The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club (2 page)

He reached for her left hand. Flynn was startled to realize she was shaking. What was she feeling? Resistance? Fear? She rolled both those words around in her head. No, no. That wasn’t it.

She and Beau had known each other their entire lives. High school sweethearts, dating on and off for ten years. He was a rock-solid guy. The salt of the earth. Yes, he was a little rigid in his outlook and he could be a bit judgmental, but that went with the territory. He was squeaky clean. A real Goody Two-shoes. Once she’d even made him a musical playlist that included the Adam Ant “Goody Two Shoes” song.

He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke. What does he do?

That was the thing. The guy was a comic book superhero, and no one could live up to Beau’s expectations. How the hell had Lois Lane managed it?

Was that the reason she’d put him off every time he’d asked her to marry him? Of course, she had other reasons. External reasons. Good reasons. Or was her real reason something else entirely? Or perhaps she should say
someone
else entirely.

And then—
boom
—there he was nibbling at the back of her conscience as he’d done off and on for the past ten years.

Jesse.

The wild side that she’d never gotten to explore. Her one serious regret. Just the thought of him took her breath in a way Beau never had. Immediately she felt disloyal and bit down on her bottom lip.

“Flynnie, look at me.”

She forced herself to meet Beau’s chocolate brown eyes underneath straight, black brows. Good ol’ reliable Beau. Everyone in town loved him. He was a war hero, having earned a Bronze Star in Iraq. He was a pillar of the community. A man that people looked up to and admired.

Goody, Goody Two-shoes
.

God, what was wrong with her? She was secretly pining for a convicted criminal incarcerated in Huntsville prison while this decent and law-abiding man, who’d never been anything but kind to Flynn and her family, was sitting here asking her to marry him. She was lower than river sludge. Why couldn’t she just pull the trigger and say yes?

“Before you turn me down again there’s something very important I have to say,” Beau said.

“I—”

“Ah, ah.” Beau pressed his index finger to her lips. “Shh, shh.”

She pantomimed zipping her lip, and his smile crinkled up the corners of his eyes. She really did love the big lug. Just not in the way she should. Not the way her mother had loved her father. Not the way the members of her knitting club all loved their high school sweethearts.

Her heart twisted. Honestly, what in the hell was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she give him her all?

The thing of it was, she had always expected to
marry Beau eventually. Her mother had certainly wanted it for her. As she lay in the final throes of dying, Lynn Dupress MacGregor had made her eldest daughter promise two things.

One, that Flynn would open a yarn store so the knitters of Twilight didn’t have to make the forty-mile trek into Fort Worth whenever they felt a yen for something more sophisticated than the basic Wal-Mart skein. And two, that Flynn would one day accept Beau’s proposal of marriage.

Flynn had pointed out that with the proliferation of the Internet it was now feasible for the citizens of Twilight to meet their knitting needs online, but her mother insisted it wasn’t the same. All her life Lynn had dreamed of owning a yarn store where she could host knitting circles and give lessons to pass on her love of the craft. Flynn had agreed to both promises, fully expecting to keep them.

One day.

First on her list, find the right property—and the financing—to start Lynn’s Yarn Barn.

But now here was Beau, pushing for the second item.

“You remember the first time I asked?” Beau crooned, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“It was your high school graduation,” Flynn said.

The day after the night Jesse had made out with her for the first and last time. Made out with her on the old Twilight Bridge, gave Flynn her first orgasm right through the fabric of her panties and rocked her teenage world.

It was also the same day Beau’s father had arrested Jesse on cocaine trafficking charges and
possession of an illegal firearm. He was supposed to have graduated that day as well.

“You looked so gorgeous. You were wearing a pink sundress.” His voice softened.

Little did Beau know she’d worn that dress because Jesse had told her she looked pretty in pink. Flynn’s cheeks warmed at the memory. She’d thought…

You were sixteen. You had no clue about who Jesse really was. You barely knew him. Let it go
. She wished it was that easy. She felt guilty somehow—like she’d betrayed Jesse—and she didn’t know why. If anything, she’d betrayed Beau.

Okay, here came the full-on guilt.

“It was thoughtless of me to ask you then,” Beau was saying. “I understood that you were too young. I just wanted you to know how I felt. I wanted to know that you were mine before I headed off to college.”

