by Beth Ciotta
Loretta rushed over. “For you,” she said, handing a cordless phone to Kylie, who hoped for Faye but got Travis.
“Your grandma’s on the other line,” he said.
“What other line?” She only had one incoming line.
“I’m calling you on my cell phone. She’s on your business land line. What should I—”
“Tell her to call this number.”
“I did, but she said she can’t.”
Kylie’s stomach fluttered with dread. She wasn’t supposed to touch base with her mom and grandma until they hit Anchorage, two days from now.
“She says it’s an emergency.”
Kylie flung the cordless at Becky, flew off the chair and out the door. She hopped on her bike and zoomed six blocks, cape flying. Her brain pounded with horrific thoughts. Lungs burning, she exploded over McGraw’s threshold and snatched the receiver. “What happened? What’s wrong? Did you break a leg? A hip? Did mom fall overboard? Did you two get thrown off the ship for excessive bickering?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Grandma McGraw.
“Then, what’s the emergency?”
“The world’s gone topsy-turvy.”
Kylie slumped into the chair Travis shoved under her butt. “What are you talking about, Grandma?”
“Your mom was right. For once.”
“About?”
“She had a bad dream. Woke up feeling like something was wrong at home. Couldn’t shake it all day. I got tired of her pacing a hole in our cabin’s carpet and spoiling my fun. Decided to call ship-to-shore, hang the cost. Thought you could ease her mind by telling us everything’s fine. Same as always. Only it’s not the same as always. I call the store and you’re not there. Mr. Martin, who normally works at the hardware store, is there. Said he’s handling some renovations. Said you’re getting your hair done.”
“I was getting my hair done.” Kylie fingered the foil, some of which she’d lost in the wind. Should she pull the rest off? Leave them on? Which was worse?
“You closed the store on a weekday to get a haircut? That’s so unlike you, dear. And what’s this about renovations?”
“Nothing severe,” she lied. She didn’t want to break the news over the phone. What if they freaked? What if she ruined their trip? No way was she going to rain on anyone’s dream trip. “Just some maintenance, Grandma. A little sprucing up.”
“In preparation of the Apple Festival?”
“Yes.” It was the simplest truth.
“Did you have a nice birthday celebration with Faye?” she asked, switching subjects.
“It was one for the memory books. Are you having a nice time with Mom? Strike that. Are you having a nice time?”
“One for the memory books. Except today. Your mom was a real drip.”
“So you said. Where is she, anyway?”
“I sent her on a fool’s errand. Just in case.”
“In case what?”
“In case something was terribly wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Grandma. Tell Mom…same ol’, same ol’.”
“I’ll tell her exactly that.” The old woman sighed. “Wish you were here, dear.”
Just now, Kylie couldn’t imagine being anywhere but Eden. She always finished what she started, and her homespun adventure was barely off the ground. “I’d only cramp your style,” she teased, then turned serious. “I should go. This call is probably costing big time.”
“Such a sensible girl,” said Grandma McGraw. “Such a good girl.”
They signed off and Kylie battled melancholy. What was that line? Good girls finish last?
Travis gestured to her alien-protected head. “Think you can kiss the same ol’, same ol’ goodbye.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IT IS GOOD TO HAVE AN END to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.
Kylie mentally chanted that Zen quote after Petunia informed her she’d have to wait forty-eight hours before repairing the botched dye job. She repeated the chant two hours later when the wrong display shelves were delivered to McGraw’s. Believing there was a grand purpose in all these bumps and glitches kept her focused and in the game.
Travis hadn’t flinched when they’d unboxed the vintage pewter racks (she’d ordered modern acrylic). “We can work around this.”
He’d said the same thing about her hideous highlights. Following his suggestion, she’d pulled her flaming hair completely off her face, knotting it in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The sophisticated style tempered the wild color. Since she had an important meeting to attend, he’d also suggested a stylish hat and bold lipstick. She’d purchased both at Kmart, and by gosh he was right. Not a look she’d want to live with forever, but one she could live with for now.
So, although she couldn’t see how the vintage racks would complement the new look of the store, she trusted Travis’s judgment. “Go for it,” she told him, then slipped through the storage room and into her office. Anxious, she changed into an outfit more suitable for her meeting with the board of the historical society. She zipped herself into the black sheath dress she’d brought from home and stepped into a pair of four-inch wedged espadrille sandals. Pushing her glasses firmly up her nose, she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of her door. Not bad. Topped with her new black beret and a swish of earth-red lipstick (that smartly matched the red poppies on her shoes), she almost looked business chic. Manga hair notwithstanding.
Looking around the tiny private office, Kylie realized she hadn’t asked Travis to make any changes in there. She wouldn’t, either. A) She didn’t want to impose further on his already generous help. B) Although she loved the work he’d done thus far, she wanted to get her hands dirty, as well. True, she didn’t have the eye for design that he did, but no one ever saw this office aside from family. She could tinker and experiment. She could make it her own…even though it was really Spenser’s.
She glanced at the phone. Call him. Even though he was on a remote island, since Spenser carried a satellite phone she stood a chance of connecting.
