What more could a man need?
“You’re going to like her, Andrew. She’s like you. Straightforward. No games and lies. You both needed a push in the right direction.”
It was funny how you could live in a small town and hardly ever run in to somebody you knew, then all of sudden that person was popping in and out of your life with the regularity of the stubborn mole who kept tunneling through your yard snatching your hosta lilies and making your life a gardener’s nightmare. Obviously, God had a sense of humor.
“Don’t you even think about saying no, Andrew. Rue is already expecting your call. If you don’t call, you’ll hurt her feelings.”
Andrew was not the kind of man to run roughshod over anybody’s feelings. In jeans, boots and a jacket filled with NASCAR patches, he might look like a tough guy with nothing but race cars on his mind. In fact, just the opposite was true. In coveted and rare moments when he was home long enough to enjoy his gardens and solitary evenings, he did some heavy thinking.
His introspection had led Andrew to believe there was no such thing as coincidence. Were recent signs pointing him toward something new?
“Andrew? Say something.”
“Don’t worry, Patsy. I’ll uphold my end of the bargain.”
Patsy’s visit left Andrew unable to enjoy his pizza and his late-night TV movie, McLintock!, starring John Wayne. Andrew’s all-time favorite Western.
Furthermore, every time Maureen O’Hara came on the screen, Andrew found himself thinking about how he’d approach his date with that other redhead—Rue Larrabee.
Maybe he’d call her tomorrow from the road. He’d call her house when he figured she’d be at her beauty shop, that way he could just leave a message and hope she’d never call back.
But that would be cowardly. And not in keeping with the bargain he’d made with Patsy. Furthermore, he could hear Dr. Sylvia screaming from the pages of that dratted book on his bedside table. “Face your greatest fear.”
Commitment with the wrong woman. His first wife being the prime example. That was his fear. If Dr. Sylvia was right, he needed to get off his duff and look his fear right in the eye.
He was just getting back into the groove with John Wayne when his cell phone rang. It was his crew chief.
Andrew felt reprieved. The race at Indianapolis stretched ahead of him, not as a long, grueling weekend, but as the kind of adrenaline-high challenge he loved.
NORMALLY RUE LOOKED forward to weekends of watching the NASCAR races on TV, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. With the charity date looming large, she almost didn’t tune in. The sight of all that NASCAR activity at Indianapolis would only remind her of her jumbled-up feelings for Andrew Clark. Around him, she was as hormonal as a teenager, blushing and gushing one minute then feeling as if she had two left feet the next.
She grabbed the rest of her King Alfred daffodils and headed to her garden. By the time she got her to flowerbeds, she’d changed her mind.
Good grief. No way was she going to let a little thing like a charity date with Andrew Clark deprive her of the races. Relieved, she went inside, made a big bowl of popcorn and settled in for a marathon of breakneck speed chills and thrills, and cheering for all her favorites.
ON MONDAY MORNING after he got back from Indianapolis, Andrew ate breakfast at home so he wouldn’t run in to Rue at Maudie’s and blow his whole plan. Rue rattled him in ways no woman had since he was a much younger man. Just the sight of her made him feel like a teenager. He was afraid that if he saw her prancing around like the queen of Maudie’s, if not the whole doggoned town, he’d blurt out that he had to date her for the sake of the children’s charities—not to mention the Tuesday Tarts.
No, it was best to wait until after he’d centered himself by working through the pile of work in his office. For Pete’s sake, the Pocono race was this weekend. He needed to get this Rue business over with.
He’d catch her in her shop in the late afternoon, facing his greatest fear. Hopefully, she’d be tired and a bit frazzled from her long day, and he might have the advantage.
Whistling, Andrew drove to FastMax. The garage was a blur of sound and motion. During racing season, there was no letup. With a race almost every weekend, the FastMax team constantly worked like a well-oiled machine.
As he entered his garage, Andrew felt a burst of pride. The gamble he’d taken last year had paid off. His challenge now was to keep Garrett in Victory Lane.
