groaned. “Haley, honey, you’re not really supposed to follow that anniversary guide from the card stores. Paper is so, well, cheap. Unless, of course, it’s stock options or bonds. And even those aren’t worth much in today’s economy.”
Haley’s eyes sparkled as much as her ring. The late-afternoon sun hit the blond highlights in her hair, providing what looked a lot like a halo around the Sunday-school director. “This was a special calendar. It had a date highlighted on it.”
Kara lifted her brow in an “And?” expression.
“And that date is almost nine months away. Well,” she added on a shrug, “it was almost nine months away when I had the calendar made.”
But Kara’s squeal drowned out the last of Haley’s words. The two friends were up and hugging each other, Kara crying and Haley beaming. Kara eyed her friend’s flat stomach.
“When? When are you due?”
Haley gave her the details. Marcus’s appearance at their church forgotten, the two women spent the rest of their time together talking about baby names and nursery colors.
That’s how Marcus and his entourage found them.
“Man, this place looks like it got lost in a time warp. Talk about Mayberry R.F.D.” someone said.
“It doesn’t look like Mayberry. It is,” another one of Marcus’s hangers-on said, casting a glance about Main Street.
Kara and Haley looked up at the crowd of people surrounding their outdoor table. Marcus and about six others stood not three feet away. The woman with the headset and clipboard stood sentinel at Marcus’s side, though she seemed to be having a rather heated conversation with someone. She touched him on the arm and motioned her head. Marcus nodded and she slipped away, pressing the earpiece closer and saying, “I don’t care how much it costs….”
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Marcus greeted them, the trademark smile operating at force ten on the weak-in-the-knees scale.
Haley, instantly charmed, held out a hand introducing herself when Kara didn’t seem inclined to do so.
“Hi, I’m Haley Brandon-Dumaine. It’s a pleasure meeting you. Welcome to Wayside.”
“Thank you.”
“If you’d like any information on the town, I volunteer over at the library and I’m also on the historical committee, so don’t be a stranger.”
Marcus smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And you know Kara.”
He smiled. “Yes, I know Dr. Kara.”
For her part, Kara couldn’t believe that he’d rendered her speechless.
Patrice needs to come get her man, she thought, because he’s wreaking havoc with my senses. She tried to bring up a mental image of Howard, her on-again, off-again companion and escort—he could hardly be called a boyfriend. But Howard’s squinting image blurred in her mind with a computer monitor, just like the one he always sat in front of. An IT specialist, Howard Boyd lived and breathed computers. They’d last gone out three weeks ago—to a computer show and sale. It was his idea of a hot date, her idea of purgatory.
“Hello, Dr. Kara.”
She nodded. “Mr. Ambrose.” A man with a video camera edged around the group and aimed his equipment toward Haley and Kara. “I see you’re still being hounded by the local media.”
Marcus glanced at the cameraman. “Actually, he’s with me. I went back to the bed-and-breakfast, made a statement over at the college and gave a few personal moments and we’re all clear.”
Gave a few personal moments. For some reason that statement didn’t sit well with Kara. It was as if he could just push all the right buttons and get just what he wanted in his charmed world.
“We’re just doing a little filming to get a record of the town.”
“A video scrapbook,” Kara muttered.
“Yes, something like that.” He reached into his pocket, came up empty and called for the clipboard woman. “Nadira.”
She turned, and was instantly at his side holding out four slim tickets.
“I’d like you to be my guests at the opening reception for the film and music festival. It’s a blacktie gala followed by a miniconcert.”
“Why, we’d love to,” Haley said. “My husband is a musician, as well.”
“I look forward to meeting him. And you?” he said, addressing Kara. “Will you be bringing a date, as well?” His voice clearly conveyed the message that he hoped she wouldn’t.
Standing tall, Kara nodded. “Yes, of course.”
Marcus fingered his goatee. “That’s too bad. I should have known someone as pretty as you already had a boyfriend.”
“Oh, Kara doesn’t have a…” A quelling look from Kara silenced Haley. “Uh, what I meant was—”
“We double-date all the time,” Kara smoothly interjected. “So my friend and I look forward to your event. Tell me, Mr. Ambrose. Do you ever go anywhere alone?”
He smiled. “Would you care to find out?”
Kara blushed and backed down on the verbal aggression.
After a couple of people in Marcus’s group got ice cream cones to go, the entourage moved on. Haley turned to Kara.
“What was that about a boyfriend and double-dating? Since when are you dating anyone?”
Kara dropped her head into her hands. “I cannot believe I said that.”
“Neither can I. And where are you going to get a date for—” she glanced at the tickets “—Friday night?”
Kara looked miserable. Without even trying, Marcus Ambrose made her reckless. “That’s a good question. Maybe Howard is free.”
Haley wrinkled her nose. “He’s a computer whiz, but Kara, he’s…” She floundered for a word.
“Boring?”
“Well, there is that.”
“Haley, what have I gotten myself into?” Then she had a brainstorm. “What about Amber’s brother?”
Haley shook her head. “He’s out of the country. Deacon Prentiss from church can always be counted on as an escort, though.”
“Great,” Kara said, her shoulders slumped. “Just what I need to impress Marcus—an eighty-year-old pity date.”
The next afternoon Kara found herself no closer to landing a date to the gala than she’d been at Pop’s the day before. According to his voice mail, Howard was at an IT conference in Seattle. He’d left a phone number where he could be reached, as well as a pager number and an instant e-mail address—all in the event of an emergency.
“This is an emergency,” Kara mumbled.
But she didn’t page him, phone him or e-mail him.
She was about to pick up the phone and call in a favor with one of her male cousins when a truck backed into her driveway and over the flower bed that marked her property line with the house next door. She dropped the phone and scrambled outside.
“Hey! Hey, what are you doing?”
The truck driver looked out his window and winced. “Sorry about that, lady.” He drove forward a bit, then cut the engine, hopping down from the cab. Kara heard the other door slam, as well.
Her carefully tended flower bed was in ruins, the V-grooved treads of two tires running right down the middle of her impatiens.
“What are you doing?”
He