PROLOG
This is the first part, of two, of the second story in my WHIRLWIND series; resurrected from an old thumb drive. They are unrelated stories with a common theme; each one is based on a short, slightly unusual courtship, with a primary female character who believes that she cannot find love for some reason — and a primary male character determined to prove her wrong. There is no sex in this part.
SOMEONE FOR EVERYBODY – Part 1
CHAPTER 1 — There is a new sheriff in town
Forget the cheerful bar where everyone knows your name. There are still small towns here and there in America where everyone not only knows your name, but also what you had for breakfast, why you are in a bad mood today… and thinks they know how to run your love life better than you do.
Lillian Horner gulped her coffee as she rocketed into the Hollister town limits in a quite elderly pickup truck, which might actually be considered a classic if she was more mechanically inclined and didn’t usually fix things with duct tape, where possible. The worn tires squealed slightly as she made a last second, jerky swerve around Collin Aster as he bicycled by the side of the road delivering papers. If she had looked in the rearview mirror, she would have seen him wave. He was running a little late this morning and she usually blew by him when he was passing Miss Kelly’s driveway a little further down the block.
She skidded to a stop in the lot of the Hollister Metro Diner, open for breakfast and lunch, and jumped out, running up to the door and sliding her key in the lock at exactly 5:45 am. There were two other cars in the lot; Judy Finster, her cook, and Doug Smothers, her first customer every morning. Her waitress, Adele, would be along in five minutes, definitely yawning, possibly in her slippers.
Lillian was only normally rushed as she turned on the lights and flipped the sign to ‘OPEN,’ at least until she saw the large note on the board she had left for herself yesterday. She was catering a late afternoon reception at the city hall for the installation of the new sheriff. She became frantic, and spun around to confront Judy. “Judy, did you…?”
Judy walked past, her long, pale grey hair in a tight bun on the back of her head and already wrapped securely in a hair net. “Already done, Lillian. I finished last night just before going home. Everything is in the fridge, right side back.” She didn’t bother to say, “Relax,” because she knew Lillian well enough to know she wouldn’t.
Lillian, shifting back to merely rushed held open the door so that Doug could shuffle in with his walker. “Good morning, Doug,” she said automatically, not listening to the grunted response. Doug was notoriously cranky before his first cup of coffee; after that he was the sweetest gentleman. He would have a quick breakfast which hadn’t varied in years, and then he would take one of Judy’s blueberry muffins, hot and moist, to his wife of 62 years who was in the county nursing home with Alzheimers. She didn’t remember him, but was much better for the staff when he was around. He would be around at lunchtime on his way back home. She would have a small slice of cherry pie ready to cheer him up. Lillian knew her customers.
The morning flew by, as usual, with the ebbing of the late breakfast customers coinciding almost perfectly with the first inrush of early lunch customers. She waited tables when Adele took a break, and she cooked when Judy took a break, and she tended register, cleaned up young Firth’s ritually dumped baby food, and generally didn’t take a break herself until the last lunch customer said goodbye at about 2:45. After she turned the sign to ‘CLOSED’ and locked the door, she took a deep breath, closed out the register, and went into the kitchen. Adele was just closing the big stainless steel dishwasher, and Judy was scraping the cooking residue off the broad stainless steel stove next to the table-sized grill. When Lillian had bought the diner and inherited its staff she had had enough money to modernize everything, which raised Judy’s morale no end and increased the quality of the food to the point that the diner more than broke even for the first time in a couple of decades. The success had been so great that nearly everyone in town ate here at least once a week and some were regulars you could set your watch by. If old Clyde didn’t show up at 9:15, she had standing orders to call Doc Finster and tell him that Clyde had taken too many of his pills again.
Lillian opened her mouth to speak, but Judy beat her to it. “Everything’s already in your truck. You just have to drive it there and set it up. I’ll be up later to clean up.” Judy looked at her like her mother used to before she went off to the movies with ‘some boy,’ and said, “Try not to take any corners on two wheels and try not to stomp on the accelerator or the brake, the cake is made of flour, sugar, and eggs – not rubber.”