Andrew worked straight through lunch in order to catch up with telephone conferences and paperwork so he could take a break midafternoon. When the clock hands pointed to three, he tidied up and drove off to Cut ’N’ Chat.
There was a parking space right across the street. He could see Rue through the shop’s window, looking anything but frazzled. As a matter of fact, even at this distance she looked a bit delicious, like a generous serving of peach ice cream you’d like to savor on a hot August day.
Shaking himself loose from that ridiculous fantasy, Andrew unfolded his long legs, stepped out of his pickup and entered Cut ’N’ Chat.
Every eye turned his way and all sound ceased. He felt like a prize rooster in a henhouse.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Andrew hoped he didn’t look as uncomfortable as he felt.
A few women he didn’t know mumbled something under their breaths that might have passed for hello, and then the decibel level in the shop rose to one similar to the speedway.
The close-up view of the good-looking, self-confident woman very much in charge of her own domain made him think of how he operated as owner of FastMax. Like him, Rue took her business seriously. His admiration for her went up two notches. Furthermore, seeing Rue reminded him of watching Maureen O’Hara do her spitfire turn in last night’s John Wayne Western. Not a good sign. He wanted to find Dr. Sylvia and strangle her. Not to mention the Tuesday Tarts.
“Andrew.” Rue nodded curtly. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
She had to know why he was there, but Rue Larrabee looked none too happy to see him. In fact, she looked like she’d love to run him through with her hair-cutting scissors.
Andrew perched on a chair that felt like it had been designed for one of those silly grown-up-looking dolls with the blond ponytail and the pink plastic convertible. Rue ignored him.
With women traipsing in and out of the shop, he picked up a magazine and flipped through the pages. It was a full two minutes before he realized it contained nothing except cake recipes and articles with a variation on the theme “ten ways women can make their husbands happy.” Did women believe that stuff? No wonder Andrew had such a hard time talking to them.
What was taking Rue so long? Obviously, she didn’t want to talk to him any more than he wanted to talk to her. He set the magazine aside and studied the shop to see if he could learn anything about the woman. The shop was clean and well-organized. A point in her favor. It also had a down-home feeling, like Maudie’s Diner. Another plus.
Andrew wished Rue would hurry up with that haircut. If he sat there much longer, he might get to thinking he knew enough about this woman to actually enjoy being with her.
Suddenly she was standing in front of him, hands on her hips. “Well? Say what you came to say and get it over with.”
Not a good start. Andrew tamped down the urge to clear his throat. Would it be too much effort for Rue to take him into her office for a little privacy? Since she’d made it clear that wouldn’t be happening, Andrew had no choice but to ask her out in front of witnesses. Though some might argue that the remaining customers—two geriatrics under old-fashioned hooded hair dryers and the teenager talking her head off while she was being shampooed—weren’t much in the way of witnesses.
“Rue, I’d be honored if you’d have dinner with me tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven and we’ll drive to Charlotte.”
“Is this a bachelor’s auction date?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t ha
ve time for dating. Let’s call that drive to get soft serve ice cream our date, and we’ll be through with the whole charade.”
Any other man would tell himself he’d fulfilled his obligations and walk out. But this woman was challenging him, and Andrew never backed down from a challenge.
“I can’t do that.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Won’t.”
“You’re stubborn as a mule.”
“Looks like that makes us two of a kind.”
To his surprise, Rue laughed. “All right, then. Pick up a couple of hamburgers, bring them back here tomorrow night around six and we’ll get this so-called date over with.”
“Done.”
Andrew would have offered a handshake to seal the deal, but he didn’t want a replay of what happened at Joe’s. Being up close to Rue was dangerous. She smelled nice, sweet and spicy, like his Gertrude Jekyll rose. Her skin looked soft, too, and very inviting.
Andrew hurried from the shop feeling cheated. It was the same uncomfortable position he’d often found himself in during his fifty-one years.
