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“What kind of question is that?”
“It’s my devious way of trying to find out what you really think of a place like this.”
He smiled. “I think it needs a couple more cushioned rockers.”
She smiled back, a truly terrific smile. “You’re dodging the subject.”
“Damn right I am. You already told me that if you become mayor you’re shutting us down.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “Sounds like you’re considering reopening the place.”
“I might.”
“Really?” Her expression didn’t waver. “It would take an awful lot of money.”
“Hell, it’ll take a lot just to keep it standing.” And that was no joke. He’d obviously wasted his time flying out here.
“Probably. But you have to do something.”
He shrugged. “I could just walk away. Leave the place as is.”
Shock registered in her eyes. “No, you can’t. The house isn’t safe.”
“Then they should move out.”
“And where do you suggest they go? These women live on social security, not fat pensions.”
“Not my problem.”
She stared in disbelief, then in disgust. “You own the place. It’s your responsibility.”
“Excuse me, but I didn’t sign up for this headache.”
“Too bad. You’ve got it.”
He shrugged again. “Like I said, I could walk away.”
Abby growled—literally, and convincingly enough that he glanced over his shoulder to see if the iguana was back.
“I can’t believe you could be this…this heartless.” Abby went to the plate of cookies Rosie had left, picked out a ginger snap, sat on the couch, then took an enormous bite.
Most women he knew took small nibbles. Not Abby. Obviously this was a woman not afraid to tackle anything. She started to say something else but her mouth was full.
Max jumped in while he had the chance. “I’m not heartless. This is business. Maybe I should reopen it.” Sighing, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with it. Last week it was bad enough when I thought I’d inherited a brothel. Today I find out it’s a retirement home.”
“I heard that.”
They both started and turned to meet Rosie’s disapproving frown. “Better not let Mona hear you spewing that stuff. Me, I know better. And I like things just the way they are, but you heard her earlier, she and Candy have this idea that Viagra is gonna change things around here.”
At the mention of Viagra again, Max almost lost his cookies. Except he hadn’t had any. Surely Mona had been joking earlier.
Rosie picked up the plate. “I don’t want you two spoiling your supper.”
Wordlessly, he watched her carry the cookies back to the kitchen. Abby hadn’t said anything either. She probably blamed the whole idea on him. He reluctantly looked her way and realized she was trying to keep from laughing.
He relaxed a little. Abby wouldn’t think this was funny if it were for real. “She’s joking, right? About Mona and the Viagra?”
“I doubt it. Mona is always talking about the good old days.”
“And you think that’s funny?”
Her eyebrows drew together in a thoughtful frown, all traces of amusement gone. And then her lips tilted slightly. “Good for you, Max.”
“What?” Something was wrong. She called him Max.
“You have no intention of reopening the Swinging R.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Her smile grew more triumphant. “The expression on your face just said it all. You looked traumatized by the thought Rosie isn’t kidding.”
“Traumatized?” He snorted. “What are you smoking? There is nothing in this little hick town that could traumatize or surprise me.”
Abby’s expression fell, then it tightened. He’d hurt her feelings, and ticked her off, too. “I’m sorry our hick town doesn’t meet with your approval. Amazing, you’ve been here all of one day and you’re able to pass judgment already.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“We already settled that fallacy. In order for me to be insulted, I’d have to value your opinion.”
“I believe you’re right. Let’s see…Oh, yeah, you don’t give a hoot about what I think.”
“Exactly.” She folded her arms across her chest. It wasn’t a big chest, but nicely proportioned, well-rounded.
Apparently he’d taken too long to make that determination because when he raised his gaze to hers, she seemed ready to bite his head off. He cleared his throat, loosened his collar, checked his watch.
“Are you staying for dinner?” he asked, trying to change the subject and hoping a chunk of his hide wasn’t on her menu.
She stared at him in thoughtful silence for nearly a minute. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“What?”
“I can get rid of the iguana while you’re here, if you tell my grandmother she can’t stay.”
That was unexpected. He rubbed his jaw, noting he needed a shave. “What’s wrong with her staying here?”
Abby let out a low exasperated groan. “She doesn’t belong here. She belongs at home with me.”
“She lives with you?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else? Husband, kids, boyfriend?” He shrugged when he saw the storm clouds gathering in her face. “Cats? Dogs?”
“None of your business. But no. It’s just Gramms and me.”
“So how come she ran away from home? You ground her or something?”
Sighing, she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Why do I bother?” She got up from the couch, dusted the cookie crumbs from her hands over an ashtray, then faced him with a phony smile. “Wish I could say it was nice meeting you, Mr. Bennett.”
“What are you getting all bent out of shape for? I can’t agree to throw an old lady—” he grimaced “—your grandmother out without understanding why.”
She stared at him again, in that measuring way, as if trying to come to a decision. “Apparently I’m just not enough fun for her. She thinks I’m a fuddy-duddy.”
“Well, you probably could loosen up a bit.”
“Here we go again.” She threw up her hands. “Did I ask for your opinion?”
Max grunted in disbelief. What happened to the old Bennett charm? Women didn’t treat him like this. They smiled and giggled and asked his opinion all the time. “Wouldn’t matter if you had. You’re obviously too stubborn to listen to anyone.”