“I will,” she said to herself. After the meeting.
Breathing deep, Kylie leaned over the desk and brought the computer to life. She checked her e-mail. Yes! Confirmation that the customized sneakers she’d ordered to appeal to the Apple Festival tourists and Eden’s high school students would be here in two days. Just in time for her grand reopening. Things were looking up!
Smiling, she left for her appointment at city hall.
Minutes later, she entered a small meeting room…and faltered just over the threshold. “Am I too early?”
“You’re right on time,” said Mayor Wilson, a key member of Eden’s HPS.
“I thought I had a private meeting with the board.”
“Board meetings are open to the membership,” he said, waving her forward.
“Oh.” Crap.
She thought she’d be pleading her case in front of five people. Instead, she counted approximately twenty. Most were retired seniors. Most had been frequenting McGraw’s Shoe Store since her grandpa had been at the helm. Some, like Ray Keystone and J.J. Jarvis, had been close friends of her dad’s. They all purchased McGraw’s most practical, sensible shoes. They wouldn’t appreciate the new look and inventory of the store.
Or maybe some of them would.
Why assume the worst? she asked herself in a spontaneous pep talk. Maybe there were a few restless souls in this room. Maybe they were as bored with the same ol’, same ol’ as she was.
Her positive mind-set dwindled as she moved through the bug-eyed crowd to get to the frowning board members.
“What the heck did you do to your hair, Kylie McGraw?” Mr. Keystone asked.
“Red lipstick?” said J.J. “What next? Breast enhancement?”
“Are those cherries on her shoes?” someone asked under their breath.
“No, flowers.”
“How can she walk in those heels?”
“How can she go out with that hair?”
Cheeks burning, Kylie ignored every whisper, every comment. She would not lose it. She would not make a scene. If she really wanted to shake things up, to make major changes to the store’s exterior, she needed the permission of this society. She drew on Zen. She summoned serenity. She had her argument memorized and she would deliver it with calm conviction.
I can do this, she thought as reached the board members. They were seated side by side at a long table. They didn’t look happy. Undaunted, she smiled and made eye contact with each one. Mayor Wilson, Max Grogan, Bernard Peterson (the elementary school principal), Vicky Crowne (the president of the Garden Club) and Ida Rathbone (a rival of Grandma McGraw’s). She took a deep breath, then launched into her opening line. “Change is exciting. Change is good.”
“You call orange hair good?” cracked Ida. “I call it radical.”
“Shocking,” said the mayor, eyes wide.
“Surprised it’s not pink,” said Max. “She has a thing for pink,” he said to his fellow board members.
Be calm. Stay focused. “Could we please stick to the subject?”
“We are,” said Vicky. “The subject is change.”
“Change is bad when your objective is to preserve history,” said Principal Peterson. He then proceeded to read her the mission statement of the Historical Preservation Society. It was detailed and lengthy and obliterated Kylie’s vision for the facade of McGraw’s. When he finished several members cheered.
She clenched her fists at her sides and glared at the board. “You’ve already made up your minds.”
“We have,” said Ida.
“Afraid so,” said the mayor.
Max nodded. “Don’t take it personally.”
Fury burned its way from her toes to the tips of her ears. “If you had no intention of granting me a permit, why the heck did you agree to let me plead my case?”
Principal Peterson shrugged. “Because it’s your right.”
“But no matter what I say, you’re going to order me to conform.”
The mayor nodded. “It’s in Eden’s best interest.”
“In history’s best interest.”
The room erupted in applause.
The mayor rapped a gavel on the table, then said to Kylie, “Go on.”
She blinked. “You’re kicking me out?”
“No, dear,” Ida said with a condescending smile. “He’s inviting you to plead your case.”
“Why?”
“It’s your right.”
Unbelievable! Seconds ago they’d assured her that no matter what she said they wouldn’t grant her permission to make changes. Even now the board’s body language said, “You’re wasting your breath.” If pleading her case was fruitless, why plead? She’d save her argument and energy for another day, thank you very much.
Frustrated to no end, Kylie turned on her wedged heels. “This isn’t over!” she railed as she stalked from the room. She wasn’t sure of her next move, but that wasn’t the point. She just wanted the last word.
She pumped her arms as she race-walked down the hall, muttered under her breath. “I should just ask Travis to make the changes in the middle of the night.”
But she wouldn’t. First, she’d never ask someone to break the law. Second, after hearing that mission statement, she truly did understand the whole historical angle. That didn’t mean she had to like it. Nor did she like the notion that different was weird or wrong. Maybe she should dye her hair pink. Flamingo-pink. That would show them. Although it probably wouldn’t bode well for her efforts to attract Jack.
Speaking of… Had he insisted she get a permit, suspecting she wouldn’t be granted one? Was it a way of controlling her? He hadn’t seemed any happier about the storefront changes than Max and gang. Was it because he didn’t think Spenser would approve? Yet, this morning, he’d wished her good luck. She didn’t know what to think, and she was so dang mad, she couldn’t see straight.
Tears burned her eyes as she neared the outer door. She needed some air. She needed some space. She’d never wanted to punch something so bad in her life. She mentally chanted her Zen quote. When that didn’t work, she fell back on one of Spenser’s clichés: Everything happens for a reason.
