by Liz Flaherty
Holly snorted, carrying napkins and tablecloths into the laundry room. “Holly didn’t pay a whole lot. Besides, Mama would ground us if we didn’t help. Even her precious little angel Arlie. Do you wash these all together?”
“The white ones go in by themselves. The others can be together. But you don’t have to do it. Let’s just sit and drink coffee and talk about what great gifts li’l Arliss got.”
“I’m telling Mama that you two are being mean to me,” Arlie threatened with no heat whatsoever. “You know I’m only her favorite right now because when I marry Jack, we get Charlie.”
“A good thing, too,” said Holly, “because we certainly weren’t taking Jack into the family without him.”
They laughed together, and Libby leaned into the sound. Holly’s laugh was musical, evocative of the silver bells in Christmas songs. Arlie’s throat had been hurt in the accident so that even now her voice was husky, her laughter throaty.
Spring was upon them. It was when Libby could never outrun her emotional nemesis. It was when her mother had died and two years later, her father. April of the year between their deaths was when the accident had happened that had ended three lives and forever changed so many others.
She had to force herself to breathe normally, to laugh at the right times, to pay attention to these women who’d been sisters of her heart for most of their lives.
They drank coffee even knowing it might keep them awake, looking at the gifts again, oohing and aahing over everything from the Anything Goes gift card to the dish towels with crocheted trim. They looked doubtfully at a set of eggplant-colored towels.
“When those fade,” Holly predicted, “they’re going to look exactly like beets do when you pull them out of the ground.”
Arlie nodded agreement, then brightened. “Yeah, but if I put them in Charlie’s bathroom, everything’s going to end up the color of mud anyway—his mother warned me about that in the card with the gray towels she sent. They’ll fit right in.”
Holly looked up from the list she was making for thank-you notes. “It’s great how you and she are becoming friends.”
Arlie shrugged, looking at the set of fuzzy socks for every day of the week that had accompanied the sheets from Libby. “It’s what’s best for Charlie. And besides, I like her.”
“Are you scared?” Libby helped pack the gifts into the totes Arlie had brought. “Of sharing your life with someone, I mean.”
“A little,” Arlie admitted. “Getting married in your thirties means getting over being set in your ways in some aspects. It’s hard to leave my house. Plus we have a long, long history and we have to figure out which parts of that history to embrace and which parts to let go. Tracy and I are becoming friends, but the truth is that Jack and I had to learn to be friends, too. It’s not enough to be in love—we had to fall in like. And in trust—that was harder than anything.”
Arlie and Holly left a little after that. Libby took Pretty Boy out, walking down to the edge of the lake and looking out over its dark surface. She was happy for Arlie and Jack, and the look in Holly’s eyes when she’d defended Jesse’s disposition had given Libby an internal charge of sisterly joy.
Tucker was still seeing Meredith. He didn’t seem the kind of blissful his brother was, but he did seem satisfied. That was what he’d wanted. He was sure love would come in its own time. Libby wasn’t sure of that, which gave her pause—she wanted only the best of everything for her best friend—but he wasn’t a boy; he was a man who knew what he wanted.
Libby listened to the lake lapping against the shore and whistled softly to keep Pretty Boy from going too far. She wished she knew for sure what she wanted. Although she was single and perfectly all right with staying that way, she was glad she had friends who were constant presences in her life. It was nice, having a business where she’d lived all her life. The lake with all its beauty was a constant source of comfort.
Except for sometimes late at night, when it was dark and lonely and silent. And she was afraid the depression and hopelessness were going to surround her before she could get away.
CHAPTER NINE
THEY WALKED ACROSS the bridge at the end of Miniagua’s business district with Pretty Boy prancing happily on his leash in front of them. “I want you to come to England with me,” said Tucker. “Just for a few days—not long enough to consider it a real adventure. Mum would love to see you, and it will give you a chance to use your passport.”
Libby shook her head, moving quickly. She’d lived at Lake Miniagua her whole life and had never gotten over being scared of this bridge. It had been the subject of way too many “it was a dark and stormy night” stories told at slumber parties and by her brother’s ornery friends. “I can’t afford to go to England. I’m not letting you pay for me to go. And Neely might be getting tired of covering for me at the tearoom. There have been weeks since the first of the year that she’s worked more hours than I have. That’s not fair to her.”
“She loves it.”
Libby knew he was right about that, but she wasn’t all that eager to use the passport. She’d gotten it several years before to go on a cruise with the library’s book club and had come down with a raging case of intestinal flu instead. She’d spent the week of the cruise in bed at home. That lovely memory, combined with just how bad her passport photo was, made her reluctant to travel outside the country. She was afraid her sense of adventure was purely domestic.
“What if I get sick while I’m there?” Not that she got sick often, but once had been enough.
“I think they have doctors there. As a matter of fact, Mum’s married to one.”
Libby knew that, although she’d never met Grant Monahan, Ellen’s husband. “Does he ever come to the States with her?”
“He has a few times, but Grant hates to fly, so he gets out of it any time he can. He’ll come for Jack and Arlie’s wedding, though.”
