One More Kiss (4 page)

Now that he looked closely, Olive did have the same porcelain skin and wide eyes as her sister. But where Jessie was long and tall, Olive was compact and muscular. Where Jessie looked classic, Olive was all punk rock.

He marveled that siblings from the same house could be so different. But then, of course, there was his brother, Gus, a successful doctor at the Mayo Clinic and about as different from Randall as anyone could be. The thought churned up memories he had to bat back.

“Good luck with Olive,” he said to Jessie, his throat suddenly dry.

“It might take more than luck for us not to strangle each other,” Jessie said. But she was smiling.

After shoving an extra dollar into the tip jar for Olive, Randall headed back out into the bright fall day. The October wind carried the scent of harvested fields and fallen leaves. He tried to clear the fog in his mind that was left over from being so close to Betty this morning. The mist was gone now and he could clearly see what he had to do.

He would help her fix the banner and he would keep himself in check.

He blinked at the pain that stabbed his heart. He couldn’t afford to let himself get swept up in Betty Lindholm. He would be ever vigilant and hold himself back if he started to feel too much.

He knew the consequences of what could happen if he didn’t, after all. And no part of him was about to revisit the tragedy of all that anytime soon.

*  *  *

A few hours later, Betty was ready to pierce a nearby pair of fairy wings with her scissors, and then shred a princess gown to ribbons. She was running out of patience trying to rearrange her front window, sandwiching a baseball player in between a mummy and a demon, and a cowgirl in between a grim reaper and a murderous clown. It was all getting too cluttered and messy. She sat down heavily on a haystack.

This wasn’t going well.

And if she was honest with herself, it probably had very little to do with the costumes. Her sour mood had started the minute Randall had returned from the Rolling Pin, his face like iron. The laughter was gone from his eyes. His mouth was a grim line. He was exactly like she’d remembered him when he first moved to town a couple years ago—devout and stony to the point of being unapproachable.

Betty sighed, wondering what had happened. Had she done something or said something wrong? She was tempted to run across the street and ask her friend Jessie, who worked behind the Rolling Pin’s counter most days. Had Randall had given her any clues when he’d ordered his coffee? But then again, Betty didn’t want to appear desperate.

She kicked at the hay, thinking about how Randall’s hard exterior had softened over the years not just toward the town, but toward
her
. It didn’t hurt that his sermons were good. Really good, actually. Betty had found herself being pulled into the church basement more and more after the service, hoping to catch a glimpse of him or, better yet, chat with him about what he’d just preached.

She liked Randall. They made good friends. Until this morning anyway, when she’d reacted to him in a way she never really had before. His laughter and presence had her heart somersaulting enough to make her think that maybe there was a spark there that could get kindled into a big, leaping flame.

Well, that would teach her. She put a finger to her temple where a headache had started.

Because Randall had come back from the Rolling Pin as cold and removed as he’d ever been. Her heart had sunk at his clipped, unfeeling words. “If you can hold the ladder, I’ll get that banner down now.”

No
Hey, let’s enjoy these donuts together
or
What a lovely day, let’s go for a walk when this is all over
. He’s just placed their coffee and pastries on the sidewalk near the front door and set to work.

She’d handed him her Phillips screwdriver, wondering what in the world had happened. She didn’t even have the heart to summon admiration for his ass when he was on the ladder (though she knew, from previous glimpses in the church basement, that it was a great ass).

When the banner was down, he’d folded it carefully and placed it next to the untouched coffee and donuts. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have a meeting I forgot about.” And then he was gone, speeding his way back up Main Street to the Lutheran church.

Betty was stumped. She understood that schedules could change. People forgot previous commitments. It happened all the time. But this didn’t feel like the good pastor suddenly had a meeting. This seemed more complicated somehow. Like perhaps he’d realized in the process of buying two donuts and two coffees that he didn’t actually want to spend time with her.

