Return to Heartland: A Heartland Cove County Romance

by Jacquie Gee

  “Look at you.” I nudge her. “You’re a regular marketing freak.”

  “Well, you know.” She tips her head. “But wait.” She bites her lip. “How are we ever gonna get them to agree?”

  “We’ll ask them.” I tear the list in half and give her a side. “And they’ll do it because they wanna save the community…or we blackmail them if they don’t.”

  Chapter 33

  I shake off my nerves standing on the porch of Green Grub. Once I have Trent on board, the others should be easy. Then why do I feel so nervous?

  I draw in a breath and go to charge through the door, stopping flat when I see Trent standing with his back to me in the window. His muscular frame, taut in a pose, as he studies the menu board. He stands on a ladder, chalk in hand, about to change today’s specials.

  Flashes of him about to kiss me at the café in Fredericton wash over me. Hot flames of excitement engulf my cheeks. Pull it together Becca. You’ve got business to take care of.

  I smooth out my thoughts and press on through the door.

  Trent twists around, and my breath skips.

  “So.” I ease the door shut with my palm, gently clicking into place. A new kind of entrance routine for me. “It turns out you were right,” I say. “Well, half right.” Don’t want his head getting too big, now do I?

  “How’s that? He starts down from the ladder.” His smile is dimpled and bright. “About what?” he adds, and I have the urge to pull him to me and finish what he started back in Fredericton.

  Our eyes connect, and I’m on fire.

  I have to stop letting this guy get to me this way.

  “Hold up. Am I hallucinating?” He draws a theatrical hand across his forehead. He glances back toward the door. “’Cause I could swear you just entered my establishment nicely, without slamming the door or picking a fight with me.”

  “Can’t a girl just be nice?” I blink and smile.

  “She can. Just not usually you,” Trent teases.

  I swat at him as he gets down from the ladder.

  “Now, what can I do you for?” He talks through the peg letters clenched in his teeth.

  “I have a proposal for you.”

  “You do?” He grins. “Why am I suddenly nervous?”

  “Remember our little chat about preserving the old while still embracing the new?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, what if I told you I’ve come up with the perfect plan?” I sway my hips as I saunter toward him.

  “I’d say, lay it on me.”

  “Okay, how do you feel about getting naked?” I rise up on my toes.

  “What?”

  “For a good cause, of course.” I throw up my hands.

  “It’d better be—”

  “Then you’re not saying no?”

  “I haven’t said yes yet, either.” He scowls hard. His muscled chest flexing, nervous.

  “But you will, right?” I glance up at him, moving closer.

  “That all depends on what you consider ‘naked,’” he says, his accent snapping out the final word. His brows crumple in the cutest way.

  “How about, nearly naked.”

  He swallows.

  “In order to save the bridge...and your business,” I add, quickly.

  He narrows his eyes. “How naked is ‘nearly naked’?”

  “Enough to please some ladies.”

  “What?”

  “G-string naked.” I wince when I say it. “I need you to dance for women for money.”

  “Say what?”

  “You know, like Thunder Down Under…”

  “In front of who?”

  “Whoever comes to see the show.”

  “You’re mad.” His voice cracks. “You’ve lost your mind.” He turns and walks away.

  I pursue him. “We’re calling it the Magic Michael Show— you know, so we don’t get sued for copyright, though I don’t think that’s likely, but we’re not taking chances,” I ramble. “You know, just like in the movie, only ours will feature men from the town, instead of celebrities.”

  Trent blinks.

  “Not that you guys won’t be celebrities in your own right,” I add.

  He walks away.

  “We plan to hold the show the final night of the International Potato Festival.”

  “The International what?”

  “Potato Festival? You know, the one that’s coming here. Great idea. Isn’t it?”

  “That big farmer’s gig?”

  “Um hum. It should put us right back on the map. We’re planning to make a calendar too.”

  “What?”

  “To pre-announce it. You know, get everybody all stirred up?”

  “Okay, now you have lost your mind.”

