The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club (22 page)

Flynn didn’t want to believe it, just as she hadn’t wanted to believe it when Clinton Trainer had arrested Jesse for possession of cocaine and illegal firearms. “Don’t go pointing fingers without proof, Moe,” she said.

But inside, she had the same worry. Had Jesse decided to help her out of her knitting dilemma by spiking the lemonade? He had said he would cause a distraction for her if she needed it. Was that what he’d done?

“Flynn, my darling, why you looking so sad?” Her father’s steps were sprightly and loose as he came toward her. His smile was bright, the light in his eyes even brighter. “Come here, give your old daddy a big hug and I’ll make it all better.”

Flynn’s stomach roiled. “Dad, did you drink pink lemonade?”

“I did, darlin’. I did and it was luscious.” Her father slung his arm around her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her cheek.

No, Dad, no!

“Your old man’s lit.” Moe wrinkled his nose.

As if she didn’t recognize the signs. Her father had been trying so hard to give up the drink.
Twelve months sober and now this. Through no fault of his own, he was back to square one.

Despair wrenched her into knots. “Daddy.” She gently took his arm. “Someone put vodka in the pink lemonade.”

“Nooo.”
He shook his head slowly.

“I’m afraid so.”

“No.” A strange look—a comingling of pleasure, shame, and defeat—crossed his face.

“Yes.”

“No?” His tone turned pleading.

“I’m so, so sorry, Dad. Come on, we need to find your sponsor, get you to a meeting,” she said gently.

“Can I have one more glass of lemonade first?”

“No,” she said as kindly as she could, trying her best to control the fury trembling her knees. How could Jesse have done this? To Moe, she said. “Could you find Hondo and send him over here, please?”

“Handling it.” Moe unclipped his cell phone from his waistband. “Hondo’s manning the first aid station.”

“How many glasses of lemonade did you have?” Flynn asked her father.

“Three…wait…maybe four or it even coulda been five.”

She blew out her breath and guided her father through the yarn ball/knitting needle archway to sit on the courthouse steps.

He interlaced his fingers, stared at his hands. “I’m going to have to start all over again, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

“I swear, I didn’t know the lemonade was spiked,”
her father said. “At least not that first glass. I swear, baby, if I’d known I would never have drunk it.”

“I know.” She sat beside him, rubbed his back. In the past, she’d never cut him any slack where his drinking was concerned, but this was different. “You’ve been doing so well. This minor setback is nothing. You’ll just begin again. It’s okay.”

Her father lifted his head, looked her in the eyes. “What did I do to deserve a daughter as good as you?”

“I’m not that good, Dad. I have faults and weaknesses just like everyone else.”

“Not in my eyes, you don’t.”

“Flynn.”

She glanced over to see Hondo coming up the steps. “Moe told you?”

Hondo nodded.

“Could you help Dad?” she asked. “I’ve got something I must take care of.”

“Sure, sure.” Hondo leaned down to take her father’s arm. “Come on, Floyd. Let’s go get a cup of coffee.”

The minute Hondo and her father disappeared into the crowd, Flynn gathered her anger and her shaking knees and stalked across the courthouse lawn, blood pounding
boom, boom, boom
in her ears with each purposeful step. In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of Moe—with a few recruits, Tommy Ledbetter of the fabulous young ass among them—prying cups of pink lemonade from the hands of inebriated knitters. But she was focused on only one thing.

She marched up to the lemonade stand, cutting in line ahead of the customers.

“Hey, Flynn.” Jesse grinned.

“How could you!” she yelled. She hadn’t intended on it coming out so loud, but she was so mad, she didn’t really care.

“What’s wrong?” His smile shattered.

“You know what’s wrong.”

“I don’t.”

“My father’s drunk.”

His gaze drilled into her. “Okay. How is that my fault?”

“The pink lemonade was spiked with vodka.”

His eyes snapped liquid fire. “What are you accusing me of, Flynn?”

“You know.”

People were gawking. Flynn could feel the heat of their stares.

“Let’s go inside and discuss this.”

Jesse took her arm but she jerked it away. “Don’t touch me.”

Instantly he dropped his hands. “All right, I can see you’re upset.”

“Damn right, I’m upset.”

“Lemonade stand’s closed folks,” Jesse said, then stepped to the door of the motorcycle shop. He held the door open, waiting for her to enter before him.

