Small Town Girl

by Rice, Patricia

  “Put that big old smiley face sun in the middle,” he ordered Jo and Dot. “That’s the best one of them all.”

  “It’s an imitation Mexican decoration,” Dot protested. Short and skinny, with a purple braid hanging down her embroidered smock, she stood back to check the arrangement of art work. “The metal work is nice, but it’s hardly worth the center position.”

  Jo took the smiling sculpture in question, found a nail, and pounded it right smack in the middle of the turquoise wall where Flint wanted it. The cheerful copper sun caught the light from the newly installed window panes and sparkled merrily.

  “‘O Sole Mio,’” she warbled, “‘it’s now or never…’”

  Grinning, Flint grabbed a paint can to start on the window sashes. Her Italian might need a little work if she thought sole referred to the sun, but Jo’s heart was in the right place.

  He was afraid his heart had been kick started and returned to action, and he couldn’t do a blamed thing about it but let it pound in his chest and suffer. The gap between where he was and what he wanted had never looked so large as now, but he was confident he’d set his foot down the path in the right direction.

  Twenty-two

  Jo patted the dirt around the red geranium she’d planted in one of the flowerpots Dot had created out of Fiestaware shards. She studied Myrtle and decided to tuck the flower beneath the little evergreen like a bright red Christmas present. Satisfied, she dusted off her hands, straightened, and gazed up and down Main Street in the June dawn.

  Over the weekend, pink and red geraniums had sprouted in whiskey barrels and galvanized tubs in front of stores and along the sidewalks. Bright pink, purple, and red impatiens glowed in the shade of overhangs. The dirt from the dump truck disaster had been turned to good use, a fine example of positive thinking.

  She proudly inspected the gleaming window panes in the café storefront. Flint had painted the entire front of the café in a silvery-blue that sort of went with the pewter and blue-green on the inside. It wasn’t as bright as she’d like it, but it was a nice, welcoming color with the geranium set against it. And he’d painted the new door a bright red.

  She was head over heels over that man, and she knew full well the pain of that kind of tumble. She just didn’t seem able to stop her stupid heart from opening up to any man who treated her nice. And Flint had been nicer than any man she’d known.

  Not that he let on that a big heart beat beneath the macho attitude. She smiled as she watched him walking down the road from the parking lot with his kids in tow. He was practically strutting like a rooster, and still his gaze fastened on her as if he were starving, and she was the biggest piece of apple pie he’d ever seen.

  Her head would grow to twice its size under his regard, except the boys arguing over a handful of CDs reminded her of all that she was not, and her sister trailing behind them with her two kids reminded her of all that she must be.

  The sight of Marie bringing up the rear of the parade jolted Joella to a momentary standstill, until her head kicked into gear, and she hurried to take her mother’s arm.

  Marie waved her away. “I can walk. I don’t need a nurse.”

  Flint handed his keys to Adam and strolled back to join them. “Your mom wanted to see how we fixed up the place. I offered to drive her to the door, but she said—”

  “She didn’t need babying,” Jo finished for him, relieving him of any responsibility for her mother’s orders. “Mama, you’re supposed to let us help. It makes us feel better.”

  “Oh, stuff it, Joella.” Marie gazed around at the newly tidied street. She’d quit dying her fading hair, but the crew cut said she hadn’t lost her rebelliousness. “They did good. Did someone catch all the chickens?”

  “I had one roosting on my porch rail this morning,” Jo admitted, “but she flew off when I came out.”

  “Well, it’s too warm for chicken soup anyway.” Taking Flint’s arm, Marie ambled painfully toward the café.

  Jo could only watch in astonishment as the big music man treated her obstreperous mother as if she were a piece of crystal, opening the door for her, helping her into a seat in the most comfortable booth in the house. What the devil was going on here? Her mother could peel shellac off a pulpit with her acidity. What was with the sugar and spice?

  Amy already had the mixing bowls out and was beating batter behind the counter while all four of the kids disappeared into the back room. Jo had left her CD player down here last night, and she could hear a Barn Boys song blasting out.