Flynn forced a smile. Beau’s hand was warm and moist around hers, his grip just a tiny bit too tight. Panic fluttered against her chest wall the way it always did when he asked her for a solid commitment.

“My timing has always been off when it comes to us. What with your family problems, my stint in Iraq, then my extensive rehab after being wounded, my father’s stroke. We’ve been through a lot and yet we’re still together. You’ve always given me hope that one day you’d be ready to wear my ring.”

“Beau, you’re a wonderful person.” This time she squeezed his hand.

“I love you, Flynnie. I’ve loved you for years. You’re my oldest and dearest friend. I think it’s im
portant to be friends with the person you marry.”

They
were
good friends and they knew each other so well.

“But as much as I love you, as much as I want you to be my wife, I can’t keep waiting.” Beau cleared his throat. “I know you have a problem with commitment and I get why. You had to assume the role as head of the household when your mother got sick and your dad went off the deep end. You were only thirteen years old and you were cooking dinner and changing diapers and making sure the bills got paid and taking care of your mother…” He shook his head. “I admire you so much, Flynnie MacGregor. You’re my hero.”

Aw shit, she was gonna cry. She ducked her head, stared down at her sneakers stained with grease from Froggy’s. “Beau…”

“Shh, listen, listen to me good.” He hooked two fingers underneath her chin, raised her face up to meet his gaze. “I’ll be thirty next year and Hondo Crouch is running against me in the upcoming sheriff’s race. I need a wife by my side to help me win. Not to mention that I’m ready to start a family.”

“I know.”

“No, this is different.” He paused. “I realize you haven’t had a chance to sow your wild oats. That you’ve been so busy taking care of everyone that you’ve never taken care of Flynn, and I’ve tried to be considerate of that. I didn’t take offense when you turned me down the last four times.”

No, no he hadn’t.

“I understood and I waited.”

Yes, yes he had.

“So I have to have an answer. One way or the other. Will you marry me?”

The squad car suddenly seemed to close in around her. She tried to draw in a deep breath but her lungs wouldn’t expand properly. “I…I need time to think.”

“You’ve had ten years to think, Flynn; if you don’t know the answer by now—” He broke off, shook his head.

“Are you—” She stopped, gulped. “Giving me an ultimatum?”

“I am. Either agree to wear my engagement ring or I’ll find someone who will.” He couldn’t have shocked her more if he’d reached out and slapped her across the face. “You’ve taken me for granted and I’ve allowed it to happen because I’ve wanted this so much. But you aren’t the only woman in Twilight. I’ve had lots of offers.”

A sour taste spilled into her mouth. It tasted like guilt. She
had
taken him for granted. Assumed Beau would always be there. Waiting for her. She saw now how unfairly she’d treated him, keeping him dangling on a string. He was right. She should say yes or let him go.

“All your excuses are gone,” he continued. “Cassie grew out of her wild phase and turned her life around. Froggy’s is finally in the black. Your twin brothers graduate from high school next May. Your father is on the wagon. There’s nothing you have to do for anyone else, Flynnie. You deserve to pursue your own happiness.”

And of course he thought pursuing her happiness meant marrying him, becoming the sheriff’s wife. In all honesty, Flynn had no idea what con
stituted her own happiness. She’d never had an opportunity to give it much thought.

He took the ring from the box and held it out to her. “This is it, Flynn MacGregor, your last chance. I won’t ask again. I’ve got to have a definitive answer once and for all. Will you marry me or not?”

Flynn opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

“Yes or no?” Beau demanded.

“I…I…”

“Yes or no, Flynn, it’s a simple question.”

Emotions crowded in on her. Anger with him for springing this on her, irritation with herself for dragging her feet, desperation at his challenge, fear that she was never going to figure out who she really was outside of being everyone’s go-to girl.

And beneath it all lay a bone-deep sadness.
If you say yes, you forever close the door on Jesse
.

Jesse, that vulnerable boy who’d come to live with his Aunt Patsy his junior year. He’d swaggered into Twilight High all tough bravado and oozing tortured-loner cool. Leather jacket, skull tattoo on his upper arm, pierced tongue, chip on his shoulder twice the size of Texas, laser-sharp stare that sent chills of excitement chasing up a girl’s spine.

