“I didn’t say a word about me liking people knowing we’re sisters, and yet you knew what I was thinking.”
Hope’s brow knotted. “But I heard…”
“Exactly.” Faith smiled as if talking mice had just finished her trousseau. “That’s exactly how it works with me; like you’re in my head, talking. Go ahead, think of anything. In fact, make it something I wouldn’t know about in a million years.”
Since she really wanted to prove her sister wrong, Hope searched through her mind for something really obscure to throw at her. Faith concentrated on her for only a second before her face scrunched up in bewilderment. And Hope couldn’t help but smile triumphantly.
But the smile faded quickly enough.
“Pumpkin?” Faith tipped her head in confusion. “Colt likes pumpkins?” Suddenly those eyes flashed open wide. “Colt and you? He’s the father—”
Hope slapped a hand over her sister’s mouth just as Shirlene came sashaying up to the booth in a gypsy costume, complete with black wig, silk scarves, and enough jewelry to sink the
Titanic
long before it reached the iceberg.
“So which witch is which?” Shirlene teased.
Since Hope had just spilled the biggest secret of her life to a woman with a face that was as easy to read as a first grade primer, it took a moment to collect herself. Dropping her hand from her sister’s mouth, Hope sent her one stern warning look before she turned to her best friend.
“Real funny, Shirl,” she said, with just the right amount of sarcasm.
“Well, that settles that.” Shirlene pointed a red nail at Hope. “Wicked witch.” She pointed at Faith. “Good witch. Although the good witch looks like someone just landed a house on all her munchkins. You okay, honey?”
Hope knew if she didn’t get Shirlene out of there quickly, she would find out what a good-for-nothing piece of roadkill her brother really was.
“Of course, she’s not okay, Shirl.” Hope pulled a folding chair over and pushed her sister down, tugging the brim of the witch’s hat low enough to shadow Faith’s stunned face. “She’s pregnant.” She patted her sister none too gently on the shoulder. “Now you just sit right there and rest, Sis, while me and Shirlene go on back and finish getting the prizes ready.”
A suspicious look settled over Shirlene’s face, but after only a few brief seconds, she followed Hope behind the cardboard waves that Hope’s mama had made.
“I’m mad at you, you know,” Shirlene said, as she
flopped down in one of the chairs, her numerous bracelets and necklaces jangling.
Fearing Shirlene was much more perceptive than she’d thought, Hope moved over to the box of prizes and tried not to act guilty.
“For what?”
“For avoiding me for the last week.”
Hope heaved a sigh of relief and sat down in the other chair. “I wasn’t avoiding you. I was just busy, is all. Besides, if anyone should be mad, it’s me at you for suggesting the stupid experiment in the first place.”
“And just how was I supposed to know you two are Fertile Myrtles?” Shirlene said. “Especially when my best friend fails to tell me she’s been doing the dirty deed with some guy out in California. The last I heard you were living with Sheldon.”
Hope grabbed a bottle of bubbles and wrapped a rubber band around the cap, which would make it easier to attach the paper clip fishhook to when the kids tossed it over the waves.
When Hope didn’t answer, Shirlene spoke up. “Don’t tell me you changed his sexual preference.”
“No. It wasn’t Sheldon. The reason I didn’t tell you is because it was just a one-night stand.”
Shirlene shot her a skeptical look. “Since when does Hope Scroggs have one-night stands?”
“I can be as slutty as the next person,” she defended herself. It was a lie, and the look on Shirlene’s face said as much. There was only one man who brought out the major slut in her. An untrustworthy bum who didn’t have two pennies to rub together or a responsible bone in his body.
“And I’m gathering it wasn’t your spray-tanned agent.” Shirlene snagged a bag of Tootsie Rolls out of the box and opened them.
“No. Ryan has only one love affair going and that’s with himself.”
Shirlene unwrapped a candy and popped it into her mouth. “So why is the man still here? I hear he’s staying with Harley and signing people up with his agency right and left. He even has Twyla dreaming of her own reality television show.”