They reached the other side of the bridge, and Libby breathed easily again. They could go back the long way. It took an extra half hour, but she was good with that. Maybe Pretty Boy would be tired enough he wouldn’t feel compelled to wake her at three o’clock in the morning for a walk.
“I’d like your company.”
“Why don’t you take Meredith? It would give you a chance to get to know each other better and your mother would be so happy to meet her.” Libby smiled at him, wanting him to cheer up.
He hesitated. “Actually, I need a little time to think about that.” He looked around and came to a stop. “Are we going the long way around?”
Her cheeks warmed. “I don’t like the bridge.”
He sighed. “I know. Arlie doesn’t, either. I don’t know how she walked across it in that ice storm when Charlie ran away in December.”
“She had to, so she did. She was brave. I have no idea why I walked across it with you today, because I’m not the least bit brave.”
Tuck gave her a disbelieving look. “You pulled a calf.”
“That’s not brave. It’s messy.”
“I’m not carrying Pretty Boy the last ten minutes if he gets tired.”
“We can stop at the Hall and you can drive us the rest of the way home if you and he are that tired.”
That got him. He recognized a challenge when he heard it. “He and I will be fine. Now, about that trip...”
“How long are you talking about?”
“Five days in all, and two of them will be mostly in the air. We’ll fly into Birmingham. From there we’ll rent a car and drive on the wrong side of the road to Hylton’s Notch, the village where Mum and Grant live. It’s beautiful there. She walks to the market every day and buys what she’s going to cook.”
“It sounds perfect.”
“It pretty much is. There’s a nice pub and a little place that serves a ‘lovely tea,’ to quote Mum.
You’d like it there.”
“I would,” Libby admitted, thinking how natural his assumed British accent sounded. Whenever he visited his mother, he came back with a lilt that stayed in his voice for weeks. “But, honestly, do you really think Meredith would go along with that? I know you and I are just friends, but we’re close ones—if I were her, I wouldn’t want the guy I was seeing taking off with some other woman on a jaunt halfway around the world.”
The look he gave her bordered on insulting, and Libby glowered at him. “Yes, Tucker, I am a girl. I know that’s a little beyond your comprehension, but if you think about it, you’ll catch on.”
“Meredith knows we’re friends. She hasn’t had any problem with anywhere we’ve gone so far.”
“Really? Have you asked her? Maybe she’s not taking her relationship with you seriously because she thinks there’s more between us than friendship.” Even though there wasn’t. There couldn’t be.
“We’ve talked about having really close friends. I don’t know that we ever assigned genders in the conversation.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me if you hook up with some guy, you’re going to give him a vote in choosing your friends?”
“Well, no, not a vote, exactly, but I probably won’t go jetting off to Europe with you if I have a significant other, either.”
“If I tell Meredith you’re going and she doesn’t have a problem with it, do you want to go?”
Libby didn’t answer right away. She walked on and gave a startled yelp when Pretty Boy nearly jerked her off her feet. She was thirty-four years old and had been in only five of the fifty states. Going to England was so near the end of her bucket list she couldn’t even imagine it. Admittedly, she wanted adventure—she’d gone far too long without it, but...England?
Not only England, but England with her best friend, the person who knew her—other than her secret—better than anyone else. “I can’t afford the ticket,” she said again, shaking her head. “Or I probably could, but everything extra is earmarked for the carriage house right now. And if I spend that money anywhere else, something in the tearoom is going to break down.” Because it always did. That was something the rich kid next to her didn’t always understand.
“I know. I don’t want you to buy your ticket.”
They sat on a bench that overlooked the lake’s public beach, looking out over the choppy waves being blown about by the wind. “I’m not playing the poor card,” she said patiently, “but single people who aren’t independently wealthy do need to watch what they’re doing with their money, Tuck. You know enough of us to be aware of that. You paid my way to Tennessee and you gave me money to gamble with, which was wonderful of you, but you being my financial godfather wasn’t part of the adventure agreement.”
He frowned at her, then out at the lake, then down at the dog, who was slobbering joyfully on the knee of his jeans. “How many cups of coffee do I drink at your place that you don’t charge me for?”
She snorted. “Not enough to pay for a plane ticket.”
“Hey, I’m serious. I probably average at least one cup a day, taking into account the days I miss and the days I come in and drink a whole pot. You’ve been open close to ten years. If you charged just two bucks a cup, which is pretty cheap by today’s standards, I’d owe you about...what...seven or eight thousand dollars?”
He was being ridiculous. They both knew he was.
England.
Fine. Just this once.
“Okay, if Neely agrees and it doesn’t put her out and if she’ll take care of Elijah and Pretty Boy and if I don’t have to buy any new clothes, I’ll go.”
His eyebrow rose again. She wished she could do that. “Are you sure there aren’t any more conditions?”
“No laughing at me when I get airsick.”
He grinned at her. “Now, there’s a deal breaker.”