She couldn’t imagine the reason for her sudden run of bad luck. Every time she tried to change something, it backfired. She wanted to shake up Eden, but so far, the only citizen she’d managed to knock off kilter was herself.
“…but it is the journey that matters, in the end.”
“I must have one big-butt lesson to learn.” Frustrated, she pushed through the double glass doors…and smacked into Jack.
Just. Her. Luck.
“Easy, Tiger.”
His steady hold on her shoulders only threw her more off balance. “Here to gloat?” she snapped, silently cursing the erotic thrill his casual touch invoked.
“Here to speak with Mayor Wilson,” he said, doing a head-to-toe visual and releasing her like a hot potato.
“Yes, I know.” She gritted out the words while readjusting her glasses. “I have orange hair. I also have small breasts. We can’t all be Charlotte Avery, you know.” With that, she stomped past him and down the concrete stairs. Throwing his senior-high sweetheart in his face had been childish, but just now she wasn’t at her best. Just now, Jack, as chief of police, represented rules and conformity. The urge to rebel was fierce.
“Hold up, Kylie.”
Despite what he’d said yesterday, he was not her boss. She didn’t stop. She didn’t look back. Instead she did something she’d never done before. Flipped him the bird.
She half expected him to follow, to give her the riot act, but—oh, yeah—he had a meeting with the mayor. The more she thought about them conspiring to button up and tie her down, the madder she got. She was halfway down the block when she felt a hand clamp around her wrist. White-hot desire sizzled up her arm.
Jack.
“I want to talk to you,” he said, keeping pace.
“Not a good time.”
“Too bad.” He tugged her off the sidewalk, into the alley, and backed her up against the side of the library.
The air crackled with energy and tension. Her body hummed with sexual awareness. She wanted to shove him away, but she couldn’t move. Rooted by anger and desire. Dang. The combination was volatile and infuriating.
“What was that crack about Charlotte?” he asked in a low voice.
“The HPS shot me down,” she snapped.
“Given your mood, I gathered. What about Charlotte?”
“You knew they wouldn’t give me a permit,” she persisted.
“No. But I knew the chances were slim.”
“Why didn’t you warn me? Why did you let me get my hopes up?”
“You told me not to squash your spirit. Besides, you had every right to try for that permit. You tried and failed. Let it go.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Don’t take your frustration with the HPS out on me.” He leaned closer. “Why did you bring up Charlotte Avery?”
Kylie blew out a breath and averted her gaze. “Because she’s blond and big-chested, just like every other woman you’ve ever been attracted to, including your ex-wife.” There. She’d said it. And damn, she felt petty.
“Not every woman.”
Something in his voice…something…intimate. A sensual thrill chased up her spine. She met Jack’s gaze and shivered.
“I find you very attractive, Kylie.”
“But…I have orange hair.”
“I noticed.”
“And small breasts.”
“Perky breasts.” His blue gaze smoldered. “I noticed.”
Anger gave way to confusion. “But back there, when we collided…after you took a good look at me…”
“I pushed you away. I know.” He worked his jaw. “I manage the attraction better when I’m not touching you.”
So it hadn’t been her imagination.
He did feel something. She could scarcely breathe. “Why do you want to manage it?”
“Because I want you for the wrong reasons.”
Meaning just for sex? Breathe, Kylie, breathe. “Maybe I don’t care.”
“You don’t want this, Tiger.”
“Don’t tell me want I want.”
He arched a brow. “All right, then. I don’t want this.”
Now, in addition to being confused, she was embarrassed. “But—”
His cell phone rang.
Jack pushed off the wall and took the call. “Chief Reynolds.” Pause. “Understood, sir. On my way.” He snapped shut his phone.
“I know. You have to go.” Anger was preferable to mortification, so she focused on the humiliating encounter with the HPS.
“We’ll finish this later.”
“Can’t wait,” she said with a roll of her eyes. I’m attracted to you, but I don’t want to act on it. Gee. Fun conversation.
Jack turned to leave, then paused. “I know you’re pissed about the HPS decision, just…”
“What?”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
It was the exact wrong thing to say.
Burning, she peeled off in the opposite direction. The brisk four-block walk to McGraw’s did nothing to cool her temper. It felt as if everyone was controlling her life, even Jack. She unlocked the store’s door and stomped inside.
Travis, who was attaching shelves to the walls, looked at her and frowned. “I guess you didn’t get the permit.”
That was only half of it, but the part she’d focus on since she didn’t want to ask Travis for relationship advice. “You should have heard the run-around they gave me!”
“I can imagine. Did they say anything about your sign?”
“What? No. I don’t think so.” She tried to remember the details of the mission statement. “It was all about the storefront and trim. Paint. Colors. Oh, and the awning. Sorry. I’m just so dang mad, I can’t think straight.” She hugged herself to keep from pacing. She didn’t want to scuff the polished hardwood floors. They looked so great. Everything looked great, including the vintage pewter display racks. “You’re amazing, Travis. The store…well, it’s what I imagined only different.”