He vowed he was going to do something about it. He didn’t know what, just yet, but he’d think of a plan.
NO SOONER WAS Andrew out of the shop than the phone rang. Rue picked up and noted the caller was Maudie’s Diner.
“Did Andrew ask you out?” It was Sheila, sounding breathless.
“News travels fast.”
“I saw him go inside. When’s the date?”
Rue gave her the details, and there was a long silence. “Sheila? Are you there?”
“You bet, I’m here. Have fun, Rue. I’m going to call Patsy.”
“Sheila, wait…” Rue said, but the phone was already dead.
The shop bell tinkled as the teenager left, and the two dryers simultaneously whirred to a stop. Rue escorted Mrs. Loretta Gibbens, who couldn’t hear it thunder, to her chair, while Mrs. Charlsie Wooton, whose hearing was equally bad, toddled to Daisy’s chair.
“What’d Sheila say?” Daisy took out rollers and picked up her styling brush as she talked.
“That she was calling Patsy—and probably everyone else she knows.” Rue wielded her brush through Mrs. Gibbens’s hair as if it were an extension of her hand.
“Good. You need some help with this date.”
“It’s not a real date.”
“I thought he was sweet.”
“He was in here less than ten minutes. How could you possibly know the first thing about him?”
“I could tell.”
Sweet Daisy. Always full of hope. Something they both shared.
“One of these days, a real prince is going to come along and sweep you off your feet, Daisy.”
With her blond curls bobbing and dogged determination shining in her dark eyes, Daisy took Mrs. Charlsie Wooton’s tip and stuffed it into the drawer of her styling table.
“One will come for each of us, Rue.”
Rue gave Daisy a hug. “Lock up after me, sweetie.” Then she took Mrs. Loretta’s Gibbens’s arm and helped her to her ancient sedan.
“Be careful, hon.” Rue yelled loud enough for the old woman to hear. “See you next Monday.” Then she stood there waving until Mrs. Gibbens safely maneuvered her car away from the curb and crept off down the street.
ANDREW HAD BEEN sitting in his truck across the street from Cut ’N’ Chat for ten minutes, listening to the radio turned low to a country/Western station and playing along on his harmonica.
He’d needed time to think before he reentered the controlled chaos of his garage, and this seemed as good a place as any. When Rue came out of the shop, he switched his radio off—and heard every word she said to the old lady.
At the precise moment Rue stood on the street, waving at the departing sedan, Andrew knew he was in trouble. Rue was the kind of woman he could fall for, one with a generous spirit and a kind heart.
The date loomed before him as a sort of Waterloo. When Andrew drove off, he told himself that if he didn’t want to get burned again, he’d have to handle Rue with caution.
CHAPTER SIX
ON TUESDAY MORNING, Rue dressed in her bright blue blouse, ankle pants, espadrilles and earrings the size of Montana. She had no intention of doing anything different simply because she had a charity date with Andrew Clark that evening. And she certainly had no intention of repeating her mistake in front of Joe’s. As far as she was concerned, Andrew would be the untouchable.
She picked up doughnuts and was relieved not to see him in Maudie’s. Daisy didn’t comment when Rue walked into the shop, set down the box of doughnuts and donned her styling apron.
As hard as Rue tried to make this Tuesday just another ordinary day, she found herself getting flushed thinking about the way Andrew had smiled at her from under the hood of her Mustang. And she dropped her brush when she remembered the way he’d looked with ice cream on his cheek or sitting on her beauty shop chair—uncomfortable, staunch and endearing.
It was the endearing part that got to her. If she weren’t careful, she might start expecting more than hamburgers from Andrew Clark. She might expect him to hold her hand and tell her she was pretty. She might expect a smile that felt intimate. She might even expect a kiss. Not a perfunctory kiss on the cheek but a real one. The kind she sometimes still dreamed about when she was sitting up late watching Pretty Woman or An Affair to Remember.
At five the shop door burst open and in trooped Patsy, Grace and Sheila, their arms laden with bags and boxes.