But Flynn had immediately seen past the façade. The minute she looked into his intelligent gray-blue eyes, she’d known they were the same. Pretending to be something they weren’t in order to keep their chaotic worlds in balance. He was faking being a bad boy; she had donned the role of responsible good girl. He’d touched her heart in a way no one ever had and she’d fallen in love with him.

And then to her ultimate dismay she discovered she’d been wrong about Jesse. That he truly was a bad boy involved with drugs and guns. But still, some small part of her refused to believe it. Some part of her still
yearned
.

What in the hell was she thinking? The door had closed on Jesse years ago. That was just a foolish girlhood longing. She’d grown up. She’d stopped believing in soul mates and kismet and sexual chemistry so urgent it scared the hell out of her. Marrying the steady, reliable man who’d stood by you through thick and thin was good enough. It wasn’t settling. It was sensible. Right?

“Flynn,” Beau prompted.

She looked down at the diamond sparkler and everything it represented—home, hearth, husband, family. She should want this, but the truth was she was up to her ears in home, hearth, and family. The only new addition would be husband.

His gaze burned her cheeks. She forced herself to meet his eyes. Caring and concern for her shone there, and for the briefest moment, she spied a flicker of panic. He rubbed his thumb over her ring finger. “Flynnie?”

“Why today, Beau?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why not yesterday? Why not tomorrow?”

He shrugged. “I guess I just made up my mind that I can’t keep hanging in limbo. I gotta know once and for all, will you be my wife?”

“Could you give me twenty-four hours?”

His lips pressed together to form a hard line. “You’ve had ten years. Will twenty-four hours make that much difference?”

No, of course not, but she needed time alone from him to think this through. “I wasn’t expecting an ultimatum and the knitting club will be arriving any minute and my father is AWOL and—”

Beau heaved a long-suffering sigh. “It’s always about your family.” Flynn bristled, but then he lightly touched the tip of her nose with his index finger. “Good thing your devotion to those you love is one of the things I adore most about you. Yes, okay, twenty-four hours. But that doesn’t mean I’m not serious about this. My ultimatum still stands.”

“Okay. You’re right. You deserve an answer.” She moved to get out of the car.

“Flynnie?”

“Yes?” She turned back to look at him, and that’s when Beau gathered her up in his arms for a kiss.

As kisses went it was one of his best. Firm, warm, moist but not wet—full of passion, yet properly controlled. He tasted of mouthwash and toothpaste. She realized he’d recently brushed his teeth. Rehearsed this.

She found that fact both endearing and bothersome, and she couldn’t really say why. She knew Beau was a man who did nothing without forethought and preparation. Eagle Scout all the way.

He pulled his lips from hers. “Keep that in mind as you do your thinking.”

She nodded mutely, got out of his patrol car, stumbled in the ditch on her way back to her Ranger. As she climbed onto the running board, Beau poked his head out of the window. “And don’t forget to buckle up,” he hollered.

Flynn waved a hand, but had the strangest impulse to raise a finger. God, he was such a stickler for rules.

And what’s wrong with that, river sludge? He only wants to make sure you’re safe.

She got in and buckled her seat belt, looked back, and saw Beau making a U-turn, then spied a car on the overhead bridge that she recognized. Patsy Cross’s ruby red Crown Victoria packed with carpooling members of the knitting club.

Crap!

At best she had only a two-minute head start. Flynn gunned the engine and zoomed to the end of the road. She slammed the Ranger into park, tumbled out, sprinted up the back steps, and banged in through the screen door.

For as long as he could remember, Beau Trainer had struggled to overcome the image of his larger-than-life father. Clinton Trainer was a throwback to the lawless days of the Wild West when men were men—drinking, whoring, gambling, smoking, fighting, shooting off guns for sport—and the women put up with it because they were scared not to. His father called every boy Bubba and every girl Sissy-babe. He had a picture of a hula dancer with oversized bosoms tattooed on his forearm, and until his stroke he’d always kept a whiskey flask tucked into the top of his cowboy boot.