A blast of cool air hit her, but it didn’t soothe the heat burning inside her. Head held high, she marched past him. He followed her, and the door closed behind them. Several gawkers placed their faces against the outside of the glass. Jesse closed the shades.

“Now then, Flynn, just take a deep breath.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Okay.” He lowered his voice and raised his palms in a defensive gesture as if he was a hostage negotiator demonstrating that he was no threat to a crazed gunman. “Let me have it.”

“What?” His tactic threw her off.

“The tongue-lashing, whatever it’s about, let me have it.”

“You spiked the pink lemonade.”

“Why would you think that?” Jesse’s gaze zeroed in and never left her face.

The room smelled of new rubber tires, fresh motor oil, and chrome polish. They were surrounded by an inventory of tricked-out bikes and motorcycle accessories. “Born to Be Wild” filtered softly through the music system. But Flynn was aware of nothing except the bitter taste of anger on her tongue and the solid ache in her heart.

“Um, let’s see, you were running the lemonade stand.”

“And you just automatically assumed that I spiked the lemonade.” He grunted.

She wanted so badly to believe he hadn’t done it. “I know your heart was in the right place. You were trying to help me out of my knitting problem, but getting everyone drunk was not the solution.”

His eyes turned stony cold. “The lemonade container is sitting right out there on the street. Anyone could have spiked it when my back was turned, and yet you chose to believe it was me.”

Guilt was rapidly replacing her anger. She
had
jumped to conclusions.

“Dammit, Flynn, I don’t even drink.”

“You drank champagne at my engagement party.”

“Yeah, well.” Jesse clenched his jaw, the muscles worked beneath his skin. “I was hurting a lot that night.”

“You were?” Flynn swallowed, and felt the last bit of anger drain away.

“Hell, it tore me up inside to see you getting engaged to Trainer.”

“It did?”

“Are you blind, woman? I wouldn’t do anything to violate my parole. Not now, not after we’ve…” He trailed off.

“We’ve what?” she prodded.

“I was going to say after we made a new start, but I just realized we haven’t. Not if you can believe I would do something like this.”

“I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. It’s just that my dad got hold of some of that lemonade. He’s been sober for a year, Jesse. He’s been trying really hard and now…” Tears misted her eyes, but she blinked them back. She refused to cry in front of him. She tried not to cry in front of anyone. She was the strong one in the family, the big sister. She did her crying in private, alone and usually on the Twilight Bridge. But the bridge was gone now and she had nowhere to go to let it all out.

“That is a shame, Flynn, but I’m not responsible for what happened to your father and I’m damn frustrated that you don’t stand by me. You didn’t stand up for me at the town council meeting and now you just assumed I’d spike the lemonade.”

“You have to admit, Jesse, that you’ve done wild things in the past,” she said. “It’s not outrageous for me to ask questions.”

Jesse shifted his weight, folded his arms over his chest. “Yeah, okay, I admit I screwed up as a kid. I stole some cars. I shoplifted, but that was when I was in Arizona, living on the streets, trying to feed myself the only way I knew how. And then I came to this town, and from the word ‘go,’ I was labeled a bad boy. No one gave me a chance. Even when I played football so well they made me first-string quarterback, I still wasn’t good enough to date girls like Missy Ivey. So yeah, I might have lived up to that reputation, acted out a little. I was seventeen with a huge chip on my shoulder. I did shoot off an M80 on that bridge. But out of everyone in this town, I thought you would believe in me. The whole time I was in prison, I tried hard not to think about you, but I couldn’t get you off my mind. Some stupid part of me had this hope…” He pulled his palm down his face, let out a sigh.

“Jesse.” She reached out to touch him, but he stepped away from her.

“When Aunt Patsy told me that after ten years of dating Trainer off and on you’d turned down four of his marriage proposals, I couldn’t help thinking, maybe there was a chance for me, you know? Then I come back and find you’re wearing Trainer’s ring and I figured, Let it go, Calloway. The image you’ve been keeping of her in your head is nothing but a fantasy. And then you broke things off with Trainer, and damn if that sorry old hope didn’t come charging back again.” He shook his head.

“You’re right. I’ve been treating you unfairly. I’m conflicted, confused.”

“Well, let me unconflict you, Dimples. I’m
taking myself out of the running. I can’t be with a woman who doubts my integrity.”

“Are you breaking up with me? It’s over?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jesse said. “Until you can prove to me that you’re in my corner one hundred percent, the way I’m in yours, then yeah, it’s over.”

