Cinderella Search (19 page)

The afternoon wore on, and the money piled up. Lissa’s lips ached, though not as much as her heart. She saw Rosa wander by, looking as disconsolate as she felt, and trying as hard not to show it.

“Caroline,” she said, “I’m out of here now.”

“Sure, okay. Thanks for your help. We made a good haul between the two of us.”

“Rosa.” Lissa caught up with her and took Rosa’s hand. “Come and sit with me for a minute. I have a proposal for you.”

“Yeah? What?”

“Something,” Lissa said, “that I hope will bring a smile to your face. At least for a little while.”

Rosa gave her a long, hard look. “I’ve been smiling,” she said.

“Yes, but this time, I think you’re going to mean it”

Steve saw Lissa, with Rosa dawdling behind, coming toward his booth ten minutes before he was supposed to shut down at five, and didn’t quite believe it. His line of hopeful Cinderellas had dwindled steadily until only a couple remained. They’d both already bought tickets before and tried on shoes. One of them had found a fit, and her name was put into the draw. They’d both received their kisses, and were now just chatting with him.

Lissa walked toward him accompanied by a bagpiper and a drummer, the skirl of the pipes and the thunder of the drum drawing eyes and bodies from all over the park. Lissa marched slowly, as if giving the crowd a chance to muster. That they did, until more people than Steve had even realized were there formed a vast crowd around his booth and up the slope across from it.

What the hell was she up to? Whatever it was, he’d go along with it.

“My princess,” he said, doffing his crown and bowing ceremoniously before her, as he had with every woman who visited his booth. “Have you come to try on your shoe?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice icy, her eyes burning into his with utter disdain. So she hadn’t come to beg his forgiveness, that was obvious. She hadn’t come to apologize for mistrusting him. He considered telling her to get lost, but no, this was Lissa, and if her presence here meant there was the slightest chance he could fix whatever was wrong, he’d take it.

He slapped his crown back on his head and seated her graciously on the throne. The bagpipe droned into silence, but the drummer kept up a steady, soft beat. “You really get into the spirit of things, don’t you, sweet-cheeks?” Steve asked.

“You have no idea,” she said. She placed her money on the counter. “It’s nearly five. I’ve come to take my chance.”

He wanted to tell her she had that without trying on a shoe, but the coldness in her eyes kept him silent. She tossed the line over the counter and a moment later, after the pole dipped sharply at its business end, she pulled it up and watched a shoe swaying back and forth. Tenderly, Steve tried to put it on her foot. It was a white baby boot, so of course, it didn’t fit. Nor did the second one, a very large rubber-soled sandal, but he knew, he knew the third one would. Every third shoe today had been the Birkenstock.

She stood. “I guess this just isn’t my lucky day, Princie.”

“No, wait,” he said, “Each ticket buys three chances. Come, be seated, please, my lady.” Steve cupped Lissa’s shoulders in his hands. “Take one more chance on me,” he whispered for her ears alone. “Lissa, please.”

“No,” Lissa said, not much to his surprise. She jerked free.

Quickly, before Steve could warn the kid behind the counter, Lissa handed the pole to Rosa and flipped the string over. “This third chance belongs to my faithful lady-in-waiting,” she said loudly, clearly playing to the crowd. The rod tip dipped to signal the catch was on. Rosa pulled out her shoe.

Steve did not care for the triumphant smile Lissa directed at him as she shoved Rosa down onto the throne. “There, Prince Charming,” she said, gesturing to the Birkenstock. “Try that one on
her
for size.”

Even before he knelt and put it on Rosa’s foot, he had a sinking feeling, sure now it would be a perfect fit. It was, right to the toe and heel imprints impressed into it from years of wear. Rosa pulled its mate from her capacious handbag and slipped it on too.

“So you see? A princess is as hard to spot in a crowd as a prince,” Lissa said.

She signaled, and the strangest contraption Steve had ever seen came rolling toward his booth. It appeared to be made from the frame of a small car, with half of one of the huge orange plastic balls used to float fish farm nets fastened on top of it. It was pulled by four men in gray suits, men with long, skinny tails, and pointed rodent like masks.