Her employer smiled tiredly. “I’ll try to remember.” Then she went to get changed in her tiny office. When she was done, she paused to look at her faint reflection in the window. Her long brown hair, normally pulled back, was tumbled over her shoulders. Her blue eyes regarded her clothes critically. She wanted to blend in, so she didn’t wear her uniform or anything too professional. She had a navy blue skirt, not too short, and a very light weave, white sweater with a round neck. She looked critically at the reflection and tugged the sweater until all but the most discrete trace of cleavage was gone. She slipped out of her sneakers and slipped into white flats.
“Good luck,” Adele called as she left the diner and climbed into her pickup.
As Lillian swung into the town center parking lot, her eyes took a check of the cars in the lot. She pretty much knew everyone’s vehicle by heart, judge, mayor, pastor, bank president,…. There was an unfamiliar pickup truck, almost as old as hers but at least with paint intact and well-polished, and with an out of state license plate. It must belong to the new sheriff, Lillian guessed as she skidded the last two feet into a parking slot and jumped out. Hurrying in to the building, her arms full of packages, Lillian did a double-take as she passed the unfamiliar pickup truck. PH 2718. The image of a medal was next to the number. A Purple Heart license plate. There hadn’t been one of those in town since her great uncle George, the World War II veteran, had passed away. Uncle George had thought it funny to scare little Lillian with his artificial leg. This puzzled Lillian momentarily, for surely the town wouldn’t hire a sheriff with an artificial limb, as she resumed her hurried rush into the building.
Most of the meeting was a blur to Lillian. She kept refreshments stocked and pursued future business opportunities by hinting to her cousin, the assistant bank manager, that she could quite reliably cater a surprise tenth anniversary party for his wife.
She did pause, along with everyone else, when the mayor cleared his throat over the ancient announcing system. “Alright, as pleasant as this is, and as delicious as the refreshments are – thank you once again, Lillian -,” Lillian smiled and nodded and tried to fade back into the background, since young Belinda Turner was getting a little too close to the cake. ” – and it is a welcome party to our latest citizen, and our new sheriff. Without delaying any further, I take great pleasure in introducing Cameron Holden.”
The applause ranged from polite participation, like Lillian who was still keeping a half eye on Belinda, to unbridled enthusiasm, like Judy Kemper who was a young widow looking hard for a second husband.
Lillian was surprised at the tall, lanky stranger who stood up. He was even taller than her uncle Jack, who had been the high school basketball star in his day, and was now the town judge preparing to swear him in. His shoulders were just as broad as those of Tony Carson, who had been the high school football star and had gone on to bigger things. He had close cropped, dark blonde hair, and blue eyes that didn’t seem to miss anything. Every woman in the room over thirteen automatically noted that he wore the uniform extremely well. Sonya was standing beside her, and Lillian heard her mutter, somewhat breathlessly, “He can put me under house arrest any time.”
An agreeable smile started to form on Lillian’s face, when she caught herself, and she felt the achingly familiar little twist of anger and remorse writhe in her chest as she reminded herself of her shortcomings. She sighed. Sonya was thirty-two, two years older than she was, with blond hair and green eyes, who was single because she had had to take care of invalid parents for years, who had just passed away. Life had passed her by, all the men in town anywhere near her age were married to someone else, but Hollister was her home and she stubbornly refused to leave. A new man in town, especially one like that sheriff, must have made Sonya feel like a castaway when a fully-equipped life boat just happened to wash ashore on her deserted island.
Mayor Horner looked serious, as his cousin, Judge Jack Horner, donned his official robes and lent an air of solemn dignity to what had been a noisy community gathering.
“We welcome Cam Holden to our community, and we trust he will come to appreciate and cherish it as we all do. And trust is the right word. We are trusting him to keep us, and our families, and our property safe. It is with gratitude and pride I accept your offer of service to our community, Cam Holden. An Eagle Scout. A former army captain. A decorated combat veteran with one Silver Star, four Bronze Stars, and a Purple Heart from three tours of duty in Afghanistan. First in his police academy class. His list of awards and accomplishments are long and distinguished… so much so that when I tried to memorize them for this little speech, I forgot to put them back in this here Bible as a cheat sheet, so I’ll just skip ahead.” That elicited a personable chuckle from everyone. While the judge might be Lillian’s uncle by blood, he was the favorite uncle of everyone in town by inclination, and had never come close to losing an election.
