Sweet Tibby Mack

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Cole fingered the empty pick centered in the bouquet. “Where’s the card?”

“There, beside the vase.”

He lifted the vase and peered underneath. “It doesn’t seem to be here. Did you put it in your pocket?”

“Why would I, for goodness’ sake? It’s not as if I had romantic illusions or anything. Look on the floor. Maybe it blew off when your girlfriend flounced out. What have you done with her? I thought you said you were cooking dinner.”

Cole felt his ears grow warm. “Eating takes second place to clearing up this mess. Cicely’s sort of…well, she’s, ah, jealous.” The last he muttered as he dropped to his knees to search the floor.

Tibby smothered a grin. “I’m sure that feeds your ego.

“Are you laughing?” Cole glanced up from his undignified position.

Tibby couldn’t hold the laughter in. “No…oo…ooo.”

“Dammit, if this is your idea of a joke, it’s not funny.” He scrambled up. “A lady I’m trying to impress thinks I sent you roses.”

Tibby curbed her mirth. “You can’t believe I’d send flowers to myself. Oh, and I suppose I have a crystal ball to tell me precisely when your movie queen would waltzin here this afternoon. Don’t flatter yourself, O’Donnell.”

“Then help me find that card so I can call the florist and clear this up once and for all.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll turn out my pockets while you search through the trash. I use that five-gallon ice-cream bucket behind the counter.”

“Is this the only rubbish you have?” Cole asked a few minutes later, after he’d checked every envelope and torn receipt in the round cardboard barrel.

Tibby swept one hand toward the coffee bar and another toward the back room. “Two more trash cans, plus the dumpster at the end of the parking lot. I’d help, but I wouldn’t want you saying I found it and kept it from you. I’m taking my dog home to feed while you dig around. Have at it!”

She showed up again just as Cole emerged, looking slightly unkempt. “No luck?” she asked, truly surprised to see he was empty-handed. “Well, I wonder what happened to the dumb thing. I swear it was right beside the vase. I figured it’d caught on something and made its way into the trash.”

Stepping around him, she yanked open one of the drawers behind the counter. There lay the map she’d held when his girlfriend took off like a shot. Tibby shook it, but nothing fell out. Perplexed, she said, “Why would anyone spend that kind of money playing a practical joke? And who, for goodness’ sake?”

“Beats me.” Cole cast a darkly troubled glance out the window. “I guess I’d better get on home. Maybe I’ll buy a second bottle of wine. Red, if you have it.”

“Sure. Top shelf, last row.” Tibby watched him choose one. “If the card appears, I’ll tuck it in your front screen. Otherwise I’ll go through the Brawley phone book I have at home and find the number.” She gave him change and bagged his purchase. “I do feel bad, Cole.”

“Thanks. It’s s a puzzle, and I’m stumped. I’m a fan of mysteries and usually figure out whodunnit way before the end.”

“Really? I read them, too,” Tibby said. “In fiction the next step after something like this is to find a dead body.”

“I’ll just have to hope Cicely’s not so steamed that it turns out to be my dead body.” Smiling crookedly, Cole left. Almost at once he stuck his head back inside. “Don’t forget to lock the door.” Then he was gone again.

She not only locked up but snapped off the front lights. Even in twilight the roses were pretty. Although a dull ache crowded out the joy she’d experienced when she’d thought Cole had sent them.

Closing her eyes, Tibby rubbed at a niggling headache. Obviously it didn’t take much to turn her head where Cole was concerned. Well, if she needed a dose of reality, she could visualize him and Cicely Sleepover. That’d do it.

Steps slower, Tibby snapped off the remaining lights. She welcomed the night as she made her way next door to a solitary dinner with her dog. At the door she realized she’d passed up another opportunity to give Cole the letter from Mr. Harcourt. But what did it matter? His mind wasn’t on clearing his land this weekend.

THE MINUTE TIBBY DOUSED the store’s lights, Cole was swallowed by darkness. He skidded to a stop where their properties joined to let his eyes adjust. His weekend certainly wasn’t going the way he’d planned. Instead of a nice romantic dinner, he had one woman ticked off at him and he’d inadvertently hurt another. The look on Tibby’s face when he told her he hadn’t sent the roses bothered him. It dredged a memory from the past. Her birthday. Her fifteenth. No, sixteenth. She’d invited him to a play at the Date Festival—Midsummer Night’s Dream.

He resumed walking as memories surged in. If he hadn’t been so hot for that tennis instructor, he probably wouldn’t have been so abrupt with Tibby. Recalling the pain in her eyes, he felt guilty.