything more than friendship with me?” she asked, tentatively. If Nate had his sights set on her, she was not going to enjoy breaking his heart.

  “He’s not dead, Chloe, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  Chloe shifted uncomfortably and visibly reddened. “And how’s that?”

  “Like a ten-year-old looking at a sweaty Popsicle he’d like to lick.”

  Not knowing what to say, Chloe simply flopped back down and closed her eyes. Was it true she felt a spark whenever Nate was around? Maybe. Was he attractive, and someone she felt safe with? Certainly. But was Nate going to stick around long enough for a relationship? Not likely. He’d hightail it out of town faster than you could say boo as soon as he could, and she wasn’t about to embark on a relationship that wasn’t going anywhere. She had no intention of moving, and long distance never worked out—she should know.

  “Just think about it.” EV left it at that, covered Chloe with a blanket, and let her friend finish sleeping off the previous night. She’ll figure it out for herself. EV thought with a chuckle.

  Chapter Six

  Somehow, much to the chagrin of its residents, Ponderosa Pines was slowly becoming a destination spot for the eco-curious. While tourism was not encouraged—the town was not listed in any brochures handed out at information kiosks along the highway—neither was anyone ever turned away. Curiosity was tolerated as a necessary evil and a bit of extra income.

  Talia’s sister Lottie owned Open House, one of two bed-and-breakfasts in town, and Sabra Pruitt ran the other, aptly named Come On Inn, located directly across the road.

  Both women had very different reasons for taking in lodgers. Lottie pinned her hopes of finding a husband on renting rooms to what she hoped would become a slew of eco-minded bachelors. So far, her master plan had yielded only one rather hairy, unmarried fellow who smelled as though he had developed an allergy to soap.

  She might have been able to overlook that small detail if he hadn’t been so vocally disgusted to learn people from the Pines actually owned computers and occasionally shopped at IKEA. His weeklong stay ended a few days early after he commented in front of Horis that no self-respecting green-community member would be caught dead driving a car, using a gas-powered rototiller, or wearing clothing they had not made by hand.

  Horis had deadpanned that even the Amish made their own soap before giving the young man a dunking in one of his irrigation ditches, then frog-marching him off the property. The hairy complainer’s Birkenstock-clad feet barely touched the ground the entire time.

  Most of Lottie’s customers were couples looking to learn alternative building methods, and visitors drawn in during town festivals.

  Sabra catered to the same crowd, but socked every penny away toward building herself a rooftop observatory where she could scan the skies for proof of alien life.

  Both establishments suffered from being hard to find, hidden from the auspices of GPS by being on an unmapped, dead-end road about half a mile from the center of town.

  Worse, neither woman was above poaching unregistered guests who might have mistaken one inn for the other. Since the two buildings were similarly constructed, potential guests were often confused—which only fed the rivalry between them.

  Typically, EV avoided getting involved in the ongoing feud, but today it might work in her favor. Annoyed people always passed along the best gossip.

  Now for the bribe.

  Lifting up on her tiptoes, EV reached into the cabinet over the fridge and pulled out a jar of crab-apple jelly made with her mother’s secret ingredient—a squeeze of ginger juice to give it a little bite. Sabra had been trying to figure out the recipe for years. One of these days, she would have some gossip juicy enough to warrant the secret recipe, but today was not that day.

  The jelly went into a canvas bag along with several books that EV intended to drop off in the borrow boxes along the way.

  The borrow boxes were one of EV’s favorite Ponderosa Pines innovations. Perched atop a post, each box boasted a peaked roof and glass door to keep out rain and snow. In summer, the boxes contained books for trade. Townspeople were welcome to select a book as long as they replaced it with another. In winter, the boxes contained knitted hats, mittens, and scarves—no trade required. Priscilla and her knitting group stocked the boxes every couple of days.

  Armed with her bag of goodies, EV stepped out into the baking heat where sweat immediately beaded on her brow. It was the kind of day where you had to make your own breeze. So instead of the leisurely stroll she had been planning, EV lifted her bike down from where it hung on a pair of hooks screwed into the ends of the logs that made up the walls of her home.

  A short time later, she wheeled into Sabra’s yard and prepared herself for the inevitable attack. She didn’t have long to wait before the ugliest pug dog in town raced across the yard to bark at her.

  “Hush up, Mugly Pugington; I’m wise to your act.” The dog grinned up at her with crooked teeth poking over his top lip. Chase the Bike was his favorite game, but since he only had one good sprint in him, he never managed to catch one. He’d already waddled off to fall over, panting, into the grass where he waited for EV to come give his soft pink belly a scratch.