Lillian automatically glanced at the sheriff’s left hand as he placed it on the Bible which Uncle Jack was holding. No wedding ring. Not that she was looking, she reminded herself with a heavy heart. It just meant only one new potential customer instead of two or more. Of course that might be a little parochial; in Hollister folks set quite a stake in their wedding rings, but she had heard that other places people didn’t bother or had ‘significant others’ instead of spouses. She shook her head slightly. The pastors of the three churches in town were on the council who voted on the appointment; hiring a sheriff living in sin would be as likely as importing Devil worshipers for a Christmas Pageant.
“Do you, Cameron Holden, solemnly swear to faithfully execute the duties of sheriff of Renner country, to protect and serve its citizens, and uphold the law impartially?”
“I do,” the tall stranger responded with a pleasant, resounding baritone that immediately attracted the church choir director’s notice.
The simple declaration was met by enthusiastic applause and even a few cheers by the assembled citizens. At the very least, they all had a new person to watch, gossip about, and fuss over as they went about their mundane lives in their sleepy town. They surged forward to shake hands.
The applause was Lillian’s cue to start passing out refreshments again, so she turned to the table and began passing small plastic cups of punch along. After a few minutes, it suddenly seemed a lot quieter, and Lillian felt a presence close beside her, and a massive hand, with long slender fingers, gently whisked away the punch cup she had just set down. Turning, Lillian came face to face with the new sheriff. Actually she had to look up considerably since he towered over her. Her ‘welcome new customer’ smile had just started to form when his eyes crept in a stole away her heart. Deep blue and crystal clear, they were two warm beacons which anyone would trust automatically.
From the reaction he was as startled as she at the instant connection, and she opened her mouth to introduce herself… and a single whiff of his masculine scent spun her around dizzily; a faint musky cologne with an edge of clean sweat and a fullness of fresh scrubbed skin and freshly starched uniform. She hadn’t felt this light-headed since her first boyfriend had finally managed to undo the first button on her blouse in the very back row of the drive-in twelve years ago. Her legs trembled ever so slightly, and a rush of hot, damp arousal shivered through her entire body. In the instant before the thick wall of anger and the deep moat of inadequacy she lived her life behind could throw themselves up… the first genuine smile she had had in three years blossomed on her lips and she forgot her reality, forgot her cares, forgot her self-conscious modesty, and she actually reached out to touch his shirt as if to reassure herself that he wasn’t a hallucination.
The ruggedly handsome, clean-shaven face stared down at her, reading her wild emotional wave as easily as if she were a license plate on a suspect’s car, and completely unable to hide his wild, instinctual attraction to her.
As the taut heaviness in her chest rallied her defenses, and she snatched back her hand, some small part of her ego braced itself to be disappointed by some crude male pick-up line, like….
“If I would have known Hollister had a woman as beautiful as you in it, I might have skipped the police academy and come straight here and opened a modeling agency, and knocked on your door first thing,” he said, surprising her that such a deep, quiet compliment could come from such a massive body.
Their all too brief respite from the press of the laughing, chattering, milling crowd faded as the townsfolk flowed back toward their new sheriff. Hemmed in by the table behind her, the sheriff beside her, and the imploding crowd, Lillian couldn’t flee from the consequences of her emotional lapse, so she hid behind her professional smile and bullied her voice into saying, in a casually, friendly tone, “Hello. I’m Lillian Horner. I’m the owner of the Hollister Metro Diner. Open for breakfast and lunch six days a week from 6 to 2:30.” The words were bright, and brittle, and completely at odds with what her body wanted to shout.
The man suddenly blinked, aware that some primal connection had been deliberately and thoroughly cut, and with sense and dignity enough not to scramble after it in public, cleared his throat with just a trace of awkwardness, and took his cue from the look in her own eyes. “I am quite pleased to meet you.” He smiled wryly, like a retired warrior who had fought many battles, military and personal, and added, “Cam Holden… sheriff.” He shifted the small cup to his left hand and held out his right.
Fearful of what she might feel, of what he might feel, if she shook his hand, Lillian grabbed a second cup and handed it to him, saying, “A man your size better take two,” and kicking herself even as she said it. She saw Gina Riley, her best friend since being old enough to know what a friend was, was staring at her, and her uncle was tapping the sheriff on the shoulder and saying something about needing to introduce him to yet more people. And suddenly he was gone and she felt drained and alone again.