Jesse watched Flynn walk away, feeling as if someone had wadded him up, dropped him into a blender, and hit liquefy. It took everything he had inside him not to call after her, tell her to come back, swear that he was only kidding.

But he could not. Everything he’d worked for was at stake. He knotted his fists, bit down on his tongue. She’d accused him of spiking the lemonade. Did she truly believe he would do something like that?

He hadn’t wanted to break things off with her. What he’d wanted to do, what he’d been having fantasies about doing all afternoon, was flip up the hem of her sexy little blue jean skirt, pull
down her panties, bend her over the leather seat of a showroom Harley, and make her fully his, once and for all.

A watershed of dark emotions poured over him—anger, betrayal, remorse, hurt, and something deeper, sharper—a primal masculine need to claim her as his woman, mind, body, and soul, without any heed to the consequences.

Jesse couldn’t, wouldn’t do that. He still hadn’t earned her trust, and until he did, he was not going to touch her again. No matter how hard it might be. If prison had taught him anything, it had taught him patience and the power of calm, assertive energy in overcoming any difficulty. He could wait for her to sort out her emotions and to fully believe that he had not been in possession of cocaine, had not bombed the bridge, had not spiked the lemonade.

Still, how was he going to keep up his resolve when Flynn came sashaying in here every morning, butt swaying as she climbed the stairs to the Yarn Barn. Stopping on the steps to bend over and scratch that gray tabby under the chin.

“Dammit,” he cursed, and pressed a palm against his forehead. What had he gotten himself into? Why had he come back to Twilight? Being so close to her, having to keep his hands to himself was pure torture.

Frankly, he didn’t know if he had the strength to handle it.

After the spiked lemonade fiasco, they called off the knit-a-thon for the reminder of the day. Even though they resumed knitting on Saturday, they’d
lost momentum and ended up falling thousands short of the money they’d hoped to raise.

But Flynn had deeper worries. She took both Carrie and her father’s shifts at Froggy’s while Hondo dragged Floyd to Fort Worth for an intense round of AA meetings. During her breaks, she popped in to check on Carrie at the Yarn Barn. While her sister couldn’t wait tables with her wrist in a cast, she could man the cash register and discuss knitting with customers. Flynn tried to keep her mind busy so she wouldn’t dwell on the fact Jesse had broken up with her, but she couldn’t seem to stem the churning in her gut.

Jesse was one hundred percent correct. She hadn’t believed in him the way she should, and she didn’t know how to go about fixing it. Thing was, it was easier to withdraw from him. Let Carrie run the Yarn Barn while she looked after Froggy’s and her father.

And what of the desire that throbbed through her every time she had to pass by Jesse on her way into the yarn store? What of that?

Well, what could she do? He’d made it clear things were over between before they’d ever really begun.

“Okay, so the knit-a-thon didn’t turn out as well as we’d planned,” Flynn said at the next meeting of the Sweethearts’ Knitting Club. “But we all had fun. Now we’ve got to figure out how to raise the rest of the money for the bridge. Are you guys in?”

“Count on me,” Terri said.

“You betcha.” Belinda nodded.

“I’m there.” Marva plunked down in her rocker with a fresh cup of tea.

“Any ideas?” Patsy asked.

“We could have a wet T-shirt contest at the Horny Toad,” Raylene offered.

“Um…you’re not considering using us, are you?” Patsy asked. “Flynn and Terri are the only ones who could get away with it.”

“Of course not. We’d get college girls, charge guys a hefty cover fee.”

“I was thinking of something a little more wholesome,” Flynn said. “Maybe an arts and crafts auction?”

“How about a picnic basket auction,” Dotty Mae said. “You know, girl makes a nice little picnic lunch, boy bids on it. That’s how Stuart and I became sweethearts. He bid on me at a church social.”

“But Dotty, you can’t cook,” Terri pointed out.

“Stuart didn’t buy it for my cooking. He said he was just looking to brush up against my Betty Grable legs.”

“Actually,” Patsy said, “it’s not a bad idea. We could hold it during the sheriff’s posse rodeo event at the end of the month. That’ll give us time to advertise in the
Fort Worth Star-Telegram
.”

“Ooh,” Belinda said, “I can tie the event in with some of my matchmaking dates. Where should we hold it?”

“In the park, of course,” Marva said, “underneath the Sweetheart Tree.”