“Ooh, I’m all Jell-O inside you have me so rattled with that snippy tone.”
Damn independent career women. This is why he stayed clear of them. They were too mouthy, too…immune. “Guess you know my answer. Estelle stays.”
Her smug expression wavered. “I’d hoped you could put our personality conflict aside and see reason.”
“Present me some reason to see. You haven’t told me a thing.”
She blinked, and visibly swallowed. “It’s sort of complicated. Part of it has to do with my involvement in the town, running for mayor…” she shrugged, shifted from one foot to the other, reluctance showing in her every movement “…even being a Cunningham.”
“She doesn’t agree with your running for mayor?”
“Gramms didn’t think I should come back to Bingo after college at all.”
Uneasiness crawled down his spine. This was personal stuff, none of his business. He should stop her. “Why are you here?”
“Do you still live in the place you grew up?”
“Well, yeah, but that’s Boston.”
“And you think Bingo is inferior, so why would anyone stay?”
He winced at the way she made it sound. “Guilty.”
“At least you’re honest.” Her smile was wry. “And at times I may even agree, but if we all, the townspeople here, felt that way, the town would just shrivel up and die.”
Max didn’t see what would be so bad about that but he decided to keep that gem of honesty to himself.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said without censure. “But Bingo isn’t a bad place to grow up. In fact, it’s a pretty damn good place to raise kids. And if anyone feels the need for bright lights and partying until dawn, Las Vegas is less than two and a half hours away.”
“But Estelle feels differently?” he asked, not sure how this information all fit together.
“No, of course not. She just wants someone else other than her granddaughter to carry the banner.”
“Or be the town martyr.”
Abby’s lips thinned. Anger glittered in her eyes. “No one is twisting my arm. I chose to come back of my own free will. Bingo needs me, so does my grandmother.”
Max mentally cringed. That would be good enough reason for him to get the hell out of town. He looked into Abby’s earnest eyes. Not her. She seized responsibility with eager arms. It finally hit him. Only twenty-six and she wanted to be mayor.
He took an uneven breath. Estelle was probably right. Abby needed to get a little selfish, go out and have fun, trudge through a couple of hangovers, get a life.
“Now,” she said with a weary sigh, as if she’d just spilled her guts, which to some degree she had. “Do you understand why I want my wonderful but misguided grandmother to come home? Why she needs to come home?”
Max rubbed the back of his cramped neck. He did not intend on getting in the middle of the women’s personal squabble. Nor could he kick the older woman out against her will. Which meant Abby was about to hate him forever.
5
ABBY WAITED until the waiter removed her plate of uneaten roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and buttered corn before she excused herself from the head table and made tracks for the bathroom.
Just like every other candidate in Bingo’s history, Abby and her volunteers held her fund-raising dinner at the community center, a modest room which her two campaign volunteers had crowded with tables and chairs, and a podium under which three tacky orange balloons floated. Behind that was the “Vote for Abby for Mayor” banner.
If you squinted you could see the crease in the fabric after Abby where Cunningham had been cut out and the banner had been taped back together. Someone had misspelled Cunningham. When one of the volunteers said it didn’t matter because everyone knew who Abby was, Abby didn’t miss the irony.
As she neared the bathroom, she swept her gaze over the room one last time in hopes of seeing her grandmother. She prayed she was here. Abby thought she had seen her briefly while dinner was being served, but she couldn’t figure out where Gramms was sitting, or why she hadn’t taken her place next to Abby at the head table.
Then again, maybe her mind was playing tricks on her and she hadn’t seen Gramms at all. Having gotten only three hours sleep last night was doing strange things to Abby’s concentration.
“Well, Abigail, don’t you look…” Mrs. Bacon took Abby’s hand, then stepped back to size her up “…different.”
Abby patted her hair and smiled at her boss, the middle school principal. “I thought the French twist would make me look older.”
Mrs. Bacon’s critical eye roamed Abby’s face. “You’re wearing more makeup, too. Don’t start looking too sophisticated or folks will think you’re clearing out just like every other young person who graduated from Bingo High in the past ten years.”
Abby frowned. She hadn’t thought of that when she’d decided to go for the more mature look. In truth, she hadn’t thought of much more than her grandmother and Max Bennett, the new thorn in her backside.
“I think most people know me better than that, Mrs. Bacon. I did come back to teach seventh grade just like I said I would.”
“That you did,” the older woman said, nodding her head, her gray, wiry hair barely contained in her customary bun. “And we’re all the better for it.”
Pride swelled in Abby’s chest. Mrs. Bacon’s compliments were few and far between. But more than that, such affirmations reassured Abby that coming back had been the right decision. Not that she ever doubted it, not really. Today had been an exception, a low time. It was one of the reasons she’d put her hair up, and worn makeup—to remind herself she was a grown-up. She hadn’t felt much like one today. All she’d wanted to do was curl into a ball and hide under the covers.
She missed Gramms.
Max Bennett, she wanted to tar and feather.
“By the way, where’s Estelle?” Mrs. Bacon peered around the room. “I thought she’d be sitting at the head table with you.”
“Abby! You have to speak in five minutes!” Trish, one of the volunteers, headed toward them, weaving in and out of the mob of tables and chairs.