The next half hour or so of the reception was even more blurred than the first half hour, with her body being a nearly robotic hostess, while her mind tried to pretend that what had happened – hadn’t, and her heart struggled against its formidable array of scars and callouses. Finally, with a deep breath, Lillian finished cutting the welcome cake, and put the final slice on a small paper plate. Looking up and glancing around she spotted most of the important personages. The mayor would lay subtle claim to the largest piece; the judge would not so circumspectly go for the piece which obviously had the most frosting; and Judy would take the smallest piece, eat it quickly, and then take the smallest piece still left. The guest of honor would probably… ; she glanced around, wondering where the new sheriff was.
There; Gina had the sheriff backed into the far corner of the room, had her hands on her hips, and seemed to be reading him the riot act. The scene looked like the last PTA meeting where Gina had told Emily, the elementary school principal, exactly what she thought of young Tom Kemper’s classroom behavior. Lillian shook her head and caught the judge’s eye. She nodded at the sheriff and then at the ranks of cake pieces. The judge smiled, nodded back, swooped up the piece with the most frosting, and held it aloft. “It’s not a celebration without cake. Would everyone please join me so I don’t feel so guilty – and am not temped to take a second piece.”
The crowd converged on the table like a cloud of chuckling locusts. By quick action Lillian managed to save two pieces, a small one for Gina and a large one for the sheriff, and wended her way through the crowd, and walked over to rescue the new sheriff from Gina’s mysterious wrath. She didn’t want to face him, but her father had always said things like, ‘get right back on the horse.’ She would have to face the man again sooner or later, and if she resolutely pretended that nothing had happened, maybe she could convince him, and possibly herself, that nothing had. “Give the sheriff some breathing room, Gina,” she said, trying to sound like a hostess was supposed to sound.
Gina spun around and smiled brightly. “The sheriff was just promising to be stern with Luke Detwhiler if he keeps practicing with those drums of his after ten o’clock.”
Sheriff Holden nodded with a jerk and smiled broadly. “Very sternly; I am supposed to keep the peace, and that includes peace and quiet.” Then he winked at her from behind Gina’s back. Lillian quelled the small thrill she had, thrust the two pieces of cake at them, and muttered something about keeping the kids from making a mess. Gina threw the sheriff a dark look over the piece of cake. “You won’t forget what I just said, will you sheriff?”
He nodded. “You don’t have to worry. I take it completely to heart.”
A little mystified, but anxious to be away, Lillian excused herself and hurried back to the refreshment table.
CHAPTER 2 — Say it with flowers
A new speed record was set the next morning by the old pickup truck and Lillian’s heavy foot as she bumped the curb in her diner’s parking lot a little after 5:45 the next morning. Leaping out, she unlocked the door as a patient Doug and an impatient Judy stood waiting. She rushed through her morning routine, and heartily wished the pies would stack themselves for a change. Sighing, she wheeled the cart out of the kitchen. Each morning Mrs. Kersheen would drop off a dozen assorted pies, and Lillian would put them in the little refrigerated glass display case just behind the cash register. They would be gone before closing, guaranteed. This was her first chore between seating the first wave of customers, and helping Adele serve the first plates hot from the kitchen,
It was 6:15 and the doorbell jingled and Lillian frowned. Laura Hammerstein was early today. She put on her ‘customer greeting’ face and turned – to find herself face to tie with Sheriff Holden, who was looming over the counter. The new face was unexpected, and the broad smile was somehow disconcerting; no one should be that cheerful this early in the morning. He still looked qood – really good – in the uniform.
“Good morning, Lil,” he said as he squeezed himself onto the stool at the counter which was right next to the register.
Her ‘new customer’ smile faded just a tad, and inside she grumbled, “strike one,” as she forced herself to recover and say, as reasonably as possible, “I prefer, ‘Lillian,’ sheriff.”
Apparently not hearing her, her flipped open a menu and scanned it quickly. “I hear everything is great here, so this may take a while,”
“Well, while you are deciding, I have to keep busy. I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, putting a small glass of ice water and some paper napkin-wrapped utensils in front of him, and hurrying off.
After delivering six breakfasts and taking six more orders, Lillian made it back to the sheriff’s seat by the register, and flipped out her order pad again. “What will it be sheriff?”
“Three eggs, scrambled; two sausage patties; a small order of home fries; a large OJ, and a coffee, black, no sugar.”
