Angel Lane (18 page)

“Maybe, but guess who gets a free calendar every year,” Sarah retorted.

The fire department's fund-raising calendar, featuring hot firefighters from the local stations, always sold out.

“I need to start taking lasagna over there,” cracked Jamie. She regretted the words the minute they were out of her mouth. Sarah would take them as permission to start matchmaking.

Sure enough. “We've got a couple of new guys,” said Sarah. “Both single.”

“Give 'em to Emma.”

“Hmm. What can I set on fire?” Emma said with a smile.

It wasn't a typical Emma smile, though. Her eyes were sad. “Are you okay?” asked Jamie.

“Me? Sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

“I don't know. You tell me,” said Jamie.

“Life is great. Well, except for the fact that I have no customers. And do you know why I have no customers?”

Emma's chipper voice had taken on an edge. “Uh-oh,” said Jamie. “Why?”

“ 'Cause they're all going to Savemart where they can save fifty cents a yard on fabric,” Emma said, her smile determined, her voice brittle.

Jamie scowled. “Beatches.”

“Are you going to make your rent okay this month?” asked Sarah, cutting to the chase.

“I'm sure I will,” said Emma, sounding far from sure. “If worse comes to worst I can close and move back in with my parents,” she added in an attempt at humor. Her eyes were tearing up now. She stood suddenly. “I'd better go, too. I'll see you guys next week.”

“Wait,” called Sarah, “let's talk about this.”

Emma shook her head violently. “There's nothing to talk about.”

Jamie could think of a few things, like how Emma was going to pay off her business loan and how they were going to drum up customers for her. But while she sat there in shock, Emma was already to the door.

“Emma,” said Sarah, going after her.

“I'll be fine, really,” Emma said, holding up a hand. “Things will work out. Don't mind me.”

And then she was gone, leaving Jamie sitting stunned in her seat and Sarah standing in the doorway.

“What are we going to do?” asked Jamie.

“I don't know, but we'd better think of something before the
end of the year,” said Sarah, “or there's going to be new retail space to rent on downtown Lake Way.”

That quilt shop was Emma's baby. Jamie couldn't imagine what she would do if she lost it. Somehow, they'd have to find a way to make sure she didn't.

To do her part, she left Clarice in charge on Saturday and slipped off to purchase some fabric.

Quilting wasn't her thing. When it came to arts and crafts she preferred shorter projects with more immediate results. But what the heck? It was always good to learn a new skill.

She found Sarah already there, buying fabric like it was the end of the world.

“Not you, too,” Emma greeted her.

“What?”

Emma smiled at both of them and took a swipe at her eyes. “You guys are the best. You know that?”

“Yes, we do,” said Jamie, and went to browse the little book section over by the window. She found one full of holiday gift crafts. “You should definitely push this,” she said, holding it up for Emma to see. “You could have a Christmas gift-making class.”

“By gumballs, that's a great idea,” said Sarah. “I'll sign up for it.”

“Me, too,” said Jamie. “Put an ad in the paper.”

“I will,” said Emma with a decisive nod. “It can go right next to the one I just put in.”

“Oh, for what?” asked Jamie.

“I'm going to have a Thanksgiving sale: forty percent off. Tell everyone.”

“Whoa, that's quite a markdown. Don't you want to wait and do that in January?” suggested Jamie.

Emma's perky smile faded. “Not if I want to still be in business in January.”

“You will be,” Sarah said.

“You really think so?” Jamie asked her as they left the shop, laden with fabric.

“I hope so.”

“We need to find her a sugar daddy,” Jamie said.

“A man isn't always the answer. You know that,” said Sarah.

“Not for me,” Jamie agreed. “But Emma's different. She's a believer.”

Jamie was once, too. Sometimes she wished she could turn back the clock and start her love life over again. Would she have been any wiser in the choices she made? Who knew? One thing she did know for sure, she was going to be smart from now on.

 

Whatever her motives for starting her girls' baking class, Sarah was determined to finish it with a big heart and a big smile.