Betty bit her lip and told herself not to get worked up about something she didn’t know for certain. But a dreadful weight filled her nonetheless. She touched her teeth, half expecting to feel them jutting from her face like they had for most of her life. Her teeth had always meant that she met men who liked being around her, who enjoyed her company and respected her business savvy—but bolted the minute things got serious.
Because of how she looked.
Because they were embarrassed by her.

Or so she thought.

Now she wondered if it was something else.

After all, she’d had the dental work taken care of years ago, but it apparently hadn’t changed the way men reacted to her. Not if Randall was any indication.

She shifted on the hay, wondering now if her outspokenness was the turnoff. Or maybe it was how she threw herself into her work—into the Knots and Bolts fabric store and into running an online shop where she sold vintage Halloween gear year-round.

Perhaps she should have spent less time working and more time figuring out how to land a man. Or given more thought to how to end up married with kids, overflowing with all the love she’d dreamed of since she was a little girl.

The only problem was that she liked her work, and she didn’t feel like she should have to choose between a man or her career. Why couldn’t she have both?

Besides that was the fact that she hadn’t found a guy who would make the effort worthwhile.

Until now, that is. Until Randall Sondheim and his stormy gray eyes and his thoughtful sermons and his—

His nothing.
She shook her head.

It didn’t matter that for just a second she’d thought there was more to her and Randall. There were no tea leaves to read here, no deeper meanings in his glances and words. He was as straightforward as they came. And he was telling her very clearly that they were just friends.

Disappointment weighted her, but she ignored it. Instead, she focused on her window display and on how to fix it so Valerie Lofgren would get off her case once and for all.

By noon she was sweating and her stomach was rumbling, but the window display was done. There were smiling pumpkins and noble princes mixed in with the zombies and the werewolves. There were beautiful mermaids and brave police officers amid the vampires and witches. They were all angled toward one another, partnered together, linked up for the best holiday of the year.

Betty surveyed it and smiled.

She had to hand it to Valerie. This was the best Halloween window Betty had ever done. She was almost grateful for the other woman’s suggestion.

Almost.

Smiling to herself for the first time since the pastor had stalked away, Betty headed up the street to grab lunch at the Paul Bunyan Diner. The sun was out in full force now, shining on bright mums and crimson leaves. She tilted her face to it, feeling the bite in the air just underneath the warm rays.

The shift in the seasons meant a shift in her recipe exchange’s meals, which would go from pasta salad and cold gazpacho to potpies and hearty mac and cheeses. That reminded Betty that she needed to pick up apples from the Lumberjack Grocery on her way home tonight so she could bake the pumpkin apple bread she’d promised the group for their usual Thursday night gathering. She was so lost in thought about how best to puree her pumpkin that she almost didn’t notice the lull in conversation as she stepped into the diner. She might have missed it entirely except for a prickling unease on the back of her neck that said something wasn’t right. That’s when she realized several pairs of eyes were trained on her. Staring.

As subtly as she could, Betty looked down to make sure she was wearing pants.

Check.

Her fly was up. And she definitely had remembered to shower this morning. So what in the world was the matter?

She slipped into a creaking wooden booth with her brain racing. What was going on?

She’d just decided there was a good chance she was overreacting and making things up when Red Updike paused at the end of her table, his big farmer’s hands tucked into the pockets of his overalls.

“Morning, Betty,” he said. His voice was so somber, he might as well have said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Morning, Red,” she replied. “You here to tell me I can come pick up some more of your grass-fed beef? I have an empty freezer that could use filling.”

Red glanced at the rough-planked floor, then back at Betty. “No, it’s not beef on my mind today. It’s the Lord. And I just wanted to let you know I’m praying for you.”

Betty blinked, confused. “Well, thanks, Red. I appreciate that. Is there any particular reason you’ve singled me out for this honor?”

Red frowned. His weathered farmer’s face looked more lined than usual. “I hope you’ll get back on a good path soon.” He shifted, like maybe he was going to say more, but instead, he pulled at the bill of his John Deere hat. “See you around, Betty. God bless.”

And with that, he was gone.