The news didn’t surprise Hope. It seemed Ryan felt as if Bramble was a sea of reality shows just waiting to make him millions. Fortunately, he had a flight out tomorrow morning. She would be glad to see him go. Not only because she didn’t want him spilling the beans about the reality show until she got it, but because his presence reminded her that it wouldn’t be long before she would have to return to California.
“So what are you going to do?” Shirlene asked, and Hope didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what she was talking about. She stared down at the huge cardboard box of toys and did what she’d been doing since the slumber party—clung desperately to a false sense of hope.
“Maybe I’m not pregnant. Maybe I have an infection or something that threw the tests off.”
“I guess it’s a possibility.” Shirlene offered Hope a Tootsie Roll before opening another one for herself. “Are you going to see a doctor?”
“Monday in Midland.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Shirlene asked, “You want me to go with you?”
Knowing how difficult a trip to the obstetrician’s
would be for her friend, Hope shook her head. “Thanks, but I can handle it.” She reached out and took her hand. “If I could trade places with you, you know I would.”
“I know, honey.” Shirlene squeezed her hand. “But as my mama always says, all things happen for a reason.”
The words of wisdom didn’t make Hope feel any better, and if the forlorn look on Shirlene’s face was any indication, they hadn’t worked for her either.
She was happy when Shirlene popped the candy in her mouth and changed the subject. “So when do you have to work the kissing booth?”
“Not until later. Cindy Lynn wants to make sure everyone is here.”
“Well, can you blame her? Everyone in town believes the slow economy has to do with you not being here to dish out your good-luck kisses.”
“Did somebody mention kisses?” Slate’s voice came over the ocean waves, and when Shirlene and Hope got up, they found the two newlyweds kissing.
With so many other things to worry about, it didn’t bother Hope as much as she thought it would. In fact, she couldn’t control the desire to do a little devilish teasing. Without hesitation, Hope walked around the cardboard waves. “How could you, Slate?” She tried to blink up a couple of tears before her sister gave it away. But Faith surprised her by turning on Slate and socking him in the arm.
“Yeah, watch it, Calhoun!”
Confused, Slate glanced down at Hope’s red boots before he apologized to Faith. “Sorry, Hog.” He reached for Hope, but she held up a hand.
“Don’t be mauling on me, cowboy.”
He glanced back at Faith, and his forehead knotted. “This isn’t funny, y’all.”
But it was. So funny, all three women burst out laughing.
The kissing booth turned out to be twice as profitable as the fishing booth, but not nearly as much fun. After Hope sat down on the hard stool, a line formed clear out the gymnasium door and into the foyer. It wouldn’t have taken so long if all the townsfolk expected was a peck on the cheek, but everyone had something to say—whether Hope wanted to hear it or not.
“Don’t lift your hands over your head or the baby will be born with the cord wrapped around its neck.”
“You date anyone else out in California? Maybe a Dallas Cowboy who stopped by Disneyland in between games?”
“Get out of bed on the right side, you’ll have girls. Get out on the left, and it’s boys for shore.”
“What about one of those Texan actors? That Owen Wilson feller? Ethan Hawke? Matthew McConaughey?”
Hope tried to hold it together, but the craziness started to take its toll. And after what seemed like the five-hundredth kiss, she started grabbing the money, giving a quick peck and moving on to the next person, leaving the previous one still trying to get his words in edgewise.
Around nine o’clock, Kenny Gene stepped up to the booth, although she didn’t know it until he lifted the white sheet and grinned back at her. He hooked the sheet over one of the pointed bull horns attached to his hat.
“Get it? Bull-sheet.”
Hope had to admit it was clever, but she still thought Josephine’s extra-crispy fried chicken leg deserved the
best costume ribbon. Especially since the crumpled butcher paper looked so painful to walk in.
“So, Hope,” Kenny grinned. “I was thinkin’ that along with a kiss you might let me rub your belly—you know like one of them fat Buddhas? That way I’ll get triple the luck.”
Hope grabbed the dollar from his hand and slapped it in the cashbox before she leaned over and gave him the quickest kiss of the night. He started to complain, when Ryan came flapping up in a black cape and plastic vampire teeth. The costume was appropriate. If anyone could suck blood out of a person, it was her agent.
