Return to Oak Valley (33 page)

Hank laughed. “It looked like a rat's nest when we first bought it. Took us months of painting and cleaning before we could even think of furniture or equipment—your brother was a great help. See these tables?” At Shelly's nod, he continued, “He found them somewhere near San Francisco and haggled a good deal for us. Helped finance the place, too, and when we opened, sang our praises to everyone in the valley. I don't think we would have been as successful as quickly as we were if Josh hadn't badgered nearly everyone in town to give us a try. Megan and I owed him a lot.”

“You're not the only one either,” M.J. said, pushing aside the remains of her salad. “Josh was willing to help just about any legitimate new business get started in St. Galen's. And if he didn't finance it himself, he'd go sit on the bank manager's desk until the necessary loan was approved.” M.J. smiled softly. “When I first took over the store, and things would get me down, he was always there to hold my hand and tell me what a great job I was doing. I miss him.”

Swallowing the lump that rose in her throat, Shelly said, “I do, too. He was always just, Josh, my big brother—some-times I forget that he helped a lot of people. I know he was always trying to think of ways for St. Galen's to prosper. The poverty in the valley bothered him—I remember him trying to think up ways to make the valley more profitable without changing the very things that make most of us love it. It troubled him that the young people have to leave the valley to find a job that pays a decent wage.”

“Still do,” M.J. said glumly.

“Of course,” Hank said, with a gleam in his eyes, “being one of the biggest employers in the valley, if McGuire's would pay more…”

M.J. snorted. “Talk to my grandfather—you're one of his cronies.”

Hank shook his head, grinning. “Not a chance, me dar-lin'—he'd swat me down like a pesky fly. Very opinionated, your grandfather. I respect and admire him, but there's no denying higher wages is a sticky subject with him. I don't envy you trying to bring him into the twenty-first century.”

The door opened, and M.J., who was seated facing it, glanced over to see who was coming inside. Her gaze dropped almost immediately, and she said under her breath, “Oh, damn. Just our luck that she'd come in today. Brace yourself. Here comes Reba Stanton.”

Hank looked over his shoulder at the new arrivals. Glancing back at M.J. and Shelly, he murmured, “The Queen Bee and her lady-in-waiting have arrived. Excuse me while I go ingratiate myself.” Ever the affable host, he left M.J. and Shelly to their salads and walked up to the two women who had just entered the restaurant. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said. “Your timing is perfect, the rush is over, and you have your choice of tables.”

“Oh, we're not here to eat,” Reba said. “I noticed Shelly Granger's vehicle outside, and since I haven't had a chance to say hi since she returned, Barbara and I thought we'd stop in.”

“Lucky you,” M.J muttered sotto voice, hearing Reba's words.

“Barbara?” Shelly mouthed, leaning across the table.

“Jepson—used to be Babs Denman,” M.J. hissed. “Remember?”

Shelly crossed her eyes. Indeed she did. Nancy Black-stone, Reba Collier, and Babs Denman, as they had been known in those days, had comprised the trio from hell. Older by six or seven years, they had lorded it over the younger women and perfected to an art the ability to make them feel like gauche, feeble-minded, mud-spitting children. At seventeen, eighteen, no matter how great they felt about themselves or how proud they were of some accomplishment, all it had taken was a look, an arched brow, or a drawled comment from one of the terrible trio to send their self-esteem crashing to the ground.

Shelly's lips tightened, remembering the year Sally had been crowned Field Day Sweetheart. They'd been seventeen that year, and she and M.J. had been home from boarding school for the Field Day festivities. Sally had been an intrepid horsewoman, able to rope and ride rings around anyone in their crowd—even the boys. Sally's incredible riding abilities had been one of the reasons she had won the title of Sweetheart—that and the fact that she was a pretty, always smiling, eager-to-please young woman. Sally had glowed at having won the title over the other three contestants. Shelly recalled how proud she and M.J. had been of her and how thrilled they had been to bask in Sally's reflected glory. She and M.J. had been helping Sally get ready for her grand entrance into the rodeo arena, giving Sally's palomino mare a final brush and checking that Sally's crown was pinned on securely, when the trio had strolled up and stopped to watch.

Six feet away, hand on her hip, looking gorgeous in form-fitting black Sassoon jeans, high-heeled boots, and a clinging scarlet sweater, Nancy had murmured in that condescending tone of hers, “Oh, my, the little Sweetheart and her cortege—aren't they just too cute? Do you remember when we used to think that being the Field Day Sweetheart was such an honor? Hard to believe, isn't it?”

