The Sweetheart Bargain (A Sweetheart Sisters Novel) (5 page)

Esther bent down again, fussing around beneath the table. Greta nudged her purse farther under her seat and dodged Olivia’s knowing glance. “I don’t see it,” Esther said.

“What a shame. Since it interrupts your quilting time and all, and I know how much you
all
look forward to that.” Olivia grinned and winked at Greta.

“Yup. Damn shame,” Greta said. Esther hushed her.

“How’s the new job going?” Pauline asked.

“Good, but challenging.” Olivia’s gaze went over her shoulder to the people assembled for her morning group. Most sat, eager for Miss Sadie to come over and interact with them. The dog’s appearance had become a fun ritual for pretty much everyone at Golden Years. Only one woman sat to the side, slumped in her chair, staring out the window. “What do you guys know about Millicent Pierce?”

Esther’s face turned down, and she tried not to stare at Millie, whose loneliness and despair carried through the room like cheap perfume. “Poor Millie. Lost her husband, then she got that cancer diagnosis. She’s lived here three months and I don’t think she’s said more than two words in all that time.”

Pauline nodded. “Her and her husband used to do everything together. Poor thing, I think she just misses him something fierce.”

Olivia sighed. “Well, Miss Sadie and I aren’t going to give up easily, are we?” The little dog swished her tail in response.

“Any big plans for the weekend, Olivia?” Pauline asked. “There’s a barbecue here at the center if you want to come.”

Olivia smiled. It was the kind of smile that warmed even Greta’s heart—wide, welcoming, genuine. “I’ll try, but I’ve got a lot on my to-do list for the weekend. I moved into a house that requires a lot of work. It pretty much defines
fixer-upper
.”

“Bless your heart,” Esther said. “It’s always so encouraging to see young people take on challenges.”

“This house is that and more,” Olivia said. “The woman who owned it before me didn’t exactly take care of the place.” She toed at the floor, an uncharacteristically shy move. “Maybe you ladies knew her? Bridget Tuttle?”

Pauline’s brows knitted together. “Wait, isn’t that the one who was always rescuing dogs? I don’t think we knew her, personally. One of those keep-to-herself types.”

Esther nodded agreement. “She loved those dogs, though. She was always putting up signs, trying to get them adopted. Why I almost took in a poodle myself, but poor Gerald was allergic.”

“Bridget was so colorful, wasn’t she? Who could miss her? With those bright orange skirts she wore and that terrible yellow hat.” Pauline shook her head. “Wasn’t much for fashion sense.”

Greta saw Olivia bite her lip, then work a trembling smile to her face. Poor thing probably didn’t like to hear such negative-Nellie comments about the previous owner.

“I know the house. It’s next door to my grandson’s little place.” Greta leaned forward to change the subject. Goodness, why were they talking about dead people? Seems all the people around her ever did was talk about death, like it was another resident. “Have you met my grandson? He’s available.” Ever since Olivia had mentioned she was divorced, the quilting ladies had been conspiring to fix her up.

“Oh, I met him,” Olivia said. “And it . . . well, let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a Welcome Wagon moment.”

Greta waved that off. “Luke’s been going through a hard time. He’s not himself lately.”

“Me either. Anyway, the last thing I have time for is a man.” She brightened and let out a laugh. “Unless he’s a handyman and willing to work for peanuts. Then you’re free to give him my number.”

“There’s always time for love.” Esther pressed a hand to her heart and sighed. “I just love a good romance.”

“Don’t we all,” Olivia said, but her voice was quiet, soft.

Greta shot a glance at the young woman. Sounded like she was a little down on love, something Greta couldn’t understand. Olivia had every quality any man in his right mind would look for—what fool had let her go?

They’d known the animal therapist for only a few days and hadn’t had many personal conversations, which most days, suited Greta just fine. She was very much a live-and-let-live person—or drink-and-let-drink, in the case of the bourbon breakfast.

But something about the way Olivia had reacted to the information about Bridget Tuttle had intrigued Greta. She wanted to press the issue but decided first to do a little snooping and see what she could find out about the house, the Tuttle woman, and Olivia.

Olivia shifted to pet the dog, and Greta noticed the porcelain butterfly necklace that often hung from her neck. It looked old, the kind of thing someone handed down, and Greta would bet her grandmother’s silver tea set there was a story behind that butterfly. It triggered a memory in Greta, but either the bourbon or her age whisked the memory away before it could manifest fully.

“Oh, I almost lost track of time. I have a therapy appointment to get to in a few minutes.” Olivia gave the bichon’s leash a tug. “Time for me and Miss Sadie to get to work. I’ll see you later.” Olivia leaned down to Greta’s ear. “Oh, and Greta, I’ll be sure to stop at the Java Hut before I come in tomorrow and bring you one of those giant chocolate chip cookies. If you don’t tell Doc Harper, I won’t.”

Greta crossed her heart. “What he doesn’t know can’t hurt me.”

Olivia laughed, then turned back to the group of seniors sitting by the television. The little bichon trotted over to each one and gave them a friendly greeting with her pert black nose. Millie ignored the dog and barely even looked up when Olivia greeted her. The others got involved in a game of hiding the treat for Miss Sadie—six pairs of hands outstretched, but only one held a little snack. Laughter and smiles came from that corner of the room, from all but poor Millie.

Greta wondered about Olivia a little while longer, then took a sip of her Maker’s Mark and got back to the subject at hand. Pauline’s newest crazy idea.