“Surprise,” yelled Sheila.
“Are you here to watch me make a fool of myself tonight?”
“We’re here for your makeover.” Sheila jerked a pair of gold sling-back stiletto heels out of a box. “We’ll start with these.”
“Good grief, I’m not wearing those. I’d fall and break my fool neck.”
Ignoring her, Sheila said, “Daisy, grab your brush. We’ve got to do something with Rue’s hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Rue glimpsed herself in the mirror. The heat of exertion had caused her curls to spring every which way. Her hair looked like a Brillo pad.
“You won’t be needing this old ammonia-smelling thing.” Daisy removed Rue’s apron, then led her to her styling station. “Sit down. I’m going to froufrou you.”
“I don’t want to be froufroued. This is not a real date.”
“After Andrew gets a gander at you in my dress, it’ll be real.” Patsy opened her bag and pulled out a green, slinky dress with most of the front and the back missing.
“Good grief, Patsy. Why aren’t you home getting ready for the race at Pocono?”
“Dean can handle things for a while. Besides, all work and no play makes Patsy a dull girl, and we all know that’s not true.” The rest of the women whooped. “Here. Put this on.”
“I’m not wearing that. I’d look like somebody who hasn’t had sex in fifteen years and can’t wait to jump Andrew’s bones.”
Patsy grinned.
“Exactly,” Grace said.
“Oh, hush up,” Rue told her. But she had to admit that Daisy had done wonders with her hair.
And the dress didn’t look half-bad, either. Especially with the shoes. Plus the dangling rhinestone earrings Grace added. In fact, Rue hadn’t felt this feminine in a long time.
“You look fabulous,” Patsy told her and everyone cheered.
“But don’t you think it’s way over-the-top for hamburgers?” Nobody said anything, which started to arouse Rue’s suspicions. “What if I ruin the dress? It probably cost an arm and a leg.”
Patsy kissed her on the cheek. “Dresses can be replaced. Friends can’t.”
“Lord, look at the clock,” Sheila said. “Let’s get out of here. It’s almost showtime.”
It was ten minutes till six. Rue wondered if Andrew would be prompt. She also wondered if she had time to change back into her blouse and pants.
But what if Andrew arrived with the hamburgers while she was strippin
g?
“Good grief.”
Rue perched on the edge of a chair feeling like an imposter. When the bell over her shop’s door tinkled, she nearly jumped out of the skimpy dress. Oh, help.
Ruining Patsy’s dress was the least of her worries. In his tuxedo, Andrew looked like something good to eat.
No wonder her friends wanted to froufrou her. They knew. Wait till Rue finished with them.
“Hello, Rue. You look very pretty tonight.”
Only three minutes into her date, and already one wish had been granted. Furthermore, there was no artifice in Andrew. His smile was sweet, shy and sincere.
“Thank you. It’s the dress. It belongs to your sister.”
“It looks like it was made for you.”
Genuinely touched, Rue covered her feelings by redirecting the conversation. “I told Patsy the dress was too fancy for hamburgers. Just bring the bag to my office. We’ll eat at my desk.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I’d hate to balance my food on my lap. And I don’t want to spill mustard on your sister’s dress.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.” He examined her with the thoroughness he’d probably use in assessing a good race car. Rue felt her skin heating up. “That shade of green suits you.”
They stared at each other, neither saying another word. When the shop bell tingled, Andrew took a step back and Rue caught her first full breath since he’d entered her salon.
“What in the world?” Rue chastised herself for forgetting to hang out the Closed sign.
“Our dinner,” Andrew said.
Astounded, Rue watched while caterers set up a table complete with white linen cloth, roses, candlelight and champagne. She hadn’t had champagne since she was doing a taste test for her unfortunate wedding reception. Unfortunate because it never took place.
Next came the food. Instead of hamburgers, Rue would be dining on lobster with drawn butter—her favorite food in the world—escargot and asparagus tips, endive salad and flaky, buttery rolls.
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