“I know what you mean,” Reba had answered. “It seems so ridiculous now, doesn't it? I mean St. Galen's Field Day Sweetheart…who cares beyond the valley?”

“Oh, well,” Nancy had drawled, “let the girls enjoy themselves. They'll find out soon enough that what seems important in St. Galen's doesn't mean squat anywhere else.”

“Now, now Nancy,” Babs had scolded, “remember this will probably be the highlight of their lives.” The three had snickered, and Babs had exclaimed, “Ugh! I'd hate to think that Field Day Sweetheart was
my
crowning moment.”

Having delivered their poison, they had wandered away. The glow on Sally's face had dimmed, and, as she shook with rage, Shelly's hands had curled into fists. Under her breath, M.J. had snarled, “Bitches!”

Putting aside the memory, Shelly couldn't help wondering if Reba and Babs would be any less bitchy today than they had been in the past.

“Shelly!” cried Reba as she came up to the table, “how wonderful to see you again.”

A polite smile on her face, Shelly glanced up. “Reba. How nice…it's been a long time, hasn't it?”

“Don't remind me,” Reba replied, her gaze running as-sessingly over Shelly's slim shape in her simple pink pullover and neatly pressed blue jeans. “Time has just flown by, hasn't it?”

“Well you know what they say—when you're having fun….”

“Oh, I envy you—New Orleans…” Babs breathed, avid brown eyes pricing to the penny the cost of Shelly's clothes. “Doesn't the valley seem boring and too, too country after New Orleans?”

“No, not at all,” Shelly replied. “After the noise, congestion, and crowding there, the slow pace of life in the valley is great. I feel lucky to be back.”

Babs stared at her. “Really? Why, I would have thought…”

Reba laughed, but there was an edge to it. “Oh come on, Shelly—you're just teasing, aren't you? We've imagined for years that you've been living this really wild and decadent life, while we've been stuck raising babies and listening to conversations that revolve around nothing more exciting than electing the next school board—or the hay crop. Don't disillusion us.”

Babs and Reba were both just over forty, and they reminded Shelly of a pair of sleek Angora cats—smug and superior. The years had not treated them
un
kindly, but despite the careful makeup, hair, and clothes, they both looked, well, matronly. Attractive, undeniably, but definitely matronly. Very well fed matrons, Shelly decided, tongue in cheek.

Replying to Reba, Shelly said, “New Orleans
is
exciting. Every day there's something new going on, but it can't hold a candle to the things that make Oak Valley such a great place to live: space, tranquillity and…I don't know…a feeling of having stepped back in time, I guess. The valley has its share of problems—problems with drugs, teenage pregnancies, and husbands who still beat their wives; but there's also a sensation of having escaped to a place where life is easier, simpler. Things that are scoffed at now still mean something in the valley—loyalty, reputation, honor, a man's word, family—all those old-fashioned qualities. And there's not so much pressure and need to rush, rush here and there.” She grinned. “I mean, let's face it—there's no place to rush
to
. Life moves at a slower pace, and while it
does
revolve mostly around cattle, hay, and timber, there's something terrific about that. If you don't know what I'm talking about, it's hard to explain.” She glanced at M.J. “You've lived out of the valley, don't you feel the same?”

M.J. nodded. “You couldn't pay me to live anywhere else—even if we don't have a Round Table Pizza or a mall just down the road. Nope, I like Oak Valley just fine.”

Reba looked down her nose at them, and murmured, “Well, you both were always a little strange. I guess there is just no telling about taste, is there?”

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” said M.J., a gleam in her eyes. “Bob married you.”

Shelly choked and glanced hastily down at her salad.

“Jealous?” Reba purred, brushing back a lock of silvery blond hair, a hard gleam in her sapphire blue eyes.

“Excuse me, ladies,” said Hank, walking up to the table with two plates. Ignoring the frosty silence, he slipped a plate in front of M.J. and Shelly. “Sally got to visiting with you and forgot to ask what kind of dipping sauce you wanted, so I brought out both honey mustard and ranch. If you want something else—like blue cheese, let me know, and I'll go get it.”

“Er, no, this is fine,” said Shelly, eyeing with anticipation her half of the rolled flour tortilla stuffed with thinly sliced ham, turkey, lettuce, and tomato that spilled out onto her plate.

