Lady Luck's a Loser (The Apple Orchard Series Book 1)

by Caryl McAdoo

  Vicki laughed then bit the inside of her left cheek. “To quote Eliza Doolittle, now wouldn’t that be loverly?” She wiggled a hubba-hubba hoochey-coo. “If only, if only, if only.”

  When she got to the highway, she strapped on her seat belt and motioned for her passenger to do the same. “I mean you have to admit, even if he is an old man, he’s still got that animal magnetism, doesn’t he? Don’t you think he’s a hunk? Like Kevin Costner. I don’t think that man will ever get so old he won’t be a looker.

  “Actually, it’s too bad, but I have to work for my paycheck.” She choked back the image of Audrey and Marge laughing over that lie. “Audrey’s the cook, and Marge is Mr. Preston’s personal secretary.”

  “That’s not what we’re hearing.”

  Vicki shrugged. “Guess a person does hear a lot in a long day, but we best not be printing any lies now.” She cut a sideways glance at Waters. “Besides, why would you be discussing Preston anyway? I hope you didn’t forget –”

  “Oh, get real. I know how to keep my mouth shut. I overheard a conversation at that little Mexican restaurant, Two Senoritas I think, out on I-20. Two old men in the booth behind me.” She shifted toward her door and stared out the window.

  “Yeah, well, you best be sending the story for his approval just like you agreed.”

  The reporter threw up her hands. “Why are you so suspicious all of a sudden? Number one, I wouldn’t think of printing a rumor, and number two, I should have a rough draft for Mr. Preston in a week. Final by mid-June.”

  “Good.”

  Nothing else much worth remembering was said, and again Vicki spent more time in the telling of her trip than the whole ride actually took. When she finished, she pulled out the additional buckage from Waters and tossed it onto the table in front of her boss. “Twelve hundred and twenty.”

  He pushed it back. “Keep it. You earned it, darlin’.”

  “Why, thank you, Mister P.” She gathered it without arguments then stuffed it in her back pocket. “Thank you very much.”

  Of course, she loved money, but the look of approval in his eyes and his soothing tone when he called her darlin’ meant way more than the wad of bills pressing into her derriere. Could her heart handle the immense weight of love and admiration and not burst?

  No matter what happened, she had to stay a part of his life. Around him, she acted different, and lately, she could even say she’d been proud to be herself. What a totally new concept. She’d never much really liked Victoria Truchard. Hurting Marge would be the last thing she’d ever want to do, but… Yes, somehow, she had to fix it so she got to stay at the Apple Orchard Bed and Breakfast.

  In her room, she flipped some music on and undressed. She thought again about Susie’s visit and all that the woman said. In front of the full length mirror on her closet door, she appraised herself as her hips swayed to the music. Stepping out of her jeans, she grabbed a scarf that draped the lampshade. She pulled it slowly around her neck.

  An idea struck her. She retrieved a coined necklace from her jewelry box and sat it on top her head with the coins hanging over her forehead. Now the image of being in his harem came into better focus, but she couldn’t muster that sensual little spark she’d experienced the first time she interviewed with him.

  What was going on, and what was wrong with her?

  What more could she do to insure a place there with him for herself?

  How could she make this way of life a reality?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Journal entry - June 14th

  Hope it doesn’t stir anything up, but I want to know.

  Soon enough, the days piled on top each other, and the ladies stopped talking about the reporter. With only a week to go before Jefferson, Preston had all but forgotten Miss Waters’ visit. Then Vicki came running up the lane from the house waving a large manila envelope. “It’s here, Dub.”

  He met her at the fence. “What’s here?”

  “I’m assuming Nancy’s story.” She handed him the unopened, oversized parcel.

  “Thanks.” He rolled it then crammed it into his back pocket. “What’s Audrey cooking tonight?”

  “Not sure, but she’s been at it all afternoon. I can tell you it’s something that smells totally grand.”

  “Good. And how’s your costume coming?”