  “No, just listen to me.” I grab his arm as he tries to escape again. “We’re gonna put together a calendar beforehand, to draw attention to the event. You know, like the annual firemen calendars that come out once a year at Christmas. Not only will it raise money for the cause, but it’ll raise awareness. You get it? It’s dual-pronged marketing.”

  “Oh,...I got it, all right. The answer is no. No, no, no, no, no.”

  “Oh, come on.” I chase after him. “How bad can it be?”

  “If the show were on the other foot, would you, do it?”

  “No. But I’m not hot like you.”

  “Me?” He touches his chest. “Oh, no, not this guy.” He grabs for a dish rag, starts cleaning tables. “I don’t care how much you butter me up.”

  “Why not? You said yourself the future of Heartland Cove hinges on our willingness of the community to hold onto the past while embracing new ideas.”

  “When I said that, I meant hosting old fashioned horse and carriage weddings at the bridge and shooting them with digital photography. Not me getting naked in front of a bunch of horn-dog women.”

  “‘Horn-dog’? I think that term’s usually reserved for men.”

  Trent whirls around. “Excuse me, I don’t know the proper term for a pack of howling, groping women.”

  “Cougars, I believe.” I fill in the gap. “At least women of a certain age. I don’t know what they call the young ones.” I tilt my head, grinning, as he sighs.

  “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.” I chase after him. He’s acting like there are tables that urgently need setting, whipping around them stacking them with silverware. “And that’s only one of the many events we have planned to bring in money. We’re just teaming with them.” I lean on the table he’s about to set.

  “Are you?” He puts down a spoon and looks up at me. “Who’s ‘we,' anyway?"

  “Trudy Swenson, I mean, Palmer and I… and, Mom, of course.” I snap my chin toward Mom’s apartment and back. “We’ve also got a greased pig chase planned.”

  “How delightful.”

  “And the log-sawing contest, and some lobster races, and a monster tractor pull.” I dust my hands off. “Oh, and we even have plans for a caber toss.”

  “A what?” He scowls.

  “You’ve never heard of caber tossing?”

  I'm astounded. Clearly, this man has not lived around here long enough.

  “Is that where men in kilts throw telephone poles?”

  “That’s it.” Trent’s eyes shoot wide. “Logs. Actually. Big ones. Long ones.” I show him with my hands. “Men compete to see who can toss theirs… the farthest.”

  “Pfft.” He turns his back and starts setting the table again. “I guess I should be thankful you haven’t recruited me for that.”

  “Actually…”

  “No. No, no, no, no, no.” He swings around. “I draw the line at—”

  “So you will get naked?” I launch up onto my toes.

  Trent groans.

  “Come on, are you going to help me out with this, or not?”

  The look on his face says so much, and none of it is positive. He hesitates a long time before answering. “Ummmm, no,” he snaps, then launches into the art of restocking sugar pac
kets, replenishing them in a frenzy about the restaurant.

  “Really?” I give chase. “And here I figure a show like that would round out the evening, you know, really pack ’em in—”

  He sticks his fingers in his ears. “I’m not listening, I’m not listening…”

  “Bernie Bates is doing it.”

  “Huh?”

  “Bernie Bates. He’s already agreed.” I cross my fingers behind my back. “So is Dave Palmer.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Palmer? Dave Palmer, the wilderness guy?”

  “That’s the one,” I nod. “And the Matthews boy, too. You know, Marigold’s little brother?”

  “Well, that young stud I can see,” Trent guffaws, “but Palmer? And Bates...” He folds his muscled arms.

  “I guess they figure it’s a small price to pay to save the community… and keep their businesses.” I let my eyes wander around the restaurant. “Or perhaps they’re just a little more secure in their manhood.”

  Trent stares at me hard.

  “Dave’s already picked his stage name.”

  “Has he?”

  “‘Adventure Dave.’” I waggle my head. “And he’s agreed to pose for the calendar with nothing but a tree branch over him.”

  “He did not.”