She nodded, checking off the items with a flourish. She appreciated a customer who used her time economically during the rush and didn’t dither over menu choices. “Be right up.” She allowed herself a token friendly smile, but hurried off when he started to beam in return. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage him.
Five minutes later she slid the plates onto the counter in front of him, and set down the ketchup. He looked up at her in horror, causing her to take a step back. “What’s the matter?”
“Put ketchup on a work of art like this? I’d rather dye my hair pink.” Then he broke out a boyish grin that seriously threatened to penetrate her forced nonchalance.
“Are you going to pull my leg like this every morning?” she shot back defensively.
He picked up his utensils and neatly sliced up a sausage patty. “If I pull the leg hard enough, does the rest of you come with it?”
At a loss for words, Lillian shook her head, but before she could think of a suitably crushing retort, she noted Doug in his booth, smirking like a Fraternity brother told to guard a door during homecoming behind which legs – and other things – were being pulled. Lillian didn’t need a mirror to know what color her cheeks were. “Pull too hard and I’ll smack that hand with a ladle.” Before he could respond, she swooped away to check everyone’s water.
The next ten minutes Lillian used every excuse to stay away from the register, and dropped off the sheriff’s check when he turned to greet Johan Crowley, the Funeral Director, as he came in.
The sheriff said to her back, “Have a good day, Lil.”
“You, too, Cameron,” Lillian responded, rolling her eyes at the wall. The bell on the door jingled, and she counted to ten before turning around. The patrol car was just backing out of its parking spot. Shaking her head slightly she bussed the counter, noting automatically that he was a neat eater, that he had considerately stacked his dishes, and that he wasn’t cheap – neither leaving a miserly tip, nor a cheesy extravagant one trying to buy favor. Then she did a double-take, staring at the side of the register.
There was a tiny glass vase with a single, small, pink carnation.
She looked around, wondering where it had come from. In the first booth by the door, Mrs. Gallagher caught Lillian’s eye and startled her by giggling like a little girl.
“Did you put this here, Mrs. Gallagher?”
Genevieve Gallagher’s wrinkled face actually blushed, “Certainly not, dear.”
“Did the sheriff leave it?” Lillian asked suspiciously.
“I didn’t see anything, dear. Is my Belgian waffle ready?”
“What? Oh, I’ll check.” With a quick glare at the innocent little blossom, Lillian went into the kitchen.
The sheriff strode into the diner at 12:15, and sang out quite cheerfully, “Hi, Lil. Day looks good,” as he folded his long legs under the counter at the stool right next to the register.
“That’s Lillian – Cameron.”
“That’s Cam, Lil,” he volleyed the conversation cheerfully, picking up a menu.
After studying his expression for a moment she prompted him grudgingly, “Thanks for the flower.”
He folded the menu with a flourish and looked at her with an obviously theatrical expression of puzzlement. “What flower?” His tone was so perfectly innocent that Lillian could have closed her eyes and seen a little boy sitting there with wide, teary eyes – and a mouth smeared with the remnants of forbidden chocolate cake.
“That one,” she said, pointing to the tiny glass vase by the register less than an arm’s length from his stool.
He looked at it, and she could barely detect the twitch of a smile. “That? I assumed that was from a secret admirer.” Then his boyish expression went through puberty very rapidly and he grinned and raised an eyebrow. “After all, the most beautiful woman in Hollister probably has the beaus lined up and taking numbers.”
Freezing, Lillian stared at him. She could feel her face glowing like sunburn on a merciless desert. Emotions – anger, regret, frustration – warred inside her. The deep breath rattled in her throat and throbbed painfully in her chest. She managed not to scream at him, some tiny fragment of rationality was yelling that throwing something at the sheriff in broad daylight in public would make her the subject of town gossip for the next month, and possibly get her arrested. The expression on his face shouted that he was bracing himself for anything, and that he hadn’t expected the intensity of her body language. The little yell in the back of her mind hurried to add that he wasn’t from here, that he didn’t know what she’d been through, and was probably just trying to make time for a free dessert or something typically police.
Swallowing hard with a visible gulp she managed to say in a voice which wasn’t too shaky, “Don’t say things like that. I’ll will have Adele take your order in a minute.” Having managed to force that declaration out in a non-hysterical tone, Lillian turned, her back stiff enough to iron curtains on, and fled into the kitchen.
