everyone knew he was a phony?
“Thanks, Justine. Drop by tomorrow. I’ll cut and color your hair for free. I know your time is worth more, but it’s something I can do in exchange for your watching the store, since you won’t let me pay you.”
“I like doing it. This gives me a break from painting and lets my creative juices flow again. ’Sides, I’ll never turn down a free haircut.” They both laughed as the door opened.
Through it burst a man carrying a huge bouquet of roses. “Tibby Mack?” he inquired, helpless to see around the greenery.
Tibby cast a stunned glance at Justine, who avoided her eyes.
“Don’t look at me,” Justine mumbled. “Check to see who sent them.”
Tibby continued to stare at the flowers. “There must be some mistake,” she said weakly.
“No mistake.” The man plunked the vase on the counter. “Sign here, please. It’s a long drive out from Brawley.”
Hands shaking, Tibby scribbled her name on the line he’d indicated. “But I don’t know anyone anywhere who’d send me flowers,” she insisted.
“Whoever sent ’em paid a mint for delivery,” said the driver as he tucked the pencil behind his ear and headed for the door. “We soak ’em for mileage.”
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Justine admonished when he’d gone. “Honestly, Tibby, I’d have that envelope shredded by now.”
Tibby touched one of the dark red buds. Then she leaned over and sniffed. “They’re gorgeous. No one’s ever sent me flowers, Justine. I can’t believe they’re for me. Let me appreciate them a minute, in case it’s all a horrible mistake.”
“Tibby, you’re too much. Florists aren’t in the business of making mistakes.”
“I suppose.” Almost reluctantly Tibby plucked the white envelope from its forked stake. Even then, she turned it over several times and patted her dog’s head before she finally slipped a fingernail under the flap and pried it open, never noticing that Justine had apparently lost interest.
Tibby frowned after reading the message. “They’re from Cole.” She tossed the card on the counter. “He says, ‘Sorry for everything. Forgive me, Cole.’ Ha! More than likely he had to run into Brawley for some piddling spice he forgot and realized how inconvenient it is.”
“Now, dear, he probably feels guilty about shouting at you earlier. Men have a tendency to speak first and think later. Why not enjoy the roses and let bygones be?”
“They are lovely, aren’t they?” Tibby’s features softened.
Smiling, Justine angled toward the door. Before she reached it, the bell over the top tinkled again. A pretty woman, pale-skinned with shoulder-length blond hair, poked her head tentatively into the store. “Excuse me,” she murmured in a smoky voice, “I’m hunting for Cole O’Donnell’s country home. I must have taken a wrong turn. Could someone direct me?”
Tibby and Justine exchanged glances, Justine’s one of surprise, Tibby merely rolling her eyes as if to say, Country home, oh, brother!
“You can see his house through that window.” Tibby pointed. She shushed Exterminator when he loped to the end of the counter and barked. “Driving there is trickier. If you’d like, I’ll show you on an area map.”
“Would you? And do you have any cold mineral water? It’s so hot out.”
“Hot? It’s barely eighty-seven. But yes, I have mineral water, juice and iced herb tea.” Tibby directed the newcomer toward the cooler.
The woman pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and stepped fully into view. “Thank goodness you seem civilized. I was afraid to stop in any of the dingy little towns I passed through.” She shrugged a delicate shoulder while inspecting the case.
Tibby took the opportunity to study the woman. She had wide violet eyes enhanced by liner and mauve eye shadow, and she wore a filmy little purple top and a fluttery short skirt that would have stopped a train on a dime. Good thing she’d driven straight through. Those poor farmworkers would’ve died of shock.
Silver hoop earrings and matching bracelets jingled when she reached into the case. If it’d been a man checking out those long bare legs, Tibby thought peevishly, he’d probably have swallowed his teeth.
“You known Cole long?” Tibby asked as she dug through a cluttered drawer in search of the map. She hated the hint of jealousy in her tone.
“A couple of years. I’m Cicely Brock, by the way. If you get an L.A. paper and read the entertainment section, you may have seen me. I’m in a new TV series.”
“Winnie gets the LA. Times,” Justine said. “I’ll mention it to her on my way home. How long will you be in Yaqui Springs, Ms., uh, Brock? In case Winnie would like your autograph.”
Cicely broke into a smile. “I’m only going to be at Cole’s till tomorrow afternoon. But I’d be happy to sign something. I don’t expect to be back. He’s usually on the continent working for classy resorts. I can’t imagine why he’s designing something out here in the boonies.” The woman took a dainty sip of her mineral water, then fanned herself, which set her bracelets dancing. “Are you sure it’s not closer to a hundred degrees? I can’t afford to get sunburned. My agent would have fits.” She gazed at Tibby as if seeing her sun-streaked hair and evenly tanned skin for the first time. “My goodness, don’t you worry you’ll wrinkleT’
Justine made a strangled noise in her throat, which she quickly turned into a goodbye thrown at Tibby.
Saying nothing, Tibby bent to find the elusive map. Triumphant at last, she turned with it clutched in her hand, only to find Cicely eyeing the card that had come with the roses. Tossing two dollars atop the card, Cole’s visitor stormed out of the store, not waiting either for change or for directions to his lane.
Tibby felt her stomach lurch. Until that very moment, she’d been unwilling to admit that, in spite of their latest battle, she longed for more than an adversarial relationship with Cole O’Donnell. Even when he’d gone away to college, she’d known there’d be women. But they’d remained nameless faceless women. Easy to dismiss. It was pretty hard to disregard Ms. May Centerfold.
Tibby knew it wasn’t very nice, but she hoped Cole burned the pasta or that the wine he’d selected had been on the shelf long enough to turn to vinegar.
She sneaked a peek out the window to see if Cicely had reached Cole’s house yet. If she stood on tiptoe she could tell. “Uh-oh.” Justine still stood in the parking lot, in a cluster of Moped Mavericks. The way Justine waved her arms, Tibby knew the ladies were getting a blow-by-blow account—of everything from the roses to Cole’s girlfriend. It certainly wouldn’t do to let that bunch see her spying. Jerking back, Tibby fussed with the shelves. Darn, she was tempted to take Exterminator out to explore. Stoically she resisted. Besides, her friends would see right through the flimsy ploy.
COLE RACED HOME after leaving the heavy-equipment contractor and the county inspector in charge of issuing permits. Since he owned the land, the inspector saw no problem with starting to clear it. The permits themselves would take a few weeks. Technically, county planners had to approve the drawings. Cole was confident his would pass muster; after all, it was how he made his living.
But he’d been a lot later winding things down than he’d planned. He hadn’t showered, let alone started the pasta sauce. By his calculations Cicely should be rolling in soon. Cole’s intent had been to have everything done except tossing the salad, so they could sit out on the patio and share a relaxing glass of wine without intrusion.
Stripping, he stepped into a cool shower. There was still one potential oil slick to mar his smooth sailing. Tibby Mack’s blasted post office. He hadn’t mentioned that little snafu to the inspector. Jockeying the location of his clubhouse entailed redrawing the entire plan and