  “Perplexing.” She leaned against the fence. “Actually, I’m making three, but I’m not sure which one has the best chance of winning.”

  “What are they?”

  For the next ten minutes, he concentrated on listening to her discuss her costume ideas and what she liked and didn’t like about each. He tried hard to pay attention, but a part of him couldn’t wait to read the article. That part never convinced his feet to move, so he stayed put and listened to Vicki prattle.

  “So, anyway, what do you think? Which one?”

  “Beats me. I’m not a judge this year.”

  “So? You have been in the past?”

  “Yeah, one year Nancy gave them a big check to fix up the library.”

  “I looked it up on the net. Read all about those libraries Carnegie built. It’s a shame there’s so few left.”

  “Anyway, the Friends of the Library invited us as their special guests for the evening. They asked us to judge, so we did.” He gazed off a minute then smiled. “Nancy sure cut up her heels that night. Wore me out. Took a week for my feet to recover from all that dancing.”

  “So what else are we going to be doing in Jefferson? How about giving a girl a heads-up here? You’ve got me laying totally awake at night thinking about this trip.”

  He waved her away. “Nope, no way. It’d be cheating to make you privy to more information than the others.”

  She wrinkled her nose then backed out of his reach. “You’re an old meanie. That’s what you are. Well, all I can say is it better be fair, and I’ll win. I couldn’t stand you sending me home. You know that, right? Please don’t ever send me away, Dub”

  He nodded toward the house. “Sounds to me like any one of those costumes will get you another month. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  With a half-heartedly smirk, she winked, but blatant unbelief shone in her eyes. That she held back her usual sarcastic yeah, right made him want to agree never to send her anywhere. She stepped back toward the fence. “So, is this where you jumped over when Marge told you she was going home?”

  “No.” He pointed a couple of posts down. “We were up there.”

  “Hurt yourself?”

  He shook his head and chuckled. “No, and actually, I don’t know who was more surprised.”

  “So, do the rest of us get a look at the story before it’s published?”

  “Sure. I’ll go in and read it right now.” He nodded toward the gate. “Walk back with me. There’s something I’d like for you to do.”

  “Absolutely, Dub. Anything.”

  *  *

  Marge, who all this time had been working on her costume, knew nothing about Nancy’s article arriving or that Vicki had conspired with Preston. She was having too much fun with her gown. Never in her life had she gone to a genuine ball. It would be so much fun. She could have finished a couple of days ago, but purposely slowed the process and relished each stitch, each pale glistening sequin.

  Someone rapped on the door. “Hey, you decent?”

  Marge gently spread her gown on the bed then threw a sheet over it. “Of course, I am. Come on in.”

  Vicki flung it open and sauntered in. “Susie Waters finally sent her story for our approval.”

  “Excellent.” Marge stood. “Where is it?”

  “He’s got it now. Said we could look at it after supper.”

  She sat back down. “What’s Audrey cooking that smells so good?”

  “Don’t know, but I’ve got a question.” She slipped into the rocker that faced the bed. “You are going to Jefferson, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m going.” And indeed she would—but afterwa
rd, she’d be the one headed back to Dallas. “Why do you ask?”

  Vicki traipsed over to the bed, caught a bedpost just below the spindle then pivoted on her heel. “Dub wanted to know. Said the way you two left it, you’d agreed to think about it.” She stopped, hanging an arm’s length from the post, and looked Marge in the eye. “Guess he hoped you’d thought about it enough and wondered about your decision.”

  “Why didn’t he ask me himself?” Because he wanted her to know he didn’t keep any secrets from Darlin’, that was why, and she knew it as well as she knew Karo should be smashed with butter and spread on toast.

  The beautiful youngster laughed and swung again with abandon. “Maybe because we all secretly failed junior high, and it’s in the rules that we have to relive this part over again so we can get it right.”

  “What else did he say?”

  Vicki rocked forward. “Well. I told him about all three costumes I’m making, and he said any one of them would get me another month.”

