The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club (4 page)

The grandfather clock by the door chimed nine.
Bong, bong, bong
. Only twenty-one hours left to make the biggest decision of her life.

After dropping off her passengers at their respective homes, Patsy Calloway Cross drove through the silent town square feeling lonelier than she had the day she’d been forced to admit her husband, Jimmy, to Twilight Hills Alzheimer’s Care Facility. First she’d lost one of her closest friends in Lynn MacGregor, and then two days later Jimmy had had a complete meltdown, stripping off his clothes, running down the street, screaming bloody murder when anyone tried to touch him.

It wasn’t fair, losing so much at once, but Patsy had learned a long time ago that was simply the way the world worked. One tragedy after another, and if you were really, really lucky, you found a shiny spot of happiness for a second or two. It had been a really long time since she’d been lucky.

She turned down Ruby Street and drove past the Teal Peacock. She wondered if she would sleep tonight. Probably not. After tonight’s discussion at the Sweethearts’ Club, Jesse crowded her brain along with the inevitable sorrow and regret that followed such thoughts.

Poor kid. Poor unlucky boy.

She wished for the millionth time that she’d never gone searching for him, never found him, never brought him to Twilight for his final year of high school. By giving him a home, she’d sealed his fate. She’d thought she was doing a good thing; instead, it had ended up being the biggest mistake of her life in a life filled with gargantuan mistakes.

Patsy bit her lip, remembering the day she’d discovered her hippie, dopehead younger sister, Phoebe, had died in Phoenix, leaving behind a child that she’d never told anyone about. It had taken Patsy more than eight years to track the boy down. Those had been rough times—for her, for her marriage, for Jesse.

You’d think it’d get easier with time. It didn’t. She needed to make a trip down to Huntsville. What with running the Teal Peacock and her town council duties and going to see Jimmy in the nursing home every day, more than six months had slipped by since her last visit. She hadn’t even called Jesse.

Who are you kidding with those excuses? You haven’t gone because every time you do, it’s getting harder and harder to look him in the eyes.

And now she was going to have to tell him that this time, she suspected Flynn would accept Beau’s marriage proposal. A girl could ignore reality for only so long. Patsy knew that well enough. Inevita
bly, thoughts of Jesse led her back here. To her own youthful mistakes.

To Hondo.

That’s when she realized she hadn’t taken her normal route home, but had instead turned down Eton Street, past the fire-ambulance station.

This is stupid. What are you doing?

The ambulance bay door was rolled up. A large square of yellow light fell onto the darkened street. Sphinx moths winged above the gleaming clean emergency vehicle parked in the driveway.

Her pulse quickened. Patsy clenched the steering wheel tighter, held her breath.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
.

There he was, polishing the chrome mirror on the passenger side.

Patsy’s heart scaled her throat and for one razor-sharp moment, stopped beating.

Hondo Crouch
.

Her first love. The man she’d never been able to forget, not even after almost forty years of marriage to Jimmy Cross.

Hondo had done things. Unforgivable things. But she still loved him. Even after all these years.

He was fifty-nine, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. He wore his hair clipped short now. Not long and tied back with a leather strap the way he had after he’d come back from Vietnam and gone to Washington, D.C., to protest the war he’d been part of. His hair was mostly gray now, but he still held on to a few jet black stands. Gone too was the bushy mustache she’d once found so sexy, and he wore a crisp white and blue paramedic uniform.

But his shoulders were just as broad as they’d ever been. His arms just as muscular, his waist as lean, his hips as narrow. He walked with a John Wayne swagger, all manly and arrogant. Lines of time etched his face, but nothing could fade the intensity in those deep blue eyes.

He looked up from polishing the chrome.

Patsy scooted down in her seat, stared straight ahead, pretending that she wasn’t doing precisely what she was doing. Driving by to see if she could catch a glimpse of him.

What is wrong with you? You’re not seventeen. This isn’t 1969. You’re on the town council, for crying out loud. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t you dare look.

At the last second, she couldn’t stand it and peeked over.

He drilled her hard with those eyes, his polishing rag thrown over his shoulder, his features expressionless. You could have wrung more emotion from a chunk of granite.