Before he could move or speak, Lissa said, “Well, Prince Charming, aren’t you going to take your one, true princess to the stage and announce you’ve found her?” Like a coachman, she swung open the door of the carriage, swept into a bow and stood back. “Princess Rosa?” Rosa, with a smile as evil as a wicked witch in a fairy tale, stepped in, settled herself on the seat, then reached out her hand to Steve.

“My prince,” she intoned in a witchy voice, “come to me.”

Steve felt a foot push hard against his royal-purple rump and tumbled into the vehicle, half falling across Rosa’s lap. The crowd laughed and shouted and applauded, and the four “mice” towed the coach away toward the stage.

As they headed up the hill toward the bandstand, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the woman whose dragons he wanted to slay. She was pushing his coach up the slope. He groaned, and put a hand over his eyes. “Where the hell did I go wrong?” he muttered.

“The same place most men go wrong,” Rosa said. “By lying to your woman, cheating on her and hurting her so bad you make her hate your guts.”

He stared at her, rendered speechless by her outburst. He could see she meant every word, but it was too late to say anything, to explain. They’d arrived.

After Steve, Rosa and Lissa had mounted the bandstand, a local politician drew the names of the prizewinners, including those from the Cinderella booth, all but the last one. Lissa deftly took possession of the microphone.

“Now,” she said, “the announcement we have all been waiting for. Prince Charming has found his one true princess, the lady who fits the shoe he has offered to every woman who took a chance at his booth. Prince Charming, would you like to present your princess to your subjects—and hers?”

Steve stared at her, then he stared at the grinning Rosa. How the hell had it ever come to this?

“Thank you, Ms. Wilkins,” he said, and adjusted the mike to his height. “Ladies and gentlemen, loyal subjects all, may I present to you my princess, Rosa, um, Rosa—” He didn’t know her last name! “Uh, the Lady Rosa of Madrona Cove.”

He took Rosa’s hand, drew her forward, then bent and kissed her fingertips.

“And,” Lissa said, taking control of the mike again, “in accordance with Prince Charming’s edict, the grand prize winner, Lady Rosa of Madrona Cove, is now about to select the escort of her choice for a fun and passion-filled two-week vacation at Happy Valley Hot Springs Resort.”

She stepped back. “Lady Rosa?”

Rosa looked out at the crowd as if trying to find a likely candidate. She took her time, and the drummer, clearly sensing a need to heighten the tension, took up a soft, steady beat again. Rosa ambled to the edge of the stage, hands on her skinny hips, scanning the faces before her.

Steve was about to suggest she for Pete’s sake get it over with when she whirled, pointed her finger at him and said, “I choose you, sweetie-pie. You took pretty darn good in purple tights. Fun and passion, huh? I haven’t had much fun and passion in a long, long time and you look like a guy who could deliver.” She reached up and patted his cheek, then slowly ran the tip of her finger down his chest toward the waist of his pants.

Steve truly thought he was going to faint before her finger finally came to a discreet halt. Sounds rose and faded in his ears. Black spots floated in front of his eyes. Then someone crowded past him and elbowed him out of the way as a voice boomed, “Like hell you pick him, woman! You want fun and passion and a two-week vacation, you take me.”

“You go to hell, Frank Wilkins!” Rosa shouted. “I wouldn’t take you to a dogfight, you fickle, two-timin’ old goat. I know what you been up to, snugglin’ up to that woman just ’cause she and her boy are gonna buy the inn. You think she’s gonna be happy livin’ in a tiny two bedroom suite on the third floor, with a broken-down elevator and a bunch of old furniture you should have sent to the dump fifty years ago? You think she’s gonna be good for this town? You think the Madrona Inn will still be standin’ two years from now? You think you will?”

“You’re damn right I will, and with you right beside me, woman! Nobody’s getting that inn but me. And you. If you’ll have me. And it.”

“Oh … Frank …”

“Oh … Dad …” Steve heard Lissa groan, saw her face crumple, but couldn’t reach out to her. Her father and Rosa, locked in an embrace that looked as if it might require a bucket of water to break, were in the way, along with the politician and the drummer. So was Pete, who for some reason had a smug smirk on his face.

After a couple of minutes, Rosa pushed Frank away, her cheeks bright pink, her eyes sparkling. “Cut it out, you silly old coot,” she said, the microphone on the bandstand catching her words and booming them out over the delighted crowd.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I better save all my piss and vinegar for those two weeks of fun and passion we got coming to us. When we get back, we’re going to be too busy running the inn to be doing a lot of canoodling.”