  She could hear him. Any one of them will get you another month, darlin’. Her jaws tensed. “I thought we decided not to tell each other who we were going to be?”

  “I didn’t think that meant him.”

  Agreeing calmed her. The two speculated for a while about the anticipated article from Miss Waters then both tried to guess the origin of that wonderful smell emanating from Audrey’s kitchen.

  Audrey’s kitchen. That’s about right. It would never be Marge’s kitchen. Even if Lady Luck kicked her in the behind, and she was the last remaining prospect-wife, it would still be Audrey’s kitchen. Dub would always miss her cooking, always be comparing Marge’s against it and find her fare lacking. One more reason for another mark on the reasons-to-leave side of her mental debate sheet.

  A few minutes before six, Vicki announced she’d better check and see who had KP. Alone again, Marge uncovered the simple but elegant dress and continued sewing sequins. The constant debate continued in her thoughts. Soon enough, her mind veered back to what she’d told herself.

  She’d go and enjoy Jefferson, but before he had a chance to read his rules and send her home, she’d be gone. She’d wash that man right out of her hair like Mitzi Gaynor in South Pacific, and after, be as fine without him as she was before him.

  Explicit directions to the B & B winged westward to Mesquite, compliments of the U.S. Post Office. Stephanie had agreed to pick her up on Sunday evening. When an approximate departure time from Jefferson became known, she would call her daughter. She focused on the leaving and not the have-left. She had to.

  The hall clock chimed its first strike, bringing Marge back to the present and dinner’s aroma. Her stomach growled. She put away thoughts of the future and the hard times ahead then eased on toward the kitchen. Audrey and Vicki stood next to the oven. Natalie sat at the table thumbing through a magazine. All the ladies, but no gentleman.

  “Where’s Dub?”

  Natalie threw her chin toward his office. “He’s been holed up in there at least two hours.”

  “Anyone told him it was six?”

  Audrey chuckled. “He’s a big boy. Guess he knows what time it is.”

  Marge’s face warmed as she stepped toward her chair, but she remembered what Preston was doing in his office and reversed directions. Short of his door, she paused. Deciding she really didn’t have anything to lose—seeing as how only eight days and Jefferson separated her from going home—she tapped on it. No answer. She twisted the knob and stuck her head inside.

  So what if it was off limits? If he didn’t like it, what was he going to do? Send her home? But she sensed he’d do no such thing. He needed her. And there he sat staring at the stack of papers on his desk.

  “Dub? You okay?”

  Nary a muscle moved as though a granite statue. She slipped on in. Just before she closed the door, he looked up.

  “You okay?”

  He nodded then wiped his cheeks. “Susie did a good job.” His full bottom lip quivered slightly when he spoke. He pinched the bridge of his nose wringing the inside corners of his eyes at the same time then cleared his throat. “There’s only a couple of small changes that need to be made. Wait until you read it.”

  “Good, I’m glad.” She wanted to run to him, wrap her arms around him and hold him, erase his pain for all time. Poor dear man. She stepped to the edge of his desk. “Maybe this is exactly what you needed.”

  He looked up, his blue eyes surrounded by dozens of blood red, tiny streaks of lightning. “How’s that?”

  “Well, this might be God’s way for you to experience a little more closure. Paying tribute to her by letting the world know what a great lady your Nancy was.”

  *  *

  Preston stood, pulled out a handkerchief from his hip pocket then blew his nose. “You may be right. I’m finding you usually are. What say we go see what smells so good?”

  He walked her to the door and waved her on before he retreated to his bath. Bending over the lavatory, he splashed his face, patted it dry, put drops in his eyes, then marched to supper. Maybe they’d saved him some.

  Did they ever. A slow-baked, beer-basted ham proved to be the culprit of Audrey’s delectable scenting. That and the candied yams covered with pecans and marshmallows. Beyond wonderful, probably the best he’d ever tasted. And that’s what all the ladies kept saying, too. After he’d eaten enough to where he could slow down, he pointed at Audrey with his fork.