Then he did something that completely took her breath.

He raised his hand in greeting.

While Patsy was driving past Hondo’s ambulance, Flynn was climbing the stairs to bed.

Her father had come home from his AA meeting right after the members of the knitting club had departed. She’d made him a turkey sandwich and they’d sat at the kitchen table talking about her mother. She told him how proud she was that he’d managed to conquer his addiction and he told her how lucky he was to have such an understand
ing daughter. It had been a rare father-daughter moment for them. Usually Flynn acted as the parent, Floyd the child. Then she told him about Beau’s ultimatum.

“Marry him, sugar. Beau will take good care of you.”

“I know, Dad. It’s just that…”

“Why are you hesitating? Don’t you love him?”

She shrugged, toyed with a paper napkin.
Just not in the way I think I should
. “I do, but it’s just not that simple. I’m so used to being the one taking care of people, I don’t know if I can let someone take care of me. It just feels…off.”

Her father got to his feet, kissed the top of her head. “You deserve to be taken care of, princess. I know I let you down after your mother got sick and it all fell on your shoulders. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that. I’m trying my best to make amends.”

“I know you are, Dad. Staying sober is the best gift you could ever give us.”

“I’m doing my best, baby girl.” He’d gone off to bed and she’d washed the dishes, and then turned for the stairs. Before she reached the top, she heard a knock at the back door. Had Carrie misplaced her key? But no, it wasn’t even ten yet. Carrie would still be closing up Froggy’s. Had one of the Sweethearts forgotten something?

She bumped back down the stairs and opened the door to find Beau standing there.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” He wore starched jeans with a sharp crease, a short-sleeved, button-down shirt,
spit-polished cowboy boots, and an excited smile. He was without his Stetson for once and his hair was freshly washed and combed. He smelled of Old Spice.

“Dad’s trying to get to sleep, he’s had a rough day,” she said.

“This will only take a minute.”

“Yeah, okay, sure. Let’s sit on the porch swing.”

He stepped back and she walked out onto the veranda, pulling the door closed behind her. He took her hand and led her over to the porch swing. They sat, and he kept her palm clutched in his.

The loamy smell of the river, along with the richly sweet scent of her mother’s honeysuckle twining along the white picket fence, drifted over to them. Crickets and cicadas chirped a noisy racket, accompanied by the occasional bullfrog bass. Overhead the stars were scattered like loose diamonds over black velvet. There was no moon in the sky. Beau gently rocked the swing, sending the weathered chains creaking softly. A slight breeze blew in off the water, ruffled her hair.

This was life as she’d always known it. Slow, gentle, conventional. There’d been only a short window of time when her world had seemed full of other possibilities—fast, wild, unpredictable.

Jesse.

“What’s up?” she ventured when Beau didn’t speak.

“I’ve been thinking and I realize it was wrong not to give you any wiggle room.”

Thank heavens
. Flynn exhaled fully. He was retracting his ultimatum. “Okay, good, fine, thanks.”

“You were feeling backed into a corner.”

“Sort of,” she admitted.

“I don’t want you to feel that way. Marriage shouldn’t be a straitjacket.” He sounded thoughtful, pensive.

“No indeed.”

Silence stretched between them, comfortable as a pair of worn-out jeans.

“I heard some intriguing news this evening that might interest you.” He interlaced their fingers.

“Oh?”

“Pete Grissom’s getting married.”

“Really? To whom?”

“Belinda Murphey helped him find his high school sweetheart and they just hit it off like thirty years never passed. He’s moving to Colorado to be with her and he’s looking to sell the picture show cheap just to get rid of it.”

The old Twilight Theatre on the courthouse square had been vacant for years, ever since they’d built a fourteen-screen cineplex on Highway 377 leading into Fort Worth. It had originally been constructed as a saloon back in 1878. The downstairs area had housed the bar and the piano. The broad, ornately carved staircase had led upstairs to a gaming parlor that had been highly illegal, but operated without interference from the local sheriff of the day. Over the years, the building had gone through many incarnations. Barbershop, milliner’s, candy store. In the 1950s Pete Grissom’s father had turned the building into a movie theater, with the upper floor serving as a storeroom/office combo.