  “Is this what happens when I let y’all get together behind my back?” Jo asked, reaching for the big ketchup bottle so she could fill containers while Flint made the coffee. “Did you have a big old family fest last night while I sat here by my lonesome?”

  Flint had spent the night with his boys at Amy’s. If she hadn’t known how faithful Amy was to Evan, Jo would be jealous—except, Amy had every right to cheat if Evan was doing the same.

  As if she’d heard Jo’s thoughts, Marie spoke up. “I asked how come Flint was staying, but Evan wasn’t. Where’d you stick them dry goods the TV showed you hoarding?”

  Amy wouldn’t look in Jo’s direction, but Flint raised his eyebrows and tried to send her a telepathic warning. It didn’t work real well, but Jo proceeded cautiously while gathering ketchup containers off the tables. “We needed the back room for Friday night, so Dave stored some of the bolts, and George Bob took a pickup load to his barn. They’re here and about.”

  “The mill makes damn fine material. If Evan can’t do anything with it, I know people who can,” Marie declared. “It’s a waste to throw out all that hard work.”

  Jo couldn’t disagree with that, but her talent wasn’t in homemaking. “Evan doesn’t want any of it back?”

  “He’ll just call the insurance company and write it off as a loss,” Amy said with what for her passed as disgruntlement.

  Marie beckoned Jo closer. “I think they’ve had a spat,” she whispered.

  Oh, she’d definitely tread cautiously with that one. Their mother thought Evan walked on water. No one dared tell her that Amy had hired a lawyer. Jo nodded knowingly and joined her in the booth to start filling containers. “So if Evan doesn’t want all those scrumptious materials, what will we do with them?” she asked.

  “Make pillows,” Marie announced with satisfaction.

  “Upholster chairs,” Flint said gravely, carrying mugs of coffee over.

  His gravelly voice raised goose bumps up and down Jo’s arms. She needed to touch him, to reassure herself that this weekend hadn’t been a figment of her imagination, but his kids could run in here any minute, and her mother was sitting across from her, obstinacy etched in every line of her sun-wrinkled face.

  “Upholster chairs?” Jo repeated in disbelief. “What chairs? How?”

  “You could start with these ugly things in here,” Marie pointed out. “I remembered they was bad, but I hadn’t realized how bad.”

  Jo gazed around at the pink and gray vinyl on the booth benches and chrome chairs. Charlie had replaced the old covers back when she was still in high school, but he’d kept the original fifties colors. Friday’s debacle had cracked the vinyl and ground dirt into every crevice. “You want to put that expensive upholstery on dinette chairs?”

  Flint slid in beside Jo, touching his thigh to hers under the table. “Yup,” he answered noncommittally, sipping his coffee.

  Jo choked. She knew he liked the café just the way it was. She’d been overwhelmed that he’d actually worked to restore it yesterday instead of giving up. But upholstering plastic benches was way beyond being a good sport and into the realm of dangerously stupid. How did one clean french-fry grease from upholstery?

  But it was gorgeous material, she had to admit, all in richly woven combinations of rusts and wines and dark blues and golds that could all work together—not completely unlike a fabric form of Fiestaware.

  “I can make seats for the chairs,” Marie declared with
satisfaction. “And Ina and Flo can upholster those cushions. Their unemployment checks are running out next month, too. Maybe Flint’s insurance will pay some toward the booth damage.”

  Oh, wow. Oh, double wow. Rock and hard place time. Jo squeezed Flint’s thigh beneath the table, and he covered her hand with his to reassure her. So, this was what it was like to work in partnership with a man. She’d always kind of wondered.

  “I’m going to come in and cook dinners when Flint starts opening in the evening this weekend,” Amy declared from behind the counter.

  Grasping this reprieve from the upholstery dilemma, Jo dared a look at Flint. “You really think we can pull this off?”

  “Have to,” he said without rancor, meeting her gaze with one that reflected concern and warmth at the same time. “It’s almost the end of the month and I’m broker than I was when I started. I’m hoping maybe all that publicity will draw a few tourists.”