“Bella, Edward vants to suck your blood,” he slurred as he flipped the cape around her and pressed the cold plastic fangs against her neck. When she shoved him back and sent him a warning look, Kenny jumped into the conversation.
“She ain’t sellin’ blood. She’s sellin’ kisses. And I thought your name was Ryan.”
Ryan slipped the fangs out of his mouth. “Kisses?” He flashed a blinding smile. “God, I love this town.” Before Hope could stop him, he pulled the wallet out of his back pocket and flipped it open. “Do you take debit or credit?”
Hope rolled her eyes at the gold American Express card shoved in front of her face. “Sorry, cash only,” she said.
His smooth brow knotted. “You’re kidding!” When she only stared back at him, he shrugged and slipped the card back into his wallet. “Then I guess you’ll have to trust that I’m good for it.”
“Sort of like you were good for the residual checks on my commercial?”
“Now, Texas,” he tossed her an innocent look, “I couldn’t help it if one of those checks got lost in the mail. And you did end up getting all your money.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, after I almost got kicked out of my apartment.”
Ryan held up a hand. “Fine.” He flipped the wallet back open. “I’ve got an emergency hundred in here that I’m more than willing to give to your little charity. It’s the least I can do for my new star client.”
“You gonna give a hun-nerd dollars for a kiss from Hope?” Kenny jumped back into the conversation. “I hate to say this, but I just got one and a dollar’s pushin’ it.”
Ryan pointed a finger. “Kenny Gene, right?” When Kenny nodded, he continued his brown-nosing. “Love the costume, man.”
Annoyed, Hope reached out and jerked the hundred out of his hand and placed it in the cashbox. “Thanks, man.” She slipped off the stool, ready to end her time in the kissing booth.
“Hey,” Ryan said. “What about my kiss?”
“You’ll have to trust that I’m good for it,” she said, as she looked around for her witch’s hat.
“Now, Hope,” Kenny refused to keep his mouth shut. “That ain’t very fair.”
“What’s not fair, Kenny Gene?” Rachel waddled up in her extra crispy costume.
“Hope’s Hollywood agent just gave her a hun-nerd for a kiss, and Hope ain’t even gonna give him a peck on the cheek—hell, for a hun-nerd, she should at least slip him the tongue.”
“A hundred dollars?” Twyla joined the group in a saloon-girl cancan costume that was more appropriate for an adult party than for a kid’s carnival. “Why, that’s twenty haircuts.”
“Fifteen six-packs of beer,” Rye Pickett stated, as if he hadn’t failed out of math four years running.
“Around forty cans of Spam,” Rachel added.
“Forty?” Kenny looked truly shocked as he shot a glance over at Hope that said there was no way one of her kisses was worth forty cans of Spam.
Giving up on finding her hat, Hope stepped around the back of the booth with every intention of leaving the insanity far behind her. But Ryan was there, waiting with a devious twinkle in his eye and a pitiful whipped-puppy look on his face. No wonder he had become an agent; he was a worse actor than she was. Still, he had the town suckered.
“Oh, come on, Hope,” Kenny pleaded. “Give the poor feller a break.”
Realizing there was no way around it, Hope gave in. Besides it was for a good cause. All the money from the kissing booth went for new band uniforms, and Hope felt somehow responsible for the singed poof on the trombonist’s cap, although it had been Colt who stomped it flat.
With the thought darkening her mood, she might’ve jerked Ryan over a little too hard for his kiss on the cheek. But her sympathy died when the sly dog swiveled his head and planted a kiss right on her lips. Surprisingly, they were as cold as a vampire’s, cold and rather clammy, with the distinct flavor of Frito pie. But before Hope could pull back and give Ryan a piece of her mind, he was gone—like completely removed from her line of sight.
And it took only a second to locate him, dangling from a fist attached to a tattooed arm. For an instant, Hope felt relief. The instant right before she remembered that the man standing before her with a choke hold on Ryan’s throat was the same man who had run off like a lizard with his tail on fire. A man who hadn’t called or tried to contact her in over a week.