  Having heard the barking, Sabra stepped onto the porch. She was a woman of substance and plenty of it. Salt-and-pepper hair flowed down her back and over a pair of watermelon-sized bosoms clad in a tank top so tight EV could see the floral pattern of her bra through the material. Based on other things poking through the material, the thick, rammed-earth walls of her place were doing their job and keeping the interior of her house nice and cool.

  “Come
in out the heat,” she said, smiling. “Homemade root beer?” Sabra’s brew was like heaven in a glass: deep, dark, and rich with a scent that could make an angel sing.

  “Always,” EV replied, following her into the house. At the first sip from the frosted mug, foam tickled her nose. Sighing with pleasure, she reached into her bag to pull out the jelly.

  “Ooh, is that…”

  “Crabapple jelly.” EV glanced around. While the exteriors of the adjacent B&Bs were eerily similar, the interiors couldn’t have been more different. Stuccoed walls painted a pristine white to reflect more light was Lottie’s choice for every room while, here, Sabra had chosen earthier colors like ocher and terra cotta for the walls to play up the variations in texture. Shelves and tables with chunky legs in dark walnut contrasted perfectly against their warm tones.

  Between the banks of solar panels mounted on the roof, several skylights delivered plenty of natural light—always a concern when using extra thick walls to maintain energy efficiency. Sabra had also added a few recessed lights with beams directed toward the shelves that housed her bottle collection.

  The woman must spend all her free time polishing glass, judging by the way each bottle sparkled in the light. Still, the jeweled colors really were beautiful additions to an already pleasing room.

  “Quite the to-do the other night, eh?” As always, gossip was a give-and-take thing which meant Sabra was just as eager to get EV’s opinion on recent events as EV was to get hers.

  “I know, right?”

  Sabra raised a brow. “I couldn’t help but notice a certain married someone watching Evan very closely during the meeting.”

  “Who?” And how did I miss that? EV wondered.

  “Ever seen a cougar on the prowl? The human variety, I mean.”

  EV waved a hand for Sabra to continue but knew from the cat-that-ate-the-cream look on her face, the other woman was not going to spill the details. “Let’s just say the feline in question is barely out of the kitten stage, and I’m thinking he might have been willing meat.”

  “Evan has been known to do some prowling of his own.”

  “Well, there was a vibe between them, so I’m pretty sure it wasn’t one-sided. Feel sorry for her husband, though. I don’t think he has a clue his wife was giving some other man the side eye.” Astute though she was, EV knew she had been so preoccupied trying to parse out Evan’s ulterior motives that she lost track of the nuances going on around her.

  “What do you think about this whole Gilmore scheme?” she asked

  “Worst idea in history.” Sabra waved her hand, distaste scrawled across her features. “No, second worst behind Evan Plunkett becoming mayor of anything. Can you just imagine? First thing he’d do is put up a statue of himself in the middle of town.”

  Wrinkling her nose at the thought of that preening jackass being immortalized in stone, or worse, in bronze, EV nodded her agreement. Even with heavy campaigning, the list of people who would support Evan in his bid for office was minimal at best. Most had come here to escape forms of town government that hinged on the opinions of the few over the good of the many.

  Funny, though, how some of those who, upon arrival in Ponderosa Pines, were most vocal about wanting a committee-style system; but then went completely off the deep end when that same committee decided against something they wanted. But that was only human nature, she supposed.

  Mind wandering, she missed most of the story Sabra was telling about Lottie’s latest lodger.

  A smirk flirted across Sabra’s face. “Lottie nearly had a hemorrhage.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “If you ask me, I think her whole problem is she could use a little romp in the sheets.”

  Even if she agreed with Sabra on that score, EV would never admit it out loud. There was a fine line, for her, between harmless gossip and the spiteful kind. Okay, so it was a hair-thin line and moved around a lot—depending on who she was with—but still, Sabra and Lottie were rivals, and agreeing with Sabra now was too much like taking sides.

  After being quizzed for about the hundredth time about her mother’s secret jelly ingredient, EV took her leave and pedaled back to the Mudbucket for a cup of coffee and a bit of eavesdropping.

  The place was nearly deserted when EV settled into her usual spot—the table in the far corner nearest the kitchen. When young Rhonda Erickson served her an iced coffee with a double shot of caramel alongside a turkey club sandwich, EV cast a calculating eye over her figure.

  Sure enough, Chloe had been right. Mrs. Erickson was expecting. If the slight thickening of her middle hadn’t been enough, there was the telltale puffiness around her face and neck that often signaled a woman approaching the middle of her second trimester.