The Trainers hailed from a long line of lawmen, dating back to some of the first Texas Rangers. And when Clinton married Kathryn Loving and her family’s cattle money and used her wealth and
his boldness to get elected sheriff of Hood County, his place in Twilight history was cinched. No one dared cross Clinton Trainer except Kathryn, and that was only because she held the purse strings.

When Beau was eight years old his father took him behind the woodshed, pulled a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end, and spit it into the field. “Let’s see how tough you are, little man,” Clinton had grunted. “Smoke this.”

He remembered being simultaneously repulsed and seduced. He’d brought the cigar to his lips. Clinton fired a match with his hoary thumbnail. “Now suck,” he commanded.

Beau sucked. Acrid smoke filled his lungs. It tasted like wet, moldy leaves set on fire. He’d coughed and tried to hand the cigar back to Clinton. “I don’t like it.”

“Keep smoking,” Clinton growled with that don’t-give-me-no-shit look on his face.

Knees trembling, tears burning at the backs of his eyes, Beau took another hit. The second time was worse than the first. “I can’t do it,” he’d whimpered.

“Again.”

“Daddy, don’t make me.”

“You want me to take off this belt?” Clinton settled his thumbs on his belt buckle. “’Cause I will.”

He couldn’t hold the tears back any longer as he took another horrible drag off the vile cigar and promptly vomited in the sand.

“Pussy.” Clinton curled his nose in disgust and walked away.

When he was ten, Clinton took him deer hunt
ing. When it came down to pulling the trigger and annihilating the defenseless animal, Beau had shot wide, missing on purpose.

“Pussy.” Clinton reached out and slapped him across the face.

When he was twelve, Clinton took him to the Horny Toad Tavern and told Earl Pringle to serve Beau a whiskey.

“I can’t do that, Sheriff,” Earl had said, looking nervously at Clinton’s badge, no doubt wondering if it was a test.

“Then give me a whiskey.”

Earl served him and Clinton pushed the glass to Beau. “Knock it back in one swallow, kid.”

Beau tried, he really did. Honestly, all he wanted was to please his father, but it turned out like the cigar. Vomit on the floor.

“Pussy.” Clinton grunted and finished off the whiskey Beau hadn’t been able to down.

Then when he was fourteen…Beau closed his eyes against the memory of the whorehouse and the naked woman who’d touched him. All he heard ringing in his ears were his father’s parting words as he slammed the door behind him. “Pussy for a pussy.”

It was at that moment Beau realized that no matter what he did he could never impress or please his father. He also realized something else. His father was morally bankrupt and he wasn’t a man worth emulating. And Beau recognized that from then on, he was going to have to father himself. Find his own blueprint for the way a man was supposed to be. He was going to make his own guidelines, develop his own moral code, police himself
so there’d be no need for anyone else to police him. He’d adhere to the letter of the law and he’d live up to his image of what a real man should be. From that moment on, Beau made it his life mission to be better than Clinton in every way. He’d be everything his father was not—ethical, fair, honest, and self-disciplined.

And then at sixteen he’d fallen in love for the first time. Madly, deeply, blindly in love, the way that only a teenager could fall. Jodi was beautiful, impulsive, and exciting. Beau was drawn to her, moth to a flame. She strung him along, then broke his heart by leaving town with a thug so much like Clinton it crushed his soul. When he heard a few weeks later that she’d been killed in an accident on the back of the guy’s motorcycle, he took it personally. If she’d just stayed with him, she would still be alive and safe. After that, he’d drawn up his image of the perfect woman. She would be a good person, hardworking, responsible, generous, and practical. She wouldn’t let her head be turned by some swaggering bad boy.

And then he met Flynn. She fit his mental blueprint perfectly, and he set about falling in love with her in a calm, rational manner.

They were getting along good, she was his perfect mate. Even though they were still in high school, he was already picturing their children. Then Patsy Cross brought her nephew to Twilight and ruined everything.

Beau blew out his breath, parked his cruiser in front of the sheriff’s office, and got out, the black velvet ring box weighing heavily in his pocket. He’d put up with a lot from Flynn because he knew she
was right for him and he was right for her. They’d been through so much together. For the most part, he was willing to give her the time and space she needed. He had been happy with their current relationship.

