Last Chance Hero, page 13
Which Sabina didn’t want to do. Pat and Wilma had some kind of ancient history that had something to do with a man that neither of them had married. But the residue of that conflict was absolutely toxic.
Sabina rolled her neck to ease the tension and then spoke in her soft, southern girl voice. “Y’all, why don’t we see how many crafters sign up for this before we talk about limiting who can participate?”
“Myrtle will be the first one in with her application, you mark my words.” Wilma actually pointed her finger at Sabina—a gesture that definitely put her off. Wilma was a good woman, and she was single-handedly improving the sex lives of the women of Last Chance by leaving copies of Cosmo at the Wash-O-Rama. But she could be a pain in the rear sometimes.
Pat wasn’t about to let Wilma score any points. She leaned forward with a squinty-eyed look. “Some people like Myrtle’s boxes.”
Sabina cast her glance around the rest of the committee. They all had their arms folded across their chests. Boy, this was not auspicious.
“All right, let’s just put that item aside for a moment. We have a lot to do.” Sabina started passing out papers with a map of Palmetto Avenue that had an area marked off for the craft fair.
“And I think we need to keep this as simple as possible. We’ll make it first-come, first-served as far as renting spaces—”
She had to put her palm up to hush Wilma. “It’s my turn to talk now,” she said, giving the older woman a hard stare. Wilma pushed back from the table, the last one of the group to fold her arms. In a minute World War III was going to break out.
“C’mon, y’all, I don’t think we want to get into the business of judging people’s crafts. Sorry, Wilma, but we don’t. And I, for one, don’t have the time, seeing as Momma is determined to have Lucy’s wedding on October eighteenth, which is just a week after the festival. And we can’t tell Myrtle she’s not invited. Every member of First Baptist Church would be offended if we did that.”
A muscle ticked along Wilma’s jaw. Sabina had a good idea what Wilma was thinking. She didn’t have much good to say about anyone who was a Baptist, either.
“So this is what we’re going to do,” Sabina said in her best assertive-businesswoman voice. “I think we should provide each applicant a space and require them to bring their own table and chairs. As you can see from the handout, I’m suggesting that we designate sidewalk space from the bottling plant down Palmetto to the Cut ’n Curl. I checked with Savannah and Lark, and they’ve okayed that layout and are working with the Last Chance police to make sure there are no safety issues with blocking off the street for the event.
“If everything checks out, we’ll have room for fifty vendors. Our expenses will be limited to some printing for the flyers. The rest will be free because we’re going to use social media. So our goal is to clear two thousand dollars on this. DLCA is going to give half of our proceeds to support the Last Chance independent library.”
Sabina continued to speak for a few more minutes, outlining her plan for outreach to crafters, as well as what volunteer functions they would need the day of the event.
When she was finished, everyone looked down at her map and up at her. There was an awkward silence, and then Teri said, “Well, shoot, looks like you have it all figured out, Sabina. I’m trying to figure out what you need a committee for.”
Sabina refrained from telling them that she hadn’t wanted or asked for a committee—or the responsibility for organizing the craft fair in the first place. Savannah and Lark had foisted it off on her, and she didn’t feel as if she could tell them no.
She tried to invest her voice with earnest appreciation. “We need all y’all because our marketing depends on word of mouth and social media. So y’all need to be tweeting and posting on Facebook. That’s especially important for those of us with businesses on Palmetto Avenue. We’ll need to get every business engaged in promotion. Oh, and Molly Wolfe has already created the Facebook page for the event, so I just need to give her the information about registering for the craft fair and we’re pretty much done with that part of it. All we have to do is share and talk it up to our friends. And we’ll need to work together on the day of the event, of course.”
They all nodded.
“So are y’all good with this?”
For a moment she thought Wilma might say something, but thankfully she kept her trap closed.
“All right, that was easy. I hope—”
Just then Lucy came blustering into the shop like she’d been blown there by a hurricane. Her gaze fixed on Sabina. “What are you doing?” Lucy demanded, her stance wide and her hands clenched into fists.
“Having a meeting of the DLCA craft fair committee?” Sabina’s inflection went up in question like she was uncertain of this fact, even though it was obvious.
“Is it true that you gave money to Ross so that he could buy the Smith house?”
The heads of the committee members turned in unison awaiting Sabina’s reply. The boredom had completely disappeared from their faces.
Of course she hadn’t expected to be called out for floating Ross a loan. Having her head handed to her for dancing with Ross a second time seemed more appropriate.
Lucy should be jealous. She had every right to be furious.
But maybe not about her giving Ross a loan.
“Uh, well, yeah, I did offer to help him out. I thought it would be okay with you, especially after what you said last Sunday about being okay with him buying the Smith house and renovating it. Are you sure you’re not upset with me about something else?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, I heard what Elsie was saying about you and it’s ridiculous. You didn’t throw yourself at Ross. But I am flabbergasted to come home from Atlanta and find out that Ross came to you for money to buy that house and you just gave it to him. What about your vacation?”
Sabina didn’t know what to say. She’d been dreading this moment when Lucy came back from Atlanta. She had expected accusations. She had expected tears. She had expected something way different from this.
“My vacation can wait. And believe me, when he’s finished with the renovations, you’ll have a home worthy of the garden tour. It will be the home of your dreams.”
“Which house are we talking about?” Carly asked. Carly was a Yankee from Connecticut, and she didn’t really understand the mores of a situation like this. If she’d been a proper southern girl, she’d have kept her mouth shut now and gotten all the details on the gossip vine later.
“The Smith house,” Lucy and Sabina said in unison.
“Which house is that one?”
“It’s the old, broken-down house where Julia Street dead-ends at Baruch Street,” Olivia supplied.
Lucy and Sabina glared at the members of the committee in unison. Pat leaned toward Carly and said, “Be quiet, hon. Let them work it out for themselves.”
Lucy and Sabina faced off again.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Lucy said. “First Momma wants to go into hock for this wedding by buying me a gown that costs too much. And now you’re spending your vacation money. And all because Miriam Randall said what she said. I wish you’d just go take the vacation you’re always talking about. I don’t deserve your money, and I hate that everyone keeps telling me that I’m standing in the way of your happiness. How do you expect me to feel about that?”
Lucy’s big green eyes glazed over with unshed tears, so of course Sabina’s heart melted. “Oh, honey, you’re not standing in the way of my happiness. And you deserve the best the world has to give. I don’t care about my vacation, if it means helping out Ross. He’s a member of the family. And family comes first. Besides, it’s only a loan, and Ross is going to pay me back. We have an agreement.”
“You do? A written agreement?”
“Well, no. But he’s going to be my brother-in-law. I don’t need a written agreement.”
“But don’t you see, every time something happens in my life, there you are smoothing the way forward. For once, I was going to stand on my own two feet. Ross and I had a plan.” The tears spilled over.
“But the plans changed when the house at Jessamine Manor burned down.”
“Oh, Sabina, you just don’t get it.” She abruptly stopped speaking as she wiped tears from her cheeks. And then her hands covered her mouth as if she was trying to hold in a sob. She stood there for a moment, seemingly paralyzed. Then she turned and ran from the store, leaving Sabina mystified.
CHAPTER
11
Lucy hurried from Last Chance Around, struggling to keep the tears from overwhelming her. Sabina should not have to spend her vacation money on a house.
Sabina was always sacrificing herself for Lucy. No doubt this is why Miriam Randall stopped by the store with her odd advice. It made sense that Sabina would only quit putting Lucy first if Lucy had been “handed off” to someone else.
Which was an irksome way to look at marriage, really.
Even worse, this brouhaha over the Smith house suggested that Sabina might continue to hold herself accountable for Lucy’s life even after she got married. It suggested that there was no end to Sabina’s guilt.
A guilt that Lucy had never asked for.
And a day didn’t go by without someone in town reminding her that she owed her sister for all the things Sabina had given up. The debt kept growing, year by year.
Lucy was grateful for her sister and those sacrifices that Sabina had made after the fire. But it wasn’t easy to stand by and let Sabina wreck her own life in her utterly misguided mission to make up for that night when the house burned down.
Sabina needed to get over it. The fire was never her fault.
But how could Lucy possibly help her sister understand that no amount of self-sacrifice would change the past? And how could she in good conscience let Sabina throw away her savings on this stupid house? She hurried down the sidewalk, heading in the general direction of the public parking lot, behind City Hall. She needed to hide out for a little at the shooting range until she could get her emotions back in check. Then she needed to explain things to Ross.
She was so busy thinking through what she would say to her fiancé that she ran headlong into a barrier that knocked her back, both physically and emotionally.
She looked up. The barrier had arms and legs and wore khakis with a cleaner’s press in them.
“Whoa. Lucy. You should look—” Zach stopped speaking. “Are you crying again?” Zach’s voice was as rich and sweet as butterscotch. He was carrying today, and the bulge under his arm was noticeable.
“Actually, I was trying hard not to cry,” she said in a firm voice. “But unfortunately, you’ve once again caught me on a bad day.”
“Who are you angry with this time?” Zach asked.
Wow, how did he know she was angry and not sad? She looked into those big brown eyes of his. Perceptive eyes. And darned if she didn’t want to tell him the whole truth and nothing but.
Of course she couldn’t do that. He was an ATF agent. He would not be amused by the truth.
“My family is being a pain in the butt.”
His mouth cocked. “That’s what families are for.”
“Right.” She let go of a sigh. He had some long eyelashes for a dude. His glance seemed suddenly reserved. And yet there was nothing reserved about the way he continued to keep his hands on Lucy’s shoulders.
The moment stretched out awkwardly. Should she tell him to move his hands? Should she shrug? What should she say?
“So, do you ever go out to the firing range?” The words kind of showed up on their own accord. She needed to say something or that moment might have stretched to infinity and beyond.
He blinked. “Uh.”
“You know, for target practice.”
“I’m required to.”
She really should shrug off his touch. But his hands felt nice, kind of. Sort of reassuring or something. “There’s a real nice practice range over in Allenberg. I was just heading there. It’s a great way to blow off steam when the family gets annoying.”
Oh, good grief, had she just invited him to the target range? She needed to go. Now.
His eyebrows lowered. “You have a weapon?”
She started to babble. “Uh-huh. Daddy got me into shooting when I was about fifteen. It helped some with my rehab, but mostly it was a distraction. I made it all the way through the Winchester/NRA marksmanship qualification program.”
He cocked his head. She mirrored his movement. “Are you inviting me out for a challenge?” he asked.
Challenge? Wow. That hadn’t actually been on her mind at all. “No, I was just… Well, to be honest I’m really curious about your Glock.”
Oh, no. She was spinning out of control, and she didn’t even know why. Agent Bailey just made her brain kind of short out or something.
“Are you, now?” His eyes got a little darker.
“Yeah, I guess.” She finally managed a shrug.
He dropped his hands from her shoulders. And it was kind of funny how she suddenly felt naked. What the heck was she doing, anyway? She should be sitting down with Ross and trying her best to make him understand how she felt about taking Sabina’s money.
But that was one conversation she really wanted to avoid. At least until she was in a calmer frame of mind.
“Uh, look, I gotta go.” She tried to step around him.
“To the firing range?” he asked.
“I was sort of heading there.”
“Really?”
“What? Don’t you believe it when I say I’ve got a gun and know how to use it?”
He didn’t say a word, but his crooked smile was a challenge.
The Dead Center Shooting Club occupied a nondescript industrial building on Route 78 between Last Chance and Allenberg. You had to be a member to shoot there, and Daddy was one of the founding members.
Lucy had officially become a member when she turned eighteen.
The place was deserted in the middle of a working day. She took Zach into the range, a concrete structure with retractable targets that could accommodate rifle practice at one hundred feet.
“You shoot a .45?” he asked when she got her Smith & Wesson 1911 Mil-Spec out of its storage case.
“Not every woman wants a .38 snub nose. So are you carrying a Glock?”
His deep brown eyes turned wickedly sharp as he pulled his service weapon from the shoulder holster. “You know what’s standard issue for ATF agents, huh?”
She nodded. “I’m shooting a bigger caliber than you are,” she said as she donned her ear and eye protection. She set a target at fifty feet, loaded a magazine, and started shooting. For a while, she was in another world. She stopped when she needed to reload and took a look at Zach, who was shooting in the next stall.
He was a sight to behold. All that coiled male energy, the sharp focused look, the chiseled features. Wow! Talk about eye candy.
Why couldn’t Ross enjoy shooting that way?
The errant thought sent guilt and annoyance through her. If she loved Ross she had to accept that he hated guns and violence. He was an EMT and had to deal with gunshot victims right up close and personal. He would never let her keep a gun in the house, not even for personal protection.
So it was natural that she’d end up feasting her eyes on Zach. It was natural for her to pine away for something she could never have.
Zach finished and pulled in his target. He looked over at her, a quick smile softening his features. “How’d you do?” He held up his target—they were using the bull’s-eye type. He’d put all but one of his shots right dead center. And she kind of liked that little tone of male pride in his voice.
She pulled in her own target, held it up, and grinned.
“Man, you’re good,” he said.
“I’ve spent hours and hours here. Daddy brought me right after my first skin grafts healed. He had this idea that it would give me control or something. There was a time, right after the fire, when I felt completely out of control. It worked. I’ve also won a couple of shooting matches along the way.”
He shook his head. “You’re a puzzle, aren’t you? An interior designer with a gun.”
“Those things are not mutually exclusive, you know.”
“I guess not. Just unusual. So, does your boyfriend the fireman shoot?”
She glowered at him. “He’s tried it. He comes out here to please me. But he’s not that into it.” Jeez, why was she telling Zach her life story. And besides, Ross was a good guy. He tried to make her happy.
Zach cocked his head. “You and he are having a hard time right at the moment, aren’t you?”
She turned and started packing up her gun. “Don’t tell me you’ve heard all that stupid gossip about him and my sister.”
“I have.”
“Well, don’t believe it.”
He didn’t say anything, and that bothered her. She took off her ear and eye protection and slipped the gun back into its padded case. When she turned to look at Zach, he was standing there, hands on hips, with a sober and probing stare on his face.
“What?”
“I do believe it,” he said.
“What? The gossip about Ross and Sabina?”
“Yeah. I believe it. I think you and Ross are both looking for a way out.”
Whoa, wait one sec. She wasn’t looking for a way out. She just wanted to go slow. And she sure as shooting didn’t want Sabina to use her vacation money to renovate the Smith house. But she wasn’t going to explain all that to him.
“You don’t know me,” she said instead.
“I know you better than you think.” He crossed the concrete floor until he stood right beside her, his maleness invading her space like nobody’s business. And she had to admit that all that sexual energy was having an impact. A nice impact. The sort of impact she ought not to be feeling.
“I’m going to prove it to you,” he said in a low, deep, dirty-sex kind of voice.
He took her by the shoulders and kissed her. It wasn’t a nice kiss. Or a sweet kiss. Or a peck-on-the-cheek kiss. It was a full-body experience that involved hands and legs and lips and necks and lasted for a long, long time.