She started to push the letters back toward Pauline. The woman was messier than a pig in a cheese factory. Then a pale-pink sheet of paper on the bottom of the pile caught her eye, and she snatched that letter back. She fished out her reading glasses from her purse and then shut the clasp again real fast—before Esther’s thread spools could fall out. One quick hand swipe when Esther wasn’t looking, and the world was safe from her needle. Greta was in no mood for quilting today, and especially not now, when they had bigger fish to fry.

“Dear Common Sense Carla,” Greta read, “I’ve recently moved to town to make a new start in life. I’ve changed my career, changed my address, and changed my attitude, but I have yet to find true love.” She skimmed to the end. “Do you have any advice on how I can find Mr. Right? Signed, Forlorn in Florida.”

“That one sounds like all the others,” Pauline said. “I want a challenge for my first letter. Give me a good love triangle or a secret baby mix-up.”

“Lord almighty, Pauline, you have got to stop watching reruns of
Days of Our Lives
.” Greta fingered the letter, then cast a glance at Olivia, who was chatting with the group across the way, her pretty face bright and animated. “Hmm. New in town. Changed career. Looking for love. Who does that sound like?”

“I swear, it’s like somebody absconded with every spool of thread in the building.” Esther threw up her hands. “How are we ever supposed to get any quilting done?”

“That sounds like someone who’s lonely,” Pauline said, then grabbed a pad of paper and pen. She clicked the pen and hovered over the lined sheets. “I know. I’ll advise that she join a quilting club and make some friends.”

“Why don’t you just make her a sign that says ‘
Lonely Old Maid’
and mail it to her?” Greta leaned across the table. “If you’re going to do this column, you need to do it right.”

“What do you mean?”

The idea spun and shaped itself in Greta’s mind. Brilliant. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? “To do this right, you need a team for this, Pauline,” Greta said. “A team of people who have wisdom. Experience. Heart.”

“Where would I find that?”

“Right here, of course. What else do we have to do with our day?”

“We could quilt,” Esther said, then let out a gust of frustration. “If we had some thread.”

Greta nudged her purse farther under her chair. Across the room, Olivia caught the movement. She shook her head and mouthed a
tsk-tsk
.

“All of us?” Pauline squeaked. “Become Common Sense Carla?”

“It’s perfect. We can meet here every Thursday and go over the letters and help you draft a reply.”

“But Thursday is our quilting day. When will I quilt?” Esther asked.

“There are six other days in the week, Esther. Pick one.” Greta glanced across the room again at Olivia. She was such a pretty young thing, with a nice smile, and though Greta thought the whole idea of working with dogs and cats was crazy, she had to admit Olivia had good intentions. She was just the kind of girl Greta wished her grandson would marry.

Just the kind of girl . . .

A lightbulb flickered to life in Greta’s head. It was a crazy idea, but the perfect one to get this sleepy little town—and her drab existence—back to life again. And maybe, just maybe, help bring Luke back . . . not back anywhere special, just
back
. She hated seeing her grandson so broken. He was a good boy—man, really—but one who had suffered more than anyone she knew.

Yes. It could work.

“We’ll give advice,” Greta said, the idea coming together as brilliantly as the light shining through her father’s bottle shelf, “and help it come true. Give people a . . . a nudge in the right direction.”

“You mean . . . meddle?”

Greta sat back, clasping her glass of Maker’s Mark in her palms. “Why of course.” She smiled. “We’re old ladies. It’s what we do best.”

Three

The shades drawn. The door locked. The air conditioner silent.

Luke Winslow sat in a hot, dark, silent prison, doing a damned good job of being pissed at the world. In a closet hung uniforms he would never wear again. Medals he never wanted in the first place. And a career that had been destroyed in a single moment. People lost, lives gone, all because he’d screwed up. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone with his regrets.

The doorbell rang.

He ignored it the first time. The second. Probably one of the neighbors. Again. Over the last few weeks, they’d been by more times than he could count. With casseroles. Flowers. Good wishes.

He’d ignored them all. Mighty hard to do when Lois and Doug next door kept an eye out for any potential movement on Luke’s side of the fence, just so they could send a hearty wave and a loud “Howdy, neighbor” his way. Next they’d be inviting him to a barbecue or that neighborhood block party they insisted on hosting twice a year. All he wanted, especially today, was to be left the hell alone.

After the appointment he’d gone to this morning, he wanted to pass one day after the other, with no change, no drama, nothing. He didn’t want to find a new job or start a new life or, God forbid, put on his happy face. He just wanted the world to go away.

The third ring came with an insistent knocking, and a chirpy “Luke? Are you in there? I brought dessert!”

His grandmother Greta. Who was as relentless as a pit bull. The reason he loved her, and the reason he’d better answer the door—before she took it off the hinges. He opened the door and tried to work a smile to his face, but it failed halfway through. “I’m not hungry, Grandma.”

Next door, Lois popped to her feet. Knowing her, she would also be waving something bright and pink; Lois was almost always armed with neon gardening tools from her arsenal. “Howdy, Luke! Nice day we’re having,” she called.

He gave her a painful nod in return. Greta sent the neighbor a wave. “Grandma, for God’s sake, get inside, before Lois decides to pay a social call.” He led his grandmother into the house and shut the door.

Greta handed Luke a white paper box. The scents of chocolate and peanut butter wafted up to greet him. Cookies, or brownies, or some other treat from the Tasty Tidbits Bakery on the boardwalk. Grandma had brought him six such boxes in the last month. No doubt an excuse to eat the sugar her doctor had outlawed. “I’m not hungry,” he repeated.