  A thrill coursed through her. He was staying! Knowing how much he was risking for the town and his sons shook her like an earthquake.

  Jo released his thigh before she went up in flames. “Okay. I could let Peggy handle tables in the morning, and I could come in Friday night. I’m in the back room most Fridays anyway.”

  Flint captured her hand and squeezed it on top of the table where everyone could see. “Thank you. You make customers feel at home.”

  “Guess that settles it,” Jo declared, trying not to distill any meaning out of his gesture or words. “You’re going to have yourself a restaurant instead of a café.”

  “Upscale coffee shop,” Flint said solemnly, lifting his cup to his lips, his eyes dancing over the brim as they met hers.

  Damn, the man had a way of making the impossible seem possible. She had to keep her foolish heart from believing the promises in his eyes.

  “Hey, Dad.” The boys came running out of the back. “Can we plug the laptop in your office?” Johnnie asked.

  “Not until the electrician hooks us up. Isn’t there a socket in the back?”

  “We need a desk, and Louisa has to go potty,” Adam announced matter-of-factly, reminding them that the boys weren’t quite old enough to baby-sit a toddler.

  “I’ll look after them young ’uns.” Marie slid from the booth. “Y’all got your hands full out here.”

  She sent Flint and Jo’s joined hands a pointed look that made Jo giggle.

  Flint leaped up to help Marie out of the booth, and Jo slid out to flip the CLOSED sign to OPEN, and to join Amy behind the counter.

  “You want to cook dinner for these slobs?” Jo murmured to her sister.

  “What’s my alternative?” Amy whispered back. “Go to Taiwan for a job?”

  “You and Evan will work things out.” They had to. Her sister’s marriage was the only one Jo had ever seen work, and she longed to believe that happy-ever-after was possible. “You have a college degree. You don’t belong here flipping hamburgers.”

  “You can flip hamburgers,” Amy said, pouring flour for a new batch of muffins. “I’ll just cook the meals I usually cook for dinner. The menu selection will be limited.” She glanced around, saw that their mother had hobbled her way to the back room where Josh and Louisa were chattering, and continued, “Flint said he’d call Elise and ask her to hire someone to see what Evan is up to. He only called once all weekend.”

  Oh, filthy bad word. Jo slammed a pot on the burner. “I vote we get Evan and Randy together in one room, lock them up, and throw away the key.”

  “And pour in molasses and chickens?” Amy asked with interest.

  “While your muffins bake and smell delicious on the other side!” Jo added, her mouth watering as the first batch filled the air with the aroma of baking blueberries.

  “And you sing Randy’s stolen songs?” Amy managed a weak grin.

  “Yeah, we can rock-n-roll!” Jo pumped her fist in the air and swayed to her own music as the first of their morning customers entered.

  “Not this early in the morning, Jo,” Dave groaned, flopping down on a seat at the counter. “Remind Flint of the Chamber meeting, willya?”

  “Consider him reminded.” Flint strode back into the room.

  “You really think you can bring in the Barn Boys?” Dave asked what was on everyone’s minds.

  “If their schedule permits.” Flint slid a doughnut down to him as Jo poured his coffee. “How big is this place you use for the festival? It has to handle a good-sized crowd or it’s not worth their setting up.”

  Flint watched as faces fell all around. Damn. He’d spent the night thinking about how to make this festival work—so he didn’t have to think about how he missed having Jo naked by his side, buoying his spirits in the dark hours before dawn.

  When silence reigned in response to Flint’s question, Amy turned two shades of red, bit her lip, and twisted her hands. The light bulb over the stove blew out.

  Everyone turned to regard her with interest.

  “Spit it out, Amy,” Flint said gently. He was learning a little about Jo’s older sister. Amy wasn’t exactly shy so much as intimidated by speaking her thoughts aloud.

  “I’m not supposed to tell,” she whispered. “Evan swore me to secrecy.”

  Jo snorted and shoved a mug of coffee at her sister. “Evan is a rat’s ass right now. It’s time we yanked his tail. Spill.”