  “Sit down, Rhonda. Looks like those ankles of yours could use a rest.”

  “But Mr. Burnsoll needs a refill.”

  “You sit right here and let me take care of Dalton.” Before Rhonda knew what hit her, she was seated at the table, and EV was behind the counter asking, “decaf or regular?”

  “Decaf,” his grin was a mile wide as he gave her the once-over. Not in a lecherous way, but in an I-like-what-I-see kind of way. The corners of his eyes crinkled when she bristled under his gaze.

  Debating whether to pour decaf in his cup or in his lap, EV snapped, “Eyes to yourself, mister.” She refilled his cup.

  Newly divorced—and that was a story EV intended to learn more about, though so far, he had kept hush on the details—Dalton had used the opportunity to make more than a few new life choices. The first had been to sell this very establishment to the Ericksons. He’d recently gotten himself a new job, and now it looked as though he might be ready to start dating again.

  Taller than her by a couple inches, Dalton’s love of hiking kept him physically fit. Thick, dark hair curled softly at his collar with only touches of gray at the temples giving away his age. Dark eyes framed by a few crinkling laugh lines gazed at her with the barest hint of a twinkle.

  He was a good-looking, pleasant man, but totally not her type—if she had a type, which she did not.

  “Can’t help it; you’re a fine figure of a woman, Emmalina.”

  Now she regretted not dumping the coffee in his lap.

  “EV.”

  “EV,” his voice was a caress.

  “You’re not my type, Dalton. Give it a rest.”

  “I could be if you’d give me half a chance.”

  That this was nothing short of truth had exactly the opposite effect Dalton intended. EV froze, tension tightening her spine and setting her teeth on edge. Before she could stop it, her imagination went on a flight of fancy; the two of them holding hands, snuggling in front of a roaring fire, growing older together. Admitting she needed or wanted any of these things set up shrieking alarms in her head.

  EV’s mental doors slammed shut with a resounding thunk. Letting Dalton in? Worst idea in history. Admitting the possibility she might want to? Never. Once burned, twice shy. Not that Dalton had been the one holding the torch.

  “Never going to happen. I’ve seen you in diapers, remember?” Dalton was another second-generation resident. His folks were among the few remaining original commune members, so he and EV had grown up together. In fact, they’d been more like brother and sister until puberty hit and he’d begun to look at her differently. She had deflected him then, and she would deflect him now.

  And she would admit to no one, not even Chloe, how his flirting made her feel vital again.

  “Yeah?” he said, eyes sparkling, “I’ve seen you in nothing at all.”

  She huffed a breath out her nose. “We were kids, and you said you wouldn’t peek before I had a chance to get into the water.”

  “I was a hormone infested twelve-year-old and I lied.” Without regret, it seemed.

  She scorched him with a look before returning to her seat, her sandwich, and maybe a little gossip.

  At the first bite of soft, yeasty bread filled with sliced turkey, she closed her eyes and
made yummy noises. “Tell David this is a tiny taste of heaven. I’m glad you two decided to expand the menu.”

  “He makes his own aioli.” Rhonda paused, a frown marring her pretty face. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  Too busy eating to answer, EV waved her sandwich to indicate Rhonda should go ahead.

  “Do you really own the whole town and only let in people who will do whatever you tell them?”

  EV nearly choked on a piece of turkey while, behind her, a guffaw burst from Dalton.

  “What the… What?” EV’s haste in swallowing the bite of sandwich had her gulping water to wash it down. She turned to a red-faced Dalton. “Giggling like that isn’t very manly. Get hold of yourself.”

  He snorted and kept laughing.

  “Okay,” Rhonda nodded. “I didn’t think so, but I had to ask.” Raising her voice, she called out toward the kitchen, “Did you hear that, David? I told you it was a load of hooey.”

  “Let me guess—Evan Plunkett.”

  There was no need for Rhonda to affirm EV’s guess, the answer was written all over her face. “I’m sorry for repeating such…”

  “A load of steaming crap?” EV finished the sentence with a twinkle in her eye. She had to give it to Rhonda—the younger woman had guts, and from what she could see, a sense of humor. “He’s only partly right: my family did own the entire town at one time and, technically, they—we—still own a great deal of land here. If you’ve read the town charter and history, everything you need to know about my family and their role in Ponderosa Pines is laid out, in black and white.”

  “I’d just hate for anything to change. We haven’t lived here all that long, but we love this place, just the way it is. I don’t think we would want to stay if Ponderosa Pines becomes part of Gilmore.”

  How many others would feel the same?

  Chapter Seven