Lillian took refuge in her tiny office and closed the door before the tears came. She had been. She had been the most beautiful girl in Hollister. She had been Miss Strawberry Festival. She had gotten to the state pageant finals. She had been Homecoming Queen. At 27 she had been the last unmarried girl from her graduating class in high school. She’d had the three most handsome guys in the county nearly at blows over her, and had enjoyed every second of the attention lavished on her. And then it had happened; a lousy decision which had shattered her life like a cannon shell through a picture window. John, Colin and Sean had melted away like yesterday’s ice cubes, and she bought the diner from her great aunt and hid here. It was safe and hers and no one bothered her – until he came along.
She managed to staunch the tears and hastily repaired her makeup, and went back out into her diner, pointedly ignoring the sheriff as much as possible.
From that day Lillian found that her comfortable, well-worn routine had been replaced by the sheriff’s new routine. He would enter the diner promptly at 6:15 every morning, the old regulars would greet him and he would greet them as he sat down. And he would invariably sit at the counter on the stool right next to the cash register, making his presence in her life as unavoidable as it was unwelcome. He continued to call her, Lil, which was a maddening irritation as minor as it was annoying, like an itch on her back which was just out of reach of a good scratch no matter what she did. Her only revenge was seeing him wince slightly whenever she called him, Cameron; which she did as often as she could.
During the course of his meal, he would find some way to compliment her; though he stayed away from the word ‘beautiful,’ going so far as to remark how efficient she was one morning. He would also make some casual remark about some town event, and equally casually ask her if she would like to accompany him to it. Lillian would parry the compliment as gracefully as possible, and then politely and firmly decline the date.
And she avoided, at all costs, touching him. She had learned that quickly. On his second morning in the diner, he had handed her the money for his meal, and she had taken it without thinking. His fingers had grazed hers and the tremor had run up her arm like an electric shock and then had dived into her heart like a wildfire before a gale. Only the matching throbbing ache in her chest kept her focused enough to keep from dropping the coffee pot in her other hand. Her reaction startled the sheriff, and he had raised an eyebrow when she had carefully slid the change across the counter; but at least he hadn’t commented.
Even more maddening was the flower. Every morning, sometime between the sheriff entering the diner and his leaving, the flower would be changed out. Each morning was different; a violet, a daisy, a sweetheart rose, a sprig of forsythia – something which made it obvious that the flower had been changed.
And she could never catch him making the change, nor see where he hid it before he made the change. One morning she went so far as to walk all the way around him, pretending to check the door, the sign in the window, the bulletin board on the wall, and the back of the register, to see if he was keeping anything on his back, or tucked in his belt or shoe, even. He had blithely ignored the inspection and eaten his breakfast, and, in the three seconds it had taken her to get back behind the counter, the flower was different.
And every morning, just after the door closed behind the sheriff, her customers would chuckle and not look her in the eye for the next fifteen minutes. When she tried asking someone about the flower, they would look at her and say something inane like, “What flower?” Usually they were grinning like school kids being asked to rat out their best friend in a school prank.
CHAPTER 3 — May I cut in?
After three weeks she realized that the diner was a lot more crowded between 6:00 and 7:00 am, and between 12:00 and 1:00, than it had been before, and on occasion people would have to wait to be seated. Her annoyance at the sheriff was beginning to get inflamed as the entire town seemed to view their repartee as a spectator sport.
That afternoon the sheriff had come in at 12:30 instead of 12:15, though by 12:25 at least three people had mentioned to Lillian that he had had to take care of a tandem truck which had gotten off the wrong exit of the Interstate and stopped just a few yards short of an overpass bridge that was at least a foot too low for it. He smiled as usual, called her ‘Lil’ as usual, and winced only slightly when she called him ‘Cameron’ – as usual. He ordered a turkey club, but before Lillian could walk away he added, “And I would like some information on the side.” He smiled and his eyes gathered hers up again, effortlessly. Lillian, surprised and wary, noted sourly that his eyes should be registered weapons, as least as far as women were concerned.
“The pavilion in the town park is huge. Where did it come from?”
Unsure as to where he might be going, Lillian slid the order slip onto Judy’s in-tray and turned back. Her eyes swept the rest of the customers. No one was clamoring for anything and Adele had the floor under control, so she had a minute or two for pleasantries. “There was a couple, the Kremers, who retired to the town about 40 years ago, and loved it here. Nobody suspected the size of the nest egg they retired with until they passed away and left a lot of money for the town to build that pavilion in the park. People can book it for events at the town hall.”