That was until Warden Neusbaum called him to tell him Jesse Calloway was getting out of prison on early release and Beau knew he had to get his ring on Flynn’s finger before that bastard came roaring back into town. Because he knew Flynn didn’t take commitments lightly. Once she committed to something, she was in for the duration.

And he was going to make sure that he was the one she committed to. He’d be damned if he let her end up like Jodi. Once and for all, he was saving her from that low-life scumbag, if it was the last thing he ever did.

Her sister, Carrie, stood in the kitchen tying a green and white Froggy’s apron around her waist. Flynn screeched to a halt and said breathlessly, “Red alert. Knitting club is right behind me, where’s the afghan?”

“Don’t panic. The living room is set up for the meeting. Afghan is by your chair. Your dark secret is still safe. Cookies, sandwiches, and tea…” She motioned to the sideboard. “All laid out.”

Flynn stared. Her sister had come through for her and in a big way.

Carrie wrinkled her nose. “Why are you looking at me like I’m Jezebel singing in the church choir?”

All those years of bailing her sister out of trouble—shoplifting charges, underage drinking and
pot smoking, annulling her ill-conceived marriage. Carrie was going to be okay.

“You’re not supposed to work tonight,” Flynn said. “I thought you had a date with Logan.”

“I’m taking Dad’s shift.” Carrie pinned her name tag to her chest.

“Where is he?”

“AA meeting.”

Relief that her father hadn’t fallen off the wagon was as strong as the dual twist of concern. “What happened?”

Carrie shook her head. “Today would have been their twenty-eighth wedding anniversary, Flynn.”

May 28. How could she have forgotten? Flynn smacked her forehead with her palm. “I’m such a dumbass. It completely slipped my mind.”

“You can’t be expected to remember everything.” Carrie turned for the door, uncharacteristically cutting her some slack. “You’re giving me that look again.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my sister, you evil pod person?”

“How come
you’re
late?”

“Beau gave me an ultimatum.”

“Oh?” Carrie paused, one leg in the kitchen, the other on the porch. “What kind?”

“Marry him or he’s going to find someone else.”

“He’s bluffing.”

Flynn shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not this time.”

“I guess he’s getting the urge for babies.”

Flynn covered her ears with her palms. “Don’t say that. I’m not ready to hear that. I’m not ready for babies.”

“Remember twins run in our family.” Carrie scooped up her purse.

“You’re evil, you know that?”

“I thought you just said I was a pod person.”

“Okay, my mistake. You’re still the same old Carrie. You just lured me in there for a minute with these lovely little sandwiches with the crusts cut off.”

“Honestly, Flynn, you’re finally going to say yes, right? I mean you guys are meant for each other. Mr. and Mrs. I Walk the Line. Of course, I pity the kids. They’ll have no choice but to rebel, but look at the bright side; they’ll have Auntie Carrie showing them the ropes.” Carrie headed across the veranda.

Flynn followed her. “You think I should say yes?”

“Beau’s crazy about you.”

“I know.”

“So why the hesitation? You guys fit like peanut butter and jelly. Although there is the issue that you’ve never dated anyone else. That’s gotta be weird, having only been with one guy.”

Except Jesse
. Sort of.

But Carrie didn’t know about that. Nobody knew about her and Jesse except Jesse’s Aunt Patsy.

“We all can’t have your colorful past with the opposite sex.”

Carrie hummed a line from an oldies song, “Going to the Chapel.”

“Who’s going to get married?” Patsy Cross asked as she and three other members of the knitting club—Dotty Mae Densmore, Terri Longoria, and Marva Bullock—walked up on the porch.

Patsy owned the Teal Peacock, a curio/souvenir
shop situated on Ruby Street catty-corner from the Twilight Playhouse on the town square, where in the summers, touring companies performed Broadway musicals. It drew visitors from the Dallas/ Fort Worth Metroplex, infused extra money into the town. This month
Mamma Mia!
was on the playbill. Patsy also served on the town council, and people sought her advice because of her sound, logical outlook on life. She possessed round cheeks, a rounder waistline, and a precise, measured way of taking stock of people and situations. She wore her hair short and dyed blond and she reminded Flynn a bit of Debbie Reynolds, just not as perky. She’d never had any kids. Last year, her husband had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s and she’d been forced to put him in a home. Flynn’s mother had once told her to be extra kind to Patsy, because she’d had a very hard life, but she’d given her no details.