  “Did so. So did Lyle.”

  “Lyle? Burger-flipping Lyle, from Sal’s Burger Joint?”

  “Uh-huh.” I nod. “Gonna call himself ‘The Big Beefster,’” I emphasize the words and jut my chin toward him. “But anyway…” I turn to leave. “If you’re too shy, or concerned about stacking up by comparison,” I mumble to the floor, “to bare all for a good cause…” I reach for the door, dragging a finger provocatively along the edge of one of his clean tables along the way “…then we can always get you to collect tickets.”

  “Wait a minute,” he snarls, and I turn back.

  He taps a nervous toe and shifts his weight. “How big an audience we talking?” He looks up. “Twenty? Fifty locals?”

  “Fifty? Trying for five hundred, at least. We’re hoping to save this bridge, not put a Band-Aid on it.”

  He looks up at me through his long, black lashes. “This isn’t just some twisted ploy for you to get to see me naked, is it? Because that can be arranged, and it doesn’t need to involve a stage.”

  I scowl. “And Dave and Matt and Lyle, too?”

  He lets out a breath, dragging his hand through his hair like he’s in agony.

  My heart pumps in my chest.

  “There’ll be no touching, right? You’ll make that a rule.”

  “I’ll make that a rule. No touching.” I cross my heart. “Well… other than women stuffing twenties in your G-string.”

  “G-string?”

  “What did you think you were going to wear, a bathing suit? We need money here.”

  “Gah!” He spins around, clutching both sides of his head. “All right, fine. I’ll do it,” he blurts. “Under one condition. Neither you nor your mother can be in the crowd that night, understood?”

  “Scout’s honor.” I cross my heart, with the fingers of my other hand crossed firmly behind my back.

  “Or Trudy. Or Aunt Penny.”

  “Keep going, and there’ll be nobody left.”

  He scowls.

  “Okay, okay,” I relent.

  “And one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I get to be the centerfold in the calendar.” His hands find his hips.

  “There’s no centerfold in a calendar.”

  “Then make one.”

  “Done! Done, done, done, done, done!” I dart forward, throwing my arms around him, planting an exaggerated kiss on one of his dimpled cheeks. “Eeeeee! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I spring back from his neck. “So, now for your stage presence.”

  He furrows his brows.

  “Come on, you’ve gotta look good. What costume do you wanna wear?”

  “Ahhh.”

  “How about you pose in nothing but your apron?" I'm half-smiling, half-grimacing.

  “My what?”

  “All covered in grease.”

  “You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”

  “Some, I’ll admit.”

  “And a name? What’s your stage name gonna be?” I swipe my phone open to take down the notes.

  “Oh, I dunno.” Trent scratches his head. “The Baconator?” he offers weakly.

  “The Baconator?” I snort, trying hard not to laugh outright. “The Baconator it is, then.” I type it in.

  Trent’s cheeks turn a deep shade of poppy red, as I bounce out the door, incredibly light on my feet all of sudden. “See you later!” I shout back over my shoulder, as I close the door.

  Now, to get the rest of the guys to agree to our wicked little plan.

  Chapter 34

  I carefully shut the door then celebrate my victory on the porch, running on the spot Flashdance-style, before continuing down the front steps.

  Trudy’s going to be so proud of me! I shriek in my mind.

  Taking out my cell phone, I punch in a number.

  “Hi, Sal? Is Lyle there? Yeah, sure, I can hold.

  Hey, Lyle, it’s Becca, Becca Lane. Trent has just agreed to something I’m sure you don’t want to miss out on. Yeah, that’s right. Something super cool.

  Uh-huh, you heard me right. Yeah, he knows he’ll be on stage. No, he’s not a good dancer, either.

  Yes, he knows I mean naked.”

  Long, breathy, hesitation.

  “To be frank, Lyle, no one’s gonna care if you know how to dance or not. Their focus is kind-of gonna be on other things, if you know what I’m saying.”