  Amy clutched the mug between both hands. “The board is closing the mill,” she said. “The only chance of keeping it open was those samples, and they probably would have shipped the business to Mexico if the samples sold well. They think the buildings here are too antiquated to update.” While everyone stared in horror, she finished hurriedly. “The festival could use that big building they stripped of machinery this spring. It’s just sitting there empty. It could hold a huge crowd.”

  Stoically, Flint topped off cups all around. His hand ached like hell from all the hammering and shoveling. He’d have to borrow money to have the tendons operated on in hopes that he could go back on the road once the shop shut down. Joella could sue him for everything he was worth, and all she would get was a building mortgaged to the hilt in a town that would close down by the end of the summer.

  The only hope any of them had of survival was a half-assed music festival that was only a month away.

  George Bob walked in, followed by a few more of the regulars. “What’s going on in here? You holding a funeral?”

  That just about summed it up, Flint figured.

  ***

  Jo flipped the CLOSED sign over at three. “I don’t ever want to experience another day like this again.”

  Dave had announced the mill closing at the Chamber meeting, and it had been all over town by noon. If nothing else, the news had been good for café business. Every person in the county had stopped in to confirm the gossip. They’d run out of coffee by one, and Jo had been reduced to begging a customer to run up to the grocery to buy Folgers. Even the electrician had come in early to hear the gossip. At least the air conditioner was back on.

  The news of the mill closing had been lousy for morale. Half the Chamber was ready to call off the festival to save money.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs and relax?” Flint told Jo. “I can put the boys to slinging chairs and mopping. You went above and beyond the call of duty today.” He flipped chairs onto tables on the way to his office where he’d left Adam and Johnnie. Amy had taken her kids and Marie home before the lunch rush. Her muffins had sold like hotcakes all morning—better than the hotcakes.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Jo replied, starting on the chairs on the other side.

  “Well, hold those thoughts.” He opened his office door and caught his sons leaning over the laptop they’d set up on his desk. A pounding beat that he didn’t recognize emanated from the machine’s speakers. They threw him such guilty looks and turned off the music so quickly that he figured they’d been stealing music again. “Time to earn your keep,” he ordered. “Come on out and help clean up so Jo can rest.”


  The protests that had been on the tip of their tongues shut up when he mentioned Jo. She might not be maternal, but she sure the hell knew how to be a boy’s best friend. She’d fixed them special snacks all day, talked to them about their taste in music in between, and generally conquered them with her laughter and camaraderie. He was happy to see they were gentlemen enough to return the favor.

  “Your head okay?” he asked his youngest before he could escape. Neither he nor Melinda had realized the boy needed glasses until Flint’s parents had taken him to a doctor for his chronic headaches

  “Yeah, it’s okay,” Johnnie answered grudgingly. “Jo gave me aspirin. Do you think Mom would have liked her?”

  Ouch. Where had that come from? Flint sent a quick glance across the room, but Jo was chatting with Adam and not paying attention to them. Well, not paying attention for Jo meant she wasn’t looking in his direction, but Flint knew she had eyes in the back of her head and picked up signals without his saying a word. He’d been aware of her on so many levels today that it was a wonder he was still coherent.

  “Yeah, I think your mom would have liked her.” He supposed Jo and his late wife had a lot in common on the surface, and Jo was very likable. It occurred to him that Jo would have seen through Melinda, though. She was sharp like that.

  “Mom probably wouldn’t have liked it here,” Johnnie said tentatively, a deeper question hiding behind his words.

  Why the hell did kids pick the worst possible times for these discussions? Flint rubbed his brow and tried to guess what his son was really asking. “No, I’m afraid not, son. Your mama wanted things I couldn’t give her. It’s kind of like some people like Merle Haggard and others like Shania Twain. We had different tastes.”

  To his surprise, John nodded wisely. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I thought. I’m glad you can live here now. Are you gonna stay?”

  Oh, hell. That wasn’t a decision he was prepared to make right this minute. But the kid wanted reassurance that he had a home with a parent in it, and Flint could offer no other choice. “I’m gonna try.”