“It’s a great building, even if it did used to be a whorehouse,” she teased.

“Flynn! It was no such thing.”

“Come on, saloon, gambling hall, you telling me there wasn’t a little sumpin’ sumpin’ going on in there?”

“We’re talking about our founding fathers here.”

“And they were all saints? Boys will be boys after all.”

“I’m saying there’s no recorded history that the saloon was ever used as a brothel.”

“Just because no one wrote it down doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Besides, Twilightites tend to whitewash their history. Romance rules over reality.”

“You like the lurid stuff, don’t you?”

“It’s fun to talk about.” She ran her free hand along the chain of the porch swing.

“Let’s just talk about the building. What do you think?”

“It
would
be the perfect place for Lynn’s Yarn Barn.”

Beau smiled, his straight teeth a flash of white in the darkness. “I was hoping you’d think that.”

“I’ve been thinking that for years, but Pete’s always wanted too much money for the property.”

“Well, he’s in love now and money is no longer his top concern. Time is of the essence.” Beau then quoted a price that was well within her range. “I’ve taken the liberty of speaking to him on your behalf, and he says if you can commit to the deal and arrange financing by Tuesday afternoon, the place is yours. I called Moe, and he said if I cosigned your loan it’s a done deal.”

Moe Schebly was not only head VP at Twilight National Bank, he was also the town’s mayor. But
since the reward of the mayoral position was one more of honor than money, he stayed working for the bank. Although being mayor did have its perks, like free downtown parking, free dry cleaning, and a leased car.

Two concurrent emotions took hold of Flynn. Gratitude that Beau had ferreted out this bargain and irritation that he’d done it all without her consent. She wanted this, but his methods left a sour taste in her mouth.

He squeezed her fingers. “Are you happy, baby?”

She bit her tongue to keep from saying something utterly ungrateful. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble on my account. I could have handled it.”

“I know.” He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “You’re an independent little cuss. It’s one of the things I love about you. No shrinking violet, my Flynnie.”

Why was she feeling so bitchy? She forced herself to say, “Thank you, Beau.”

“So here’s my proposition,” he said, and then he took that black ring box out of his pocket again. “If you’ll say yes to marrying me, right now, tonight, we’ll hold off on setting a date for the wedding until after you get the Yarn Barn up and running and turning a profit.”

“That’s the wiggle room you’re giving me?” A moth in a cocoon had more wiggle room.

He nodded. “If it takes a year, it takes a year. If it takes two, it takes two. Just make our engagement official, Flynnie. Will you do that for me?”

“Beau…”

His smile was so eager, so full of hope. She
thought of what everyone had said at the knitting club meeting. They were right. Beau was a good man. She was foolish for keeping him dangling on a string and damn lucky he was a one-woman man or he would have lost patience with her a long time ago. “I know you’re scared, but I’m brave enough for the both of us.”

Her heart thumped. “We don’t have to set the date until after the Yarn Barn is fully operational and turning a profit?”

“Nope.”

She took a deep breath.

“There’s just one other thing.”

She met his gaze. “What’s that?”

“I think we should have one of those celibacy pacts.”

“A what?”

“You know. Let’s do this the right way. Commit ourselves to celibacy until our wedding night.”

“Seriously?”

“It would make the wedding night really special.”

“No sex until after the wedding?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re sure?”

“It just feels right, you know?”

The request was classic Beau. Mr. Do the Right Thing. “Are you thinking it might make me hurry up and get the Yarn Barn going faster if I’m not gettin’ any?”

Beau laughed. “I’m not going to quibble with that.”

The man had a great laugh and he smelled so good. And he had enough money to take care of her and her family. He was honorable. He was
good-looking. He possessed a strong moral code. He was going to give her time to fulfill her mother’s dying wish. What more could a woman ask for?

He slipped the ring from the box. “May I put this on your finger?”

She nodded. Her hand was trembling.

Beau slid off the porch swing and onto one knee. “Flynn Denise MacGregor. For the fifth and final time, will you marry me and make me the happiest man on earth?”