“Well, you need anything,” Hank said, “you just give me a holler.” With a nod at Reba and Babs, he strolled away, whistling.

“We'll leave you to eat your lunch,” Reba said. “We just wanted to welcome you back to the valley and say hello. I'll call you next week, and maybe we can arrange to have lunch together.” She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. “We can discuss old times and all that.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, that'll be fine,” Shelly said, thinking that she'd have to have ready a half dozen or so excuses to decline when Reba called—if she called.

The door shut behind Reba and Babs, and Sally popped out from wherever she had been in the back room. She made a face.

“Sorry I deserted you, but I just didn't want to get into it with Babs. Her oldest boy, Gary, he's about eleven, was giving some of the younger kids a bad time at the rodeo Saturday afternoon—he was making fun of them, so Jane and Jean, my girls, roped him, tied him, and dropped him off in the center of the arena. Babs was
not
pleased.”

M.J. chuckled. “I heard about that. Served the little jerk right—Todd was one of the kids he was picking on. Good thing Jane and Jean got to Gary before I did—I'd have probably done a lot worse and gotten into a fistfight with Babs.”

“You?” Shelly asked, her eyes dancing. “Nah, never happen, not sweet, shy, ladylike you.”

The three of them laughed.

“I'm so glad you're back,” Sally said to Shelly. “Seems almost like old times. Only thing different is that it's the terrible twosome now, instead of the terrible trio.” Sally clapped her hand over her mouth. “Ah jeez, I didn't mean to speak ill of the dead. I never would have wanted anything bad to happen to Nancy.”

“You know what?” M.J. said, looking up at Sally. “You're too nice. You always were. You need some meanness, girl.”

“Don't listen to her,” Shelly said. “She's got enough meanness for all of us. You stay just as you are—let M.J. be the bad girl.”

“And what are you? Miss Prim? The voice of reason?” M.J. asked dryly, taking a bite of her wrap.

“Well, I do try,” murmured Shelly. She grinned at M.J. “Except when I lose my temper. Remember that time I blacked Danny's eye because he'd brought me that box of chocolates? Only it wasn't chocolates?”

“Oh, God, I'd forgotten that,” M.J. said, her mouth puckering. “I can't remember, did you actually eat one?”

“No, at first I just thought they were funny-looking chocolates. He'd done a good job of picking up the right-shaped ones and putting them neatly in that Sees candy box, but when I got close enough to smell I recognized what they were right off.”

In unison, all three said, “Chicken shit.”

“Must have taken him weeks to find just the right, er, droppings, in the chicken pen to fill that box,” Sally commented. “What a little devil he was.” They all glanced over at the table where Danny sat with the others drinking coffee. “And to think,” she marveled, “he's now one of our resident deputies. Scares you when you think about it.”

In between other tasks, Sally continued to stop by their table, the three of them reminiscing and recalling happy times from their childhood. Shelly had just finished the last bite of her wrap when Hank reappeared, this time with small, blond-haired Megan.

Megan looked much younger than Hank—over twenty years, Shelly guessed. Hank had to be in his sixties, which meant that Megan must be somewhere in her early forties. Seeing the speculation in Shelly's gaze, Hank said, “Megan's my
little
sister—not only in size, but age, too.”

Shyly, Megan said, “Hank's mother died when he was fifteen. It was five years later that his dad met my mum and they got married. Hank was twenty-one when I was born.” She smiled. “He acts more like a father than an older brother—I can't seem to convince him that I'm all grownup and don't need a keeper anymore.” She indicated her petite frame. “Being small doesn't help.”

“I know what you mean,” M.J. commiserated. “Everyone thinks that because you're small you don't have a brain in your head.” She looked at Shelly. “You don't know how lucky you are to be tall—people take you seriously. When I say something, even now, they're more inclined to pat me on the head, and say, ‘There, there, little girl, don't worry about it.’ Drives me nuts.”

“You're wrong,” Shelly argued. “Believe me, cute-and-small wins every time. I remember thinking once that it just wasn't fair—when we were twelve you still got chucked under the chin, but everyone expected me to act wise and mature.”

M.J. grinned. “Yeah, there was that.”

Their meal finished, after complimenting Hank and Megan on the food and a few more minutes of conversation, they got up and paid at the cash register. They were exchanging a last word with Sally after she'd given them their change when the door to the restaurant flew open.