“Beau and Flynn,” Carrie supplied in answer to Patsy’s question.

“Finally?” Dotty Mae Densmore squealed with excitement and clapped her hands. “It’s about damn time.”

Dotty Mae was a former Miss Twilight, 1942. She had the outer appearance of a typical great-grandmother—blue hair, floral print housedress, a rash of liver spots on the backs of her hands, thick glasses perched on the end of her nose. But it was all a guise. Dotty Mae cussed like a Green Beret, played the Lotto every Saturday, and never missed the biannual Twilight senior citizens’ bus trip to the Indian Casino in Choctaw, Oklahoma. Her passion for the Dallas Cowboys rivaled that of
any Joe Six-Pack. She smoked clove cigarettes and had a certain fondness for peppermint schnapps. Flynn had discovered that last tidbit when Carrie had come home staggering drunk at age twelve, reeking of cloves and peppermint. Dotty Mae had called her up to bawl her out for letting Carrie go around stealing old people’s hooch.

“That’s wonderful,” cooed everyone except Patsy. They converged on her in a group hug.

Carrie winked and abandoned her to the smother of well-meaning bosoms. If she hadn’t been so proud of her sister for stepping up to the plate and taking care of things, she might have been irritated. Then Flynn’s gaze met Patsy’s gray-blue eyes, which were the exact same color as Jesse’s. She stood back from the group. Something flickered on Patsy’s face. An accusation? A challenge? Disapproval? Whatever it was, it quickly disappeared.

The others pelted Flynn with questions as she escorted them inside through the kitchen and into the living room.

“When’s the date?”

“Are you getting married at his church or yours?”

“Have you picked your colors yet?”

“Um…” Flynn said. “I’m afraid Carrie was putting the cart before the horse. I haven’t exactly accepted Beau’s proposal yet.”

“But you’re going to this time,” Terri said firmly.

At thirty-seven, Terri was the youngest member of the knitting club besides Flynn. Her husband was chief of staff at Twilight General, and Terri owned Hot Legs Gym. She loved salsa dancing and bowling, and she held the title of best female slalom skier in Twilight. Her biggest claim to fame was an
appearance on a reality show called
Fear Nothing
where she’d systemically gulped down a bucket of earthworms and won ten thousand dollars for the disgusting honor. However, her most prized accomplishment was her plump little four-year-old, Gerald. No one had the courage to tell her the kid was a complete brat, and Flynn breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t brought him with her tonight. Gerald had a sordid history with knitting needles.

“I’m surprised someone hasn’t stolen Beau away from you already,” Marva said. “Half the single girls in town are in love with him.”

“And a few of the married ones too,” Dotty added.

“It’s such a shame that your mother won’t be here for the wedding,” Patsy said quietly and that caused everyone to pause and look toward the photograph of Flynn’s mother on the wall over the fireplace mantel.

The photograph had been taken thirteen years earlier, just before her mother had received the devastating news she had amyotrophic lateral sclerosis—a progressive and incurable neuromuscular disease made infamous by baseball great Lou Gehrig. In the picture she was only thirty-five, with a smile so bright that it made Flynn’s heart ache. Her soft blond hair, which Carrie had inherited, curled down her shoulders, and her blue eyes danced mischievously. She was a far cry from the way she’d been at the end; her body weak and helpless, but her mind fully aware of what was happening to her.

“Lynn would approve,” Marva murmured. “She was crazy about Beau, and she wanted noth
ing more than to see you happily married to your childhood sweetheart.”

Marva and her mother had been best friends since high school. Marva was as dark as Lynn had been fair. With her cocoa-colored skin, ebony hair plaited in neat cornrows, and lean body, Marva looked years younger than forty-nine. She had a son, Ashton, who was Flynn’s age, and a daughter, Kiley, a year younger. They’d both moved away from Twilight to better job opportunities in Dallas. Marva’s husband, G.C., worked as an electrician, and she was the principal of Twilight High. At first glance it was impossible to see what her mother and Marva had in common other than their kids, but they’d both shared an almost rabid love of knitting.