  “We could make a fortune opening a restaurant and serving nothing but this meal.”

  She beamed. “I’d love it. Let’s start tomorrow.”

  “If I wasn’t already rich, I’d seriously consider it.”

  She laughed along with the other ladies, but he took note of the rejection in her eyes. “Besides, you’re still too busy getting ready for Jefferson, aren’t you?”

  Vicki grabbed his arm. “Speaking of Jefferson, exactly when is dress rehearsal? Someone said Thursday and not Friday? And when will we be leaving and getting back? Come on, Dub. Ladies are into the details.”

  “You, my dear,” he patted her hand, “and the others leave Friday morning.”

  “Why? I thought the ball wasn’t until Saturday night.”

  He thought about it a second, then decided it didn’t really matter if they knew ahead of time. “That’s right, but you need to be there in plenty of time for the Mystery Dinner which is on Friday night.”

  Natalie smiled. “Oh fun. I’ve been to one of those before. It was great.”

  Preston grinned back. “Glad you approve.” He faced Marge. “The Hale House is also where you’ll be staying Friday and Saturday night.” He swung his gaze to Audrey. “Figured you ladies might want to spend some time antiquing downtown, so I’ve increased all your card limits in case you see anything for the place.” He looked to Vickie. “Saturday, on to the only beauty parlor slash bookstore in these United States, Beauty and the Book, where you’ll get the works including lunch with the Pulpwood Queens and a few Texas authors.” He fluffed imaginary tresses.

  “A horse-drawn coach will arrive back at your B & B at seven forty-five to take you to the ball. It starts at eight sharp.”

  “And if I may ask, what’s a Pulpwood Queen?”

  He ignored her.

  “Excuse me. Pulpwood Queen?” Vicki asked again, but this time with more volume.

  “You’ll see, Darlin’. You’ll see.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Journal entry - June 27th

  Had a little twinge, but it was more right than wrong.

  Thursday afternoon rolled around as usual, and Vicki still hadn’t decided which of the three characters she would be. With better than an hour before supper, she figured she needed help and found him sitting on the bench staring at the pond. Like she belonged, she slipped in next to him. “Hey, Dub.”

  He nodded, but didn’t look her way, just stared at the fish.

  “You real busy now?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Want t
o talk about it?”

  He leaned back and looked at her. “Not really.”

  “Is it me?”

  He laughed. She always loved the sound of his soothing bass, but especially when he laughed. “No, darlin’. I was thinking about something Marge said the other day.”

  She nodded then nudged her hip into his. “How about helping me out.”

  “With what?”

  “Who should I go as?”

  His left shoulder ooched up a smidgen, as the corners of his mouth drooped a hair. “Beats me.”

  “How ‘bout I model them, then you help me decide?”

  “Sure, but I’m not a judge this year.”

  “I know that, you already said, but I’m about going crazy trying to choose.” She bumped his hip again. “So what did Marge say? You can tell me.”

  He reached under the bench, pulled out the can of fish food, and popped the top. “I know I can, but I need to keep my own council on this one.” He leaned toward the pond and spread a few flakes on the water. “Go tell the other ladies I said you could be first, third, and fifth in the fashion show.”

  She patted his knee. “Thanks.” She stood then snapped her fingers. “Hey, I looked up the Pulpwood Queens on the net. They are so totally fun. Never heard of such a book club, but I want one of those wild jackets - and a tiara, too, of course. Did you know they’re five hundred clubs strong now and in ten countries?”

  “I did not. Now go tell them.” He waved her away. She hustled herself straight to Marge’s room. The door stood open, and her friend sat at the computer. Vicki slid in then closed the door behind her. Marge turned around and smiled. “It doesn’t get so stuffy with the door open, but then you’re subject to all the riffraff coming in.”

  “Yeah, right. But I know what you mean. My room, too, since it’s been so hot outside.” She pulled the rocking chair over next to her older friend. “So what did you say to Dub?”