Big heart, big smile, she repeated to herself on Monday afternoon as she dealt with spilled pumpkin on the floor, Beanie dropping a hot pad on the heating element and catching it on fire, and Damaris declaring their finished product, pumpkin cookies, “Okay.”

The only silver lining in the afternoon's cloud was that Sarah would be getting rid of Damaris on time thanks to a dinner invitation from Lissa. “Go with God,” she said to George.

“Thanks,” he said. “I survived Desert Storm. I should be able to survive this. If I'm lucky.”

“Just remember how fast they grow up,” Sarah told him. “It will all be over sooner than you think.”

They were still talking when Leo Steele sauntered over from across the street. “Looks like a party over here,” he said with a wink. “Thought I'd join in.”

“I wouldn't call having a bunch of kids running around my place a party,” said George. “More like a bad case of insanity.”

“We've been having a cooking class,” Sarah explained. “George is here to pick up his granddaughters.”

Leo stuck out a hand. “Nice to see ya again.”

George shook hands with him, but Sarah could tell by his cool reception that he had no desire to become buddies with Leo. That made two of them.

“I came over to see if you had a can of tomato soup I could buy,” Leo said to Sarah. “I'm all out.”

“I do. And you certainly don't need to pay me. I always keep extras on hand to use in my spaghetti sauce.”

“I should get going,” George said. “Come on, girls,” he called. “Time to go get hamburgers.”

That was all it took to send the girls squealing to his car. He gave a casual wave and followed them. He was just driving away when a familiar white truck pulled into the driveway. Out stepped Sam. Her husband's easy, sanguine nature had earned him the nickname Smilin' Sam, but today he wasn't smiling.

“Hi,” she called. “What are you doing here?” He'd made it abundantly clear he wouldn't be stopping by on baking-class day.

“Just came home to check on a few things,” Sam said, looking at Leo.

“I guess I'll shove off,” Leo said.

“Wait. Your soup,” said Sarah.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

She hurried into the house and fetched soup from the pantry. Both the men remained on the porch. It wasn't like Sam not to invite someone in. She was glad he hadn't stayed true to form today, though. She was pooped.

“Well, I got my money on the Seahawks,” Leo was saying. “Ah, there's what I need. Now I can eat tonight. Tomato soup and grilled-cheese sandwiches.”

That was all he was having? She had leftover pot roast in the fridge. She opened her mouth to offer him some, but Sam was already bidding Leo good-bye and towing her into the house. What was going on? Was her husband suddenly sex-starved?

“Okay, why are you here?” she demanded as soon as the door shut behind them. If it was bad news of some sort, she wanted it now.

He frowned at her. “I just thought I'd come by and see how you were doing.”

“An in-person visit instead of a phone call? What's with the new-and-improved you?” she teased.

“I want you to stop being so friendly to that clown across the street,” Sam said firmly. “Every time I turn around the guy is on our porch. And now you've added this George Armstrong.”

“George!” she protested. “What do you think I'm going to do with George with his granddaughters running around?”

“They're not around all the time,” said Sam. “All these men over when I'm gone, it doesn't look right. Especially Leo.”

“Oh, Sam, for heaven's sake,” Sarah said in disgust. “Please tell me you didn't decide to stop by to check up on me.”

If he hadn't been so serious, she would have laughed. The expression on his face was a mixture of chagrin and anger. “No. I just needed to get something.”

Did he really think she was buying that? Sam never bothered to come home to get anything. He was always suckering her into dropping things by the station for him. “Yeah? What?”

“This.” He grabbed her and kissed her. Hard.

He hadn't kissed her like that in years. “Sam.”
Where have you been hiding?

Who cared? She grabbed his face and kissed him back, the memory of her frustrating afternoon completely forgotten.

 

Sam's unneighborly attitude also went forgotten when she came home from the store the day before Thanksgiving, loaded with groceries, and found Leo Steele at her side, offering to help her lug them into the house. Leo was going to be alone on Thanksgiving.

“The boys are going to their mom's.” He shrugged. “She's a better cook. But what the hell?” he said cheerily. “I've got one of those TV dinners—turkey, stuffing, and all the fixings, and there's the football game to watch.”

A TV dinner? That was pathetic. The football game would be on here at their house, too, and there would be other men to watch it with. “Come here for dinner,” she urged.

“Nah, that's okay. I wouldn't want to impose.”

“Don't be silly. Dinner is at two.”

“Well, okay. If you're sure,” said Leo.

“I'm sure,” she said. Sure that Sam would probably not be happy about this newest guest. She should have thought before she spoke. But no one should be alone on Thanksgiving, and making Heart Lake a better place to live meant reaching out to everyone in the community, including Damaris and Leo.

He was barely gone when Sarah heard the front door open, followed by her husband's voice. “Hey, babe. I'm home.”

“Out here,” she called, and began sorting through possible options for how to tell him about their newest guest.

He came into the kitchen, carrying a newspaper and wearing a smile. “Dad's coming over tonight to play some cribbage. I figured you'd be too busy baking and messing with the table to do anything.”

“That's fine,” she said, “but first will you help me put the leaf in the table?”

“Sure. How many are coming, anyway?”

“Mom, Dad, us, Jamie . . .”

“Your friend and his family,” Sam added. “That makes nine.”

Sarah wasn't sure she liked the way he'd said “friend” when referring to George Armstrong. It didn't bode well for Leo. “Actually, we'll have one more,” she said, keeping her voice light as meringue.

“Oh, yeah? Who?”

“Leo Steele.” This would be a good time to put away the eggs. She opened the refrigerator and hid behind the door.

From the other side she heard her husband's voice, angry and incredulous. “Who?”

 

 

 

 

M
y ears have got to be broken,” said Sam. “I can't have heard right. You're inviting that clown over when I told you I didn't want him hanging around here?” He walked around the fridge and positioned himself on the other side of Sarah where she could have a good view of his angry face.

She shut the door and went back to her grocery bags, hauling out sugar and flour. “That look may work on those kids at the station,” she informed him, “but we've been together too long for it to scare me.”

He downgraded from angry to exasperated. “Damn it, Sarah. You're carrying this good deed thing too far.”

“How could I not invite him?” she protested.

“Easy. Keep your mouth shut. I don't like the guy.”

“Well, I don't, either,” said Sarah, “but he's alone. And by
gumballs, no one in my neighborhood is going to eat Thanksgiving dinner alone as long as I can stand at a stove.”

Sam heaved a long-suffering sigh and pulled her to him. “Okay, you win.”

She slipped her arms around his neck and offered him a teasing smile. “You know I'm right.”

“You always are,” he said, and kissed her. “But if Steele gets too friendly with you I'm going to stuff him like the turkey he is.”

“He'll have to catch me first, and I wish him luck with that.” On holidays she was always either busy in the kitchen, surrounded by other women, or taking food and plates to and from the table. Leo would be no problem. “It will be fine,” she assured Sam. “I just wish the kids were going to be here.”

“We'll have 'em both back at Christmas.” He shook his head. “What an invasion. Your sister and her family . . .”

“Your folks, half the fire department.”

“Ain't it grand?” he said with a grin.

She grinned back. “Yes, it is.” And they were on the same page again. It never took long, because she was always right. And Sam knew it, which was what made him the world's best husband.

 

Jamie arrived early at Sarah's house on Thanksgiving Day, bearing a plate of truffles and the chocolate mint pie that had always been her mom's specialty. “Put me to work,” she said. “What do you need done?”

“How about setting the table for me?” suggested Sarah as she
popped a tray of herbed biscuits in the oven. “I only got as far as putting on the tablecloth.”

“You got it. How many plates this year?”

“Just ten.”

“Just ten?” Sarah amazed her. “Who are the extras this time, half the fire station?” asked Jamie.

“Odds and ends of Thanksgiving orphans,” said Sarah, “including our neighbor across the street.”