Pretty Boy had lain quietly between their feet after soaking a large spot on Tucker’s jeans. He’d even snored when their conversation must have gotten boring. However, when a pair of squirrels appeared to be playing hide-and-seek around the trunk of a nearby cottonwood tree, he wanted to play, too. “Whoa.” Tucker tightened his hold on the leash, but the overeager puppy still pulled him off the bench, barking all the way.
Tucker sprawled in the new spring grass, the leash still wrapped around his hand with Pretty Boy tugging at him as he tried to chase the squirrels up the tree.
Libby called to the dog, but she was laughing too hard to be very effective. When she went to help, Pretty Boy ran around the tree in search of his prey, wrapping the leash around the backs of Libby’s knees so that she fell, landing on Tucker.
She’d never been close to him in quite this way. While she’d always known he was an attractive man—she’d even told him she named Pretty Boy after him—she’d never been physically close to him. When they hugged, it was quick. If they held each other for comfort, that was as far as the embrace went. Even the kisses they’d exchanged that had made her heartbeat erratic and warmed her from the inside out hadn’t been like this. They just...hadn’t.
“Oh.” She pushed away from him, or tried. The leash had her lashed against him. “I’m sorry. I...”
“Hang on.” He shifted to his side, moving her with him so that they were face-to-face. His eyes, the blue of the wildflowers starting to bloom on the roadsides, were thickly lashed and surely sexier than any one man was entitled to. He held her gaze, smiling lazily. “Now, as my grandfather used to say when he was trying to keep Jack and me out of trouble, isn’t this a fine how-do-you-do?”
She wanted to look away from him but couldn’t. “Tuck, we need to get up.”
He nodded. “We probably should. You want to tell your dog? He’s not listening to me.”
“Pretty Boy.” She raised her voice and tried again. “Sit, Pretty Boy.”
He did, right beside their heads, having evidently decided the squirrels didn’t want to play. He looked down at them, then licked each of them lavishly while they tried to turn their faces away from his eager tongue.
Tucker pushed him away, laughing, then looked back at her. “Ah, Lib.”
That was all he said, and then he was kissing her. His heart beat hard and fast against hers, and she knew even as she kissed him back that they shouldn’t be doing this. Not now. Not ever.
“No,” she said, drawing away at the same time as he did.
“No,” he agreed, but he took just a moment to shape her cheek with the palm of his hand and smile into her eyes. “But sometimes I wish...”
Wish what? But she was glad she hadn’t said the words aloud. Glad he hadn’t finished the sentence. Glad this had happened here and now, before she went however many thousands of miles it was to England with him.
Pretty Boy snorted impatiently and they unwrapped themselves, Tucker helping Libby to her feet but keeping her hand in his. “Okay.”
She brushed dirt off her clothes. “Okay?”
“Okay, I won’t laugh at you when you get airsick.”
* * *
“SERIOUSLY? YOU’RE ASKING me to tell you about all my first dates that didn’t result in second dates?” Libby took off the sleep mask Neely had given her that was driving her crazy anyway and moved the back of her seat forward. “It’s not enough I have to introduce you to women—now you want to live vicariously through my dating mistakes?”
Tucker considered that, finishing the last of the corn chips she’d meant to eat later. “Yeah. Pretty much—don’t forget we’ve got something like eight hours on this plane. You can skip high school, though. I was there for that.”
She snorted. “You were one of them.” But she backtracked immediately. “Not fair. We’ve had more than one real date, and they were always fun. We just didn’t have any—” She stopped.
“Chemistry. Yeah, I know.” He s
miled at her, there in the dim light on the plane somewhere over the Atlantic. The expression faded, though. “Only that’s not exactly true anymore, is it?”
“We’re going to make it true.” She held his gaze. “You’re my best friend. I’m not giving that up for a fling we both know would never work out.”
He sighed. “Me, neither. Besides, you’re an older woman—that would make you a cougar. We can’t have that.”
She hid her face against the shoulder of his sweater to stifle laughter. Everyone around them was asleep except the baby and her parents two rows forward. Libby and Tucker spoke in stage whispers, not wanting to disturb anyone’s rest.
“I still can’t believe Meredith didn’t object to this. She even called me and told me to make sure you took me to Stonehenge.” Libby leaned back to scowl at him. “You’ve gone and blown it, haven’t you?”
“I haven’t blown anything yet.” He frowned back at her. “Did she mention that she’s always hated to travel? Evidently the ex does a lot of it with his job, which wasn’t good for the relationship. So she hates it double.”
Meredith had mentioned that when she called. She’d also seemed completely unconcerned about Libby and Tucker traveling together.
“Okay. Now let’s get down to business. We’ll take turns. Your first date was—who, Sam Phillipy?”
“I never went out with Sam.”
“Sure you did. A whole bunch of us went sledding and he paid for your hot chocolate at that old-time sundry shop that used to be where Arlie’s clinic is now.”
“Tucker, we were nine.”
“So?”
“So, does it count as a date that you walked Marie Williams—well, she was Marie Sargent then—home from Arlie’s birthday party when we were ten?”
“I did not.”
“Did, too.”
“She lived just down the street from the Hall. I had to walk home with her because we all left at the same time.”
“Jack didn’t. He walked down the lake side.”