“Perfect,” Flynn concurred. “Let’s save that bridge for all the future sweethearts to come.”

Just before noon on the day of the auction, locals and tourists alike gathered in Sweetheart Park right off the square. People spread out on the lush rolling lawn between the statue of the Twilight Sweethearts and the gazebo beneath the Sweetheart Tree.

Inside the gazebo, dozens of picnic baskets sat out on a long table. Moe took his place at the microphone, welcoming the participants and stressing that the proceeds from the auction would go to rebuild the Twilight Bridge. This year’s Miss Twilight—seventeen-year-old Britney Wilks—stood at his elbow holding up the baskets as they came up for bidding.

“Britney’s got potential as a letter turner,” Carrie whispered to Flynn. “Doesn’t she remind you of a young Vanna White?”

“That smile, those teeth, the vacant eyes.”

“Look at this first basket, folks,” said Moe.

Britney obligingly paraded the basket around the gazebo like a cue card girl in the boxing ring.

“Isn’t that something? It’s made out of sourdough, braided, baked, and shellacked so you can use it for a bread basket on your kitchen counter when you’ve eaten what’s inside. Who could be that creative with a basket, you ask? Why, it belongs to Miss Christine Noble, owner of the Twilight Bakery, and if you’ve ever eaten her pastries you know you’re in for a treat. But that’s not all. Not only do you get the basket, you also get to share it with Christine. Isn’t she a cutie?” Moe waved at Christine, who ducked her head and blushed prettily. “Let’s get the ball rolling at fifteen dollars.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twenty.”

And so it went.

“Look,” Carrie said, ten baskets and several hundred dollars later. “Vanna put your basket up on the auction block. You’re next. Whatcha got in it?”

Flynn snorted. “Fried chicken from Froggy’s, what do you think? I’d cooked something special? Who has the time?”

“Hey, this auction business was your idea.”

“No, saving the bridge was my idea. Blame for the auction belongs at Dotty Mae’s door. So what’s in
your
basket?”

“Froggy’s fried chicken.”

“Copycat.”

“Like the idea is
sooo
original. Probably half the baskets up there have Froggy’s fried chicken in them. You think Beau and Jesse are going to duke it out over your basket?”

Secretly, she had hoped Jesse was going to make a grand gesture and preempt the bidding, but since he’d barely spoken two words to her in the past three weeks, she wasn’t holding her breath.

“Doubt it.”

“What is the deal with you two?”

“Search me. If you find out, let me know.”

“I have my thoughts on it. Wanna hear?”

“Not particularly, but I suppose you’re going to tell me anyway.” Flynn tucked two fingers of both hands into the back pocket of her jeans and forced herself not to scan the crowd for signs of Jesse. While not looking for him, she spied Beau standing head above everyone else over by the Sweetheart Fountain. He was checking out the gathering
as well. Quickly she dropped her gaze and turned her shoulders toward her sister.

Carrie tucked an errant curl behind one ear. “You’re the caretaking type.”

“Now that’s a shocker. Breaking news. Call the
Star-Telegram
.”

“You’re getting snarky. That means you’re anxious. Are you worried that no one will bid on your basket?”

“Not at all. It’s Froggy’s chicken up for grabs. If nothing else I can count on the retirement community set.”

“And Jesse,” Carrie went on with her theory. “He’s always had to take care of himself. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be nurtured and cared for. It’s foreign to him. It makes him suspicious. If you’re nice to him he’s trying to figure out your angle. So when you give, it makes him question your motives. Giving is second nature to you. When he turns it down, you take it as a rejection.”

“Wow, you learn all this in Psych 101? You’re getting your money’s worth out of that community college.”

“I’m gonna let that go because I know you’re jealous that I’m in college and you didn’t get to go.”

“Wise move.” Flynn wasn’t proud of it, but yeah, there was a grain of truth to her sister’s accusation. From the corner of her eye she saw Beau moving closer to the gazebo, but there was still no sign of Jesse. Seriously, he wasn’t even coming to the auction?

Could she blame him? Three-quarters of the town were convinced he’d sabotaged the knit-a-
thon with vodka-laced pink lemonade. There’d been talk of banning him from joining the chamber of commerce, but the wind had been taken out of that argument when Jesse never applied for membership.