Lillian nodded. “More than enough for the junior/senior prom, or the biggest anniversary party, or the occasional wedding. I cater about half the events.”
“There are posters up about an event tonight.”
Lillian fought a smirk. She knew where this was going now, and she was going to be ready with her, ‘No.’ Feeling one up, she smiled back. “Every second Friday of June, July, August and September there’s a town dance, rain or shine.” When he wasn’t being… intrusive… he was quite easy to talk to; and, unlike most guys, paid attention during a conversation. She reminded herself he was a police officer and a guy, and she now knew where it was going, and that anything she said might be used against her; so she was being very careful of what she said.
“You cater those?”
“No,” she responded, checking again to make sure that she had no impatient customers. She was slightly irked that the nearest customers were ignoring their conversation attentively. “Everyone brings something to share; sort of a potluck. But I organize the refreshment table.” He smiled. Here it comes, she thought.
“Order is up,” he said, pointing to the counter behind her.
“What? Oh.” Distracted, Lillian turned to pick his order off the counter below the kitchen window. When she turned back, she matched the sheriff’s smile with an exasperated frown. “Maybe I’ll see you there tonight,” he said, casually, as he started to eat the sandwich.
Lillian kept a wary eye on the sheriff through lunch, wondering when he was going to ask her to the dance, or at least ask her for a dance. But he ate quietly, thanked her politely, paid and tipped exactly as usual, and left without a single proposition. For some obscure reason she felt vaguely — disappointed.
Lillian went to the dance in the park just like she always did, because that was what everyone did; everyone who wasn’t bedridden or terminally angry with someone else sure to be there. Someone had to look after the refreshments, and it was the perfect opportunity to make connections for catering jobs. Todd Henderson was sure to be there. He owned the Pub on the Square, the only restaurant in the town, open for dinner only. So, secure with her business case, she parked her truck in the municipal lot and Judy helped her carry the makings of the punch over to the refreshment table. She hugged her father, the high school math teacher, and mixed the punch and put in the sherbet scoops to keep it cool. The townsfolk wandered over, at first a trickle, then a flood.
Each family brought an offering for the table; Todd brought a bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels; Evan, the owner of the Iron Plow Bar, put out a bowl of honey roasted peanuts next to the stand where he sold cold beer at a dollar a cup; Colleen Enders brought a basket of what she called ‘honey sticks,’ which would be empty before the band even started; and Sally would bring fresh fruit and a yogurt dip, always forgetting the ice to keep it cold – though Lillian always remembered. Three years ago, the venerable and revered Mrs. Sturtevant, keeper of the table since time out of mind, had, without warning or fanfare, stood aside and told Lillian to take over. It had been her responsibility ever since. Not that Lillian complained; it got her out of the house and around people and if she chatted enough she could look at all of the dancing couples with no more than wistful regret. As each bowl and plate of food was presented to her, she placed it on the table.
Looking up, she saw the sheriff. Even without a uniform he was easy to recognize, standing well above the crowd, and looking slightly uncomfortable in khaki slacks and an open neck shirt. Casually, and as unobtrusively as possible, she turned her back and rearranged the bowls slightly and considered her handiwork, wondering if he had brought anything, or if he…
The massive hand with the long, strong fingers laid a plate on the table beside her. It was mounded with a neatly stacked pile of butterscotch swirl cookie bars; her favorite. Lillian successfully fought off an urge to try the confections, making her reaching hand pick up the plate instead and move it down the table. “These go with the desserts,” she managed to say brusquely.
“I’ll remember that,” he chuckled. “It’s nice to see you someplace other than the diner or hurtling down the street in your truck.”
Waiting for him to ask her for a dance, she had a polite but definite, ‘No,’ all ready to fend off the request; then she realized that he had already moved away from the table. She turned, surprised, and saw him being maneuvered through the crowd for introductions by Jodi Belson. Annoyance declared war on relief and began a full scale battle in her heart. She was relieved he hadn’t asked her for a dance, really, she was; but she was also disappointed he hadn’t given her the chance to turn him down. It felt good to be asked, even if…
“Going to dance with the sheriff tonight?” Gina asked, stepping up beside Lillian, while tