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

by Caryl McAdoo

  During one of the few dry spells, a troubled sleep found her, but the respite only lasted until the first whiff of coffee reached her with its bittersweet memories.

  That morning, Marge managed to occupy herself with the kids and her old routine, but the higher the sun rose, the more she missed him. Like a lost limb, would he trouble her for the rest of her life? Logic told her no, that time healed all wounds, look at Walter. But her heart refused to hear it.

  Then the noon hour arrived. She reminisced reliving all the anticipation of him coming in from the orchard for lunch. A picture of him and Vicki laughing with Audrey over one of her multiple course meals troubled her. In her vision, the younger woman acted blatant, more like in the beginning. He smothered her with darlin’s and the cook with grand compliments.

  She’d almost talked herself into a crying jag when the door bell rang. She choked back tears. No one else seemed to hear the bell. The grandchildren remained mesmerized in front of a cartoon. Where was Stephanie anyway? Why did she have to get the door?

  “Coleman?” The five-year-old didn’t budge. “Coleman!” He acknowledged her with a quick turn. “Honey, get up and answer the door, won’t you? It’s probably one of your little friends.”

  The boy jumped up and ran towards the front. He barely beat his younger sister Bailey out of the room. She dogged him hard. The raced ended with the two of them crashing into the living room wall. Marge shook her head and listened, but couldn’t hear anything else until the door slammed shut. Shortly, Coleman peeked around the corner into the den.

  “Gram, he’s for you.”

  “For me? Who is it?”

  The three-year-old’s eyes widened. “He’s a stranger.” She made a scared face and shivered. “Be careful, Gram.”

  “Oh, Bailey, it’ll be all right. Don’t be frightened. I’ll go see, okay?”

  Coleman grabbed his sister’s hand and followed Marge back toward the door. “His name’s Buck, Gram.”

  For a split second the basket name didn’t register, then she stopped mid-step. Buck? Her mouth went dry, and her heart raced. No, it couldn’t be. What would he be doing here? She tried to swallow, but her mouth was as dry as a cotton field in July. She couldn’t work up any moisture. How did she look? She hadn’t even combed her hair. She fingered an errant curl into submission.

  Buck? It couldn’t be.

  Coleman must have misunderstood.

  Or maybe it was a completely different man named Buck. Oh how silly was that? How many could there be?

  But Dub would never leave his property. Maybe it was Jorje with a message. Maybe something awful had happened. Or maybe he only came to bring her a wedding invitation. Had he decided to get married so quickly that there wasn’t time for the mail? Coleman pulled on her skirt and brought her back to reality.

  Having convinced it wasn’t him after all, she sighed and found her legs. She continued to the front of the house with the two little ones trailing close. How mistaken could she be? She’d know the whole of it soon enough, and she’d live with whatever the news might be.

  She opened the door fully expecting Jorje, but Winston Grant Preston stood on the front porch grinning in all his wonderful glory decked out in the new silk suit Audrey had bought. She shouldn’t have lost so many points for that. He looked so handsome in it, he took her breath away. A huge bouquet of lilies filled one hand and bags of gaily wrapped packages weighed down his other.

  “You?” How could he be more handsome than she remembered? Funny how quickly one forgets minute details. She shook her head. “Why did you lie to me?”

  His smiled disappeared. “Can I come in?”

  She nodded. “I guess so. What are you doing here?”

  “Came bearing gifts. Came to rescue my Pretty Woman from a dreary, loveless life, but you didn’t have a balcony to climb—thank goodness.” He grinned and made her heart flip flop.

  She loved movies with happy endings. She laughed a nervous twitter. “Are you comparing me to Julia Roberts?”

  Stephanie came in with her hair wrapped in a towel.

  He handed Marge the flowers and sat down the packages.

  Coleman yanked her skirt again. “Who is he, Gram?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Mr. Preston, I’d like you to meet my grandchildren.” Marge looked over her shoulder. “And you’ve all ready met Stephie.”

  “Hello again.” He smiled at her then lowered his gaze. “You must be Master Coleman.” He stuck his hand out, but the boy slapped it then held his palm in the air.

  “High five,” he hollered.

  Preston laughed and slapped the boy’s palm back. “And this lovely young lady must be Miss Bailey.”

  She hid behind Marge’s skirt and eyed him with speculative interest.

  “Look what I’ve brought for you, Miss Bailey.” He held out a gift bag filled with pink and purple boxes tied with pastel colored ribbons and bows. She gave him a shy grin and reached for the beribboned handles.

  “Hey, where’s mine?” Coleman inspected the other bags.

  Preston lifted one filled with bright red and blue and yellow packages. “Here’s yours, buddy.”

  He caught Marge’s eye and stared at her while the children tore into the gifts. She still couldn’t believe he stood there in her house. He lifted her hand and patted it.

  “Had to see you again, Marge. Hold your hand.”

  She gripped his and pulled him into the den where she sat on the couch and patted the seat next to her. Stephanie followed as far as the doorway. He shocked her by kneeling. What was he doing? Why was he getting on the floor?

  “Marge, would you grow old with me?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Journal entry - June 30th

  Vicki and Audrey finally got back with the presents for the kids, and the minute UPS gets here I’m gone. Jorje says the Caddy’s battery is dead, so I’m taking my old truck. Why’d I let that happen?

  Marge’s heart almost answered yes of its own accord, but a better part of her shook her head. “Wow now, please get up, won’t you? Let’s don’t go there, not yet.”

  Her words cut him so hard she feared his eyes might start bleeding. “But why not? I love you and …” He smiled. “I know you love –”

  “Dub, are you a Christian?”

  “Yes, ma’am, blood bought.”

  She tugged on his hand then patted the cushion next to her. Like a small child taking his due, he complied. “Good, that’s good. No way could I ever marry a non-believer, and I wasn’t sure. So, now that’s settled, tell me why you lied to me? Your stupid game… Do you know how bad you hurt me? I simply cannot ever go along with your morbid alliance with luck. I’ll never be able to base my future on such.”

  He stood, but didn’t say anything as though dumbfounded. He held up a finger like he couldn’t find the words to explain himself. “I’m sorry.” His voice came out a soft whisper, spoken almost in a way that he didn’t trust his vocal cords. He turned and walked toward the door. She remained on the couch.

  She leaned over and flipped the blind sideways. His old truck, the one Jorje drove all over the place, sat at the curb. He opened the door. Was he leaving? Oh God, what had she done? He’d come and now… But he didn’t get in. Instead, he only leaned his head inside and retrieved a book.

  Praise the Lord. Her heart beat again.

  He trotted back toward the house, and she fingered the blind slat back in place hoping he didn’t catch her spying. Then like he needed permission to reenter, he knocked on the door again.

  “Let him in, please, Stephie.”

  He strolled in with the book tucked under his arm. For a few seconds, he stood right in front of her not saying or doing anything. He extracted it from under his arm like it was almost like pulling a tooth, then held it out toward her. “Maybe this will explain why I did everything I did. I hope so. I pray once you read it, you can forgive me.”

  She took it, then he retreated to a far corner and eased into the chair. The le
ather felt like kid gloves, a very expensive book indeed.

  “What is this?”

  “My journal, and you’re the first to ever read a word of it. I love you, Marge.” He waved his fingers. “Read it, go ahead.”

  She slowly opened the cover and fingered the luxurious paper. She turned to the first page, Journal of W. G. Preston, then carefully flipped to the next filled with his handwriting—not what she’d call great penmanship, but certainly readable. After three pages, she marked her place and looked up. “Three woman hit on you at Nancy’s funeral?”

  He nodded. “True. I couldn’t… Well, for the first year or so I spent most days at her grave.” He smiled. “About midway, find Dec 25th, that’s when I decided. Skip to there. You can read the rest later.”

  She thumbed through the pages. She wanted to read it all, but not just now. She could wait. She finally got close and went slowly until she found it.

  December 25th

  Well, finally told Nancy about my plan. Pulled a few weeds while I was there. Cried some, but not much. When I tidied up, it dawned on me I hadn’t been since last year. Even after all this time, it still hurts, but not like it did.

  Funny, that first year I couldn’t stay away, now it’s hard to go. Maybe time does heal all wounds. I wish she could tell me what she thinks of my idea. Jorje wants me to let him find me a wife. Then again, he also wanted me to marry his cousin, and that would have been a terrible mistake.

  Can I ever find someone who can compare to Nancy? What a high standard she set.

  Oh well, I’m going to do it. Already set things in motion.

  January 12th

  Got my first batch of applications today. My amigo and a couple of his hombres are sorting them out now. Sure hope those jokers don’t get the pictures mixed up. Should be an interesting next couple of days.

  January 19th

  Interviewed Audrey McLaudin this afternoon. Age 44. Honey-blond hair just past her shoulders. She was raised on a sheep ranch near Meridian then spent her adult life in Houston. Texan through and through. Nice lady. Attractive, too.

  January 22nd

  Rained some this morning. Met Vicki Truchard this afternoon. Only 27. Dark hair with blond streaks. Why do women do that? Glamour girl dressed up, but sense a girl-next-door vamp when she’s not. Would certainly add some spice to my life.

  January 29th

  Virginia Spencer. Age 46. Finally, someone worth remembering this week. I like her silver hair, especially the way it curls around her face. Ex-ballerina with legs like a thoroughbred. She’s quiet and graceful, but not exactly what I’m looking for.

  January 31st

  Another day wasted. This could be the worst idea I’ve ever had. On the other hand, I talked to more women this afternoon than in the last five years. And I’ve got to admit I enjoyed them, especially how good they smell. It’s been too long.

  Well as Scarlet said, tomorrow is another day. I’ve got the local talent coming, maybe a home-grown girl’s what I need.

  February 1st

  I take it all back. I’m smitten. Her name is Marjorie Anne Winters. Goes by Marge. She’s 48 years old, has salt and pepper hair that would look great long, and has been a widow five years.

  Do I believe in love at first sight? Smitten for sure, from the minute I saw her. Even more during the interview when she stood up to me over that silly tattoo question. Hired her on the spot, actually I talked her into taking the job.

  I lied to her, but didn’t think she would have considered my offer if she thought she was the first one I hired. Even with the big lie, for awhile there, I didn’t think she was going to take the job. Don’t know what I would’ve of done. Probably gone to Mesquite and camped out at her house like I use to at Nancy’s. Man, I wish I could tell her about Marge.

  She would like her a lot.

  Anyway, this is going to be great. The plan is working, I actually hired someone, and what a lady. Now to find seven more women willing to come before the first of March. Got a whole month, but best be getting busy before Marge finds me out.

  February 10th

  Second interview for Vicki. Had to think long and hard about hiring this little prima donna. Appears to be somewhat of a money grubber. Her eyes sparkled extra bright at the mention of the salary and what she had to do for it. There’s no way I’d marry this one, but Marge doesn’t know that. It’ll be fun to see how she reacts to Miss Truchard.

  February 12th

  Tickled pink that Miss Audrey McLaudin accepted my offer today, but she was hiding something. A little intrigue maybe? Interesting and beautiful lady. She admitted playing my game would be an easy way to escape her boring life. Plus, she says she loves to cook.

  February 15th

  I couldn’t believe it when the words came out of my mouth, but I offered the deal to this petite, exotic looking young lady named Natalie Bastion. Notes from first interview on January 23rd, age 29. Hair midnight black, long ponytail she twirls a lot. Looks to be of Polynesian decent.

  She’s a looker, but I have mixed emotions. Oh well, I offered, and she accepted, so we’ll see. Why do I keep hiring younger women? Maybe I’m having a mid-life crisis or something. At least she’s older than Vicki.

  Can’t wait until Marge arrives, anxious to spend some time with her.

  Four candidates to go, and half the month’s gone.

  February 17th

  Hired Virginia Spencer today. What an exquisite example of femininity. More my type than the last three. If Marge doesn’t work out, I could see myself with Virginia. She’d sure look good on someone’s arm.

  Anyway, the process is taking too long. At this rate I’ll never have all seven before March one.

  February 18th

  A redhead name of Holly O’Mallister agreed to come to work. If it wasn’t for the notes from the first interview on January 11th, I wouldn’t have been able to remember her. She’s 35 years old, and I wondered at the time if her bright red hair would keep me awake.

  Still not all that impressed, but it’s getting close to show time, and my talent pool is shrinking. I shouldn’t have quit interviewing after Marge walked into my life, but that’s hind-sight, and this short little month is fast running out of days.

  Only ten left till show time, and I still need two more ladies.

  February 22nd

  Is there somewhere I could go buy some extra days?

  I know for sure I should have kept interviewing.

  Well, I hired one strictly on accent today. Man, I am getting desperate. You know, If I’d been halfway smart, I’d have video-taped those interviews. How am I supposed to remember fifty different women that I hardly talked to?

  But Charlotte’s pretty enough to bat 7th though.

  February 27th

  Man, I’ve been holding my breath. The last four the agency called back for second interviews had already accepted other employment or couldn’t be reached. Thought I was going to have to lie again about one of the eight not showing up.

  Then I had them call a lady I interviewed January 12th, a Dorothy Casey, and she said yes to the second interview. Reluctantly, I offered, and she accepted the job. She’s 38, has dark hair with a silver streak, and claimed to be a 2nd runner-up for Miss America back when, not that I would look it up. Her lips remind me of Rebecca’s. How long’s it been since I thought of my non-kissin’ cousin, anyway?

  Dorothy says ‘you know’ a lot and talks with her hands, but desperate men make desperate moves. She’s maybe a little fluffy, but not that bad, and who cares? I’m fresh out of time.

  Why’d I ever tell Marge she was eighth? I have come to the bottom of the barrel, but if everyone shows day after tomorrow, I’ll have a full house, and Marge will never know I lied. Can’t wait to see her again. Hope someday she appreciates all this trouble I’m going to just to get to know her better.

  March 1st

  Let the games begin. Everyone came in this morning. Got all my ladies together. Thought for a bit, my sandpap
er might flake out on me, but little Vicki showed at the last minute. And bless her heart, she already has things stirred up, too. What a piece of work. I figured she’d be fun, but I had no idea how much. She’ll rub them all raw before this deal is over.

  What a bonus. Hope Audrey keeps the kitchen all to herself.

  Nice new little wrinkle I dreamed up today. Gonna send one home each month, weed out the also-rans. I told the ladies, and of course, Dorothy didn’t like it. It’ll be interesting to see how Marge handles herself. I think I like her more now than at first blush.

  March 2nd

  Boy, I can’t believe me. I’ve got to be the biggest idiot ever was. Never should have told Marge my basket name. Wonder if she’ll remember? But it probably helped in the end. I think she was ready to march out when she heard about me killing that guy. Will that always haunt me? After so many years, I can still feel my fist crushing his jaw. Of all the things I’ve done, I wish I could take that back the most.

  If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget the look in her eyes when she asked me about killing a man for calling me a name. Such passion. Looks like I was right, but time will tell. I have been wrong before - though not very often.

  March 3rd

  For Vicki being such a night owl, and me liking my coffee early, she did right well this morning. I never expected it of her. How’d I ever make it when I didn’t have rabbits in my life? She’s so cute. Shame she had such a hard time growing up. Wish Marge would’ve told me what’s really going on with Vicki instead of passing it off as female troubles.