Betty watched him walk away, wondering what in the world was going on. She could feel sweat breaking out along her forehead, and she dabbed at it with one of the diner’s paper napkins. She didn’t like the look on Red’s face—not one bit.

Before she could think about it any more, Pauline, who’d waitressed at the diner since Betty could remember, sidled up to her table. She flipped to a fresh page in her order pad and gave Betty a wry smile. “Should I be waiting on you, now that you’re a high priestess in a Satanic cult?”

Betty could feel her mouth fall open slightly. “According to whom?”

Pauline leaned in. “Hans Billick said something to Cleve Ferber, who wondered to Carla the hostess if maybe you’re the one causing all the ruckus across town. Apparently, Red is going to keep his goats close, because for your next act, you’re looking to sacrifice one.”

For a moment, Betty was speechless. “They seriously think I’m behind the pumpkins and tombstones? Is this because of that damn banner?”

Pauline nodded. “That. And your Halloween display.”

“But I took the banner down this morning. And I just spent the last two hours fixing my store window. And I had nothing to do with all those pranks across town!”

Pauline shrugged. “I never said it was rational.”

Betty groaned inwardly. She loved White Pine, but she didn’t love the way rumors could start faster than a brushfire in the middle of a drought. Nervous concern knotted her insides.

“Do you think I’m a Satanist?” she asked the waitress. She was only half kidding.

Pauline pointed her pencil straight at Betty. “Depends on how big you tip.”

Pauline grinned and Betty couldn’t help but smile back. The two women had known each other for years. The day that Pauline actually thought she was the leader of a Satanic cult, then the rest of White Pine couldn’t be far off from running her out of town with pointed pitchforks and blazing torches. She was glad that moment hadn’t come yet.

“There’s more, though,” Pauline said, lowering her voice. “I heard Carla mention something about a possible boycott of Knots and Bolts. Folks talking about going elsewhere to shop for their Halloween supplies this year.”

Betty’s stomach sank straight into her shoes. “Surely that’s just talk,” she said, willing herself to believe it. “I mean, people don’t actually think I’m a threat. Do they?”

“I hope not,” Pauline said. But her eyes seemed to flash a warning.

Betty stared at the menu, her mind as scrambled as the diner’s eggs. She wasn’t hungry anymore, but she figured she’d better order something and take a few minutes to think. “I guess I’ll take a bunkhouse sandwich while I figure out how to get this mess to die down, then.”

“Coming right up,” Pauline said.

When the waitress had gone, Betty closed her ears to the clinking sounds of tableware and the noise of the kitchen and tried to gather her thoughts. She couldn’t have the whole town imagining she was worshipping the devil and vandalizing graves. She needed to squelch this rumor—and fast. She had to get out in front of it before it did actual damage to her business. The only question was how?

She stared at the gingham placemat in front of her, but no ideas sprang to mind. The only thing she seemed able to focus on was the hit she might take to her bottom line if the people of White Pine took their Halloween shopping elsewhere. This was one of her biggest seasons. She could stand to lose thousands.

She felt her headache throbbing anew when Pauline came back with her sandwich. A few minutes ago she’d been ravenous. Now she’d all but lost her appetite.

“You look a lot worse than when you first came in here,” Pauline said. She slid into the booth across from Betty. “I could use a few minutes off my dogs. How about I sit here and tell you not to worry about this while you eat that sandwich?”

Betty smiled at the waitress. “You’re a good soul, you know that? And I’d love to eat, but I’m not sure I can when all I can wonder is if my business will suffer because people are jumping to some terrible conclusions.” She pushed the plate away, frustrated.

“So nip it in the bud,” Pauline said. She pulled out a tube of lipstick and applied a coral color to her lips. “That’s what my daddy always said.”

“I think the bud’s already been nipped,” Betty said. “And in this case, I’m on the receiving end.”

Pauline lifted a brow. “Come on, Betty. I know you better than that. You aren’t just going to roll over on this, are you? Why not get that pastor friend of yours involved? The one I saw helping you with the sign earlier. Get him on your side.”