“Dad! Listen to me.” Lissa shook her father’s arm, the agony in her face like a knife in Steve’s gut. “Oh, Dad, I should have told you. We didn’t make it. It’s after five-thirty and our bid’s run out. Someone else bought the inn.”

“Oh, no they didn’t,” he said. “We bought it.”

Pete wheezed out a laugh. “That’s what you think, old man.” He pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and waved it toward the crowd. “Where’s John Drysdale? I got my check right here, and before each and every one of you, I’m going to put it in his hand. That inn is now mine.”

“The hell it is,” Frank said. “Our bid was accepted at three o’clock this afternoon.”

Pete’s sweating face turned livid. “That’s a lie! It’s mine. I’ve—”

“Pete, Pete!” John Drysdale came rushing and pushing through the crowd and clambered onto the bandstand. He grabbed the manager’s arm. “I told you not to count your chickens before five-thirty. They came up with the money. I’ve been looking for you to tell you. Why the hell doesn’t anybody in Madrona Cove answer their damn phone? Madrona Madness is exactly what this weekend is. But the inn is theirs. That’s the law.”

“But … it can’t be. I sacrificed. Sacrificed my principles, lowered my standards, did everything in my power to run the place at a loss so I could get it cheap and—”

“Pete, I think you’d better shut up,” Drysdale said, dragging him away from the open mike to the ramp at the back of the stand and hustling him down it. It was too late, though. He’d said too much and everyone had heard him. Steve could almost feel sorry for the man.

Lissa continued to stare at her father. “But … where did the money come from?”

“From that moldy old junk you and Rosa so despise,” he said, flinging an arm around her shoulders, keeping his other firmly holding Rosa close to his side. “Loretta, Steve’s mother, bought every last stick of it, except for the sleigh bed I, and my father before me, was born in. And for a pretty penny, too, more than enough to buy the inn. I advanced the proceeds of my sale to the committee’s bank account. Our check’s been certified and accepted by the representative of the previous owner. I guess I’ve sold your heritage right out from under you, Melissa, but since it’s one you’ve never wanted in the first place, I figure you won’t mind too much.”

He looked out over the crowd. “What I’m hoping is the committee will let me buy the inn. I know everyone was working to buy it out of sentiment and kindness toward me and my family, and I appreciate that, but there are other things this community needs just as badly, if not more. I’m stepping down as committee chairman as of today. I’ll have a business to run and an inn to renovate.”

He looked down at Rosa, “And a bride to entertain.”

He paused, glanced from Lissa to Steve and added, “And maybe, soon, some grandkids who will want to become innkeepers and will accept it as their heritage.”

Still holding Rosa, he let Lissa go, and stepped down from the stage.

Lissa stood looking out at the still expectant crowd. Slowly, she reached out and shut off the mike. There was nothing more to say. There was nothing more to do. Nothing except … go home.

“My lady?” Steve said softly, close to her ear.

“I’m not.”

“You are, you know. Come with me. Let me prove it.”

Before she could respond, he swept her up and carried her down the steps and straight to the pumpkin carriage.

He lifted her in, climbed in behind her and drew her into his arms.

“I’m waiting,” he said, his hand clasped around her braid.

Lissa looked at him for a long time. It took her a while to find the words. When she did, she nodded. “I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

“Uh-huh. I’m still waiting.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you enough to know you wouldn’t have gone behind my back after having said you weren’t here to buy the inn.”

“Yup.” He looked at her as the carriage joggled into motion. “Still waiting.”

Lissa drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it in a rush. “I love you,” she said, and pulled his head down to hers.

He winced as the carriage hitched along, rocking unevenly, bumping their mouths together. “Good,” he said. “Then do me a favor?”

“If I can.”

“Don’t kiss me,” he groaned. “For at least a week.”

“That long?” she complained as the carriage came to a halt.

“At least.”

“Sorry, you two, but we can’t climb this hill,” said one of the mice—Reggie, if Lissa heard his voice right through his muffling mask. “I guess you and your prince walk from here, Liss.”

“Not a chance,” she said. “My prince is much too pretty to walk. He might gets his silks and satins all dusty.”

She hopped out the left door of the carriage. “How about I push again, and you guys pull?”