“And this lovely little basket here,” Moe said, reading the tag on the handle, “is quite traditional. You got your red and white gingham check and the handle is tied up with a pretty red and white bow. Inside you’ve got your fried chicken with homemade biscuits, tater salad, and coleslaw.” Moe pressed his nose to the closed wicker basket. “Smells like Froggy’s.” He looked out across the sloping lawn at Carrie and Flynn. “Which one of you MacGregor girls does this belong to?”

Carrie pointed at Flynn.

“Traitor,” Flynn mumbled.

Moe looked at Beau. “You want to start the bidding, Sheriff?”

Flynn cringed, stared at her toes. “Do you see Jesse in the crowd?” she whispered to Carrie.

“What? You’re asking me for a favor after accusing me of being a traitor?”

She tugged the hem of her sister’s shirt. “Just do it.”

“Okay, but you owe me.” Carrie swiveled her head. “Uh-oh.”

“What-oh?” Flynn’s body tensed.

“Jesse’s over by the paddleboat rental place talking to some girl I don’t know. She’s very pretty.”

“A hundred dollars,” Beau said.

The crowd gasped. Flynn felt a several dozen pairs of eyes on her. She raised her head, forced a smile.

“Do I hear a hundred and five?” Moe asked.

Not a peep, not a sound, not even a cricket chirped.

“Come on people, all proceeds go to save the Twilight Bridge,” Moe cajoled.

Flynn darted a quick glance in the direction of the paddleboat rental office. Sure enough, there was Jesse leaning one sexy shoulder nonchalantly against the side of the shiplap building, talking to a young woman in her mid-twenties. Flynn recognized her. “That’s Missy Ivey.”

“Who?” Carrie asked.

“The woman Jesse is talking to.”

“No. Really?” Carrie craned her neck. “She’s lost a lot of weight and cut her hair.”

“What’s she doing back in town?” Flynn mused. “I thought she was engaged to some East Coast real estate big shot.”

“Oh, you know how Mr. Ivey likes to exaggerate how good his kids are doing. But she does look really great. Jesse seems to think so too.”

“Thanks for pointing that out.” Flynn felt the stinging slap of jealousy. Jesse was moving on without her.

“Don’t mention it,” Carrie said.

“Anybody?” Moe asked. “You guys just gonna let Beau walk away with the girl?”

A lot of people were peering over at Jesse, but he never glanced over at the gazebo. Flynn’s face heated.

“No? Okay.” Moe smacked his gavel. “Flynn MacGregor’s basket sold to the sheriff for a hundred bucks.”

Beau stepped over to pay the fee at a nearby
card table set up with a bookkeeper to accept donations.

Vanna aka Britney picked up a motorcycle helmet. She held it over her head and pranced around the gazebo with it.

“Now this is our first basket from a man,” Moe said. “Except you can all see it’s not a basket, but a motorcycle helmet. Hang on a minute, while I see what’s inside.”

“What’s this?” Flynn muttered, getting a very bad feeling about the helmet posing as a basket. “Who said men could enter?”

“Who said they couldn’t?” Carrie cocked her head. “Don’t be sexist.”

Britney obediently trotted the helmet over to Moe. He reached in, pulled out an envelope, opened it, and read the contents out loud. “Ladies, are you ready to take a walk on the wild side? This basket contains a catered meal from Pasta Pappa’s followed by a motorcycle ride on Jesse Calloway’s Harley.”

The women in the crowd went nuts, bidding so madly that Moe could barely keep up. “Twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five. Do I see forty, forty yes, forty-five, fifty.”

Flynn stood up, raised a hand.

“Fifty-five…wait a minute Flynn, you can’t bid on Jesse’s basket. You’re having lunch with Beau.”

“I’m not bidding on Jesse’s basket. It’s not even a basket, for crying out loud.” She gestured at the helmet in Britney’s arms. “I just wanted to say something.”

“In the middle of the auction?”

“It’s important. His basket should be disqualified.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a catered dinner. The basket is supposed to contain the dinner. The idea is to make the dinner yourself.”

“Just like you fried the chicken in your basket?” Moe asked.

“Sit down and shut up, MacGregor,” a woman called out. “You’re just jealous.”

“She’s a man hog is what she is,” muttered someone else. “She wants her Beau and Jesse too.”

Flynn’s cheeks flushed. Carrie grabbed her hand and pulled her back down to the lawn.

Moe turned his attention back to the crowd. “Fifty-five, sixty. I see sixty-five, seventy, seventy-five…”

“One hundred and fifty dollars,” Missy Ivey hollered.

That put a damper on the feeding frenzy.