  Long, breathy, silence. Then finally—

  “Great! That is great, Lyle! That is awesome. Thanks so much. I knew the community could count on you. I'll add your name to my list of performers."

  Two down, only ten more awkward phone calls to go.

  “Oh, and Lyle…” I catch him before he hangs up. “What would you like your stage name to be?”

  A major bout of heavy sighing.

  “Might I suggest ‘The Big Beefster’?”

  Chapter 35

  “Hey, you.” I look up to see Marigold Matthews, carrying a box full of flowers, heading up the front steps of the Green Grub, on my way over to Aunt Penny’s. “I heard you were in town. Hadn’t seen you, yet though. You’re looking fabulous!” She smiles at me big.

  Marigold and I were on the debate team in high school. We were a fierce force to be reckoned with back then. All the teams from the surrounding counties feared our presence. I’m not gonna lie; it was a pretty cool feeling. It was the one time I felt empowered living here. I always had command of words.

  We used to hang out at parties together, when I wasn’t dating you know who, so Marigold knows the whole story. I must admit, I haven't made an effort to keep in touch with her since, but the time we did spend together, I always enjoyed. I’d fled town fast after the incident, so this is pretty much the first time I’ve seen her since.

  “So, I hear you bake a mean cupcake.”

  “I do. And I hear you're doing this." I nod to the flowers in her arms. "Organic, edible flowers. How cool is that.”

  “Yeah, I thought I’d give it a whirl.”

  “And I hear you’re doing well. Where did you come up with that idea? Better still, how did you ever wrangle the farm away from your brother?”

  “Oddly enough, he didn’t want the farm.”

  “He didn’t?”

  She nods. “I know. I couldn’t believe it either.”

  “Your dad must have been furious.”

  “He was at first, and then I convinced him otherwise.”

  “For him to agree to pass it to you that’s no small feat. No offense, I just mean—”

  “Yeah, I know. Farming. Male farm lineage succession. All that jazz dies hard in these parts, I tell you. What do you mean, a girl could run the family farm? Horrors!�
� She rolls her eyes.

  She’s right though. It’s almost unheard of. In fact, I don’t think I know of another case. She’s broken some new ground in rural N.B.

  “My dad nearly laid an egg when he found out I wanted to go organic.”

  “I bet.” I chuckle.

  “After all those years of nothing but corn and potatoes, he thought I was for sure going to go belly up. In fact, the first year, he was so convinced I couldn’t do it, he took out double insurance. That’s how I won the argument though. When he saw the profits, he backed right off. But the neighbors are still revolting, worried their farms are gonna be infested with bugs. Five years now, no problems. I’ve no idea what’ll convince them. It’s hard to drag people around here into the future though.”

  “I believe it.” Trent’s recent discussion with me whisks past in my head. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, and things’ll change.”

  “Yeah. I think you’re right.” She nods. “I’ve managed to convert a couple of farms in the neighboring villages over to my side, up near Coldwater.” She points in that direction.

  “You serious?”

  “Um hum.” The sky rumbles. We both swing to see it past the roof of Mom’s store. Storm clouds are moving in off the bay, fast. “Looks like we’re in for it.”

  “Yep. Coming fast.”

  She glances over her shoulder at the darkening sky, and the diminishing light catches the tips of her light blonde curls making them a shade darker. I love her daring sassy cut. She looks like Charlize Theron in Mad Max without all the dirt. Only Marigold could pull off that cut and still look ultra-feminine.

  “I should probably go,” she smiles at me. “Got some chrysanthemums to cover in the field before that hits. It sure was great seeing you again, though.”

  “The same,” I say and lift a hand to wave.

  “We need to grab a coffee sometime—” She hops up the steps.

  “Yes, we do,” I tell her.

  “Listen, Rebecca.” She hesitates on the landing, turns around.

  “It’s Becca, now.” I smile. “I dropped the ‘Re.'"

  “Oh. Anyway, I just wanted to say, I’m sorry about what happened, between you and—you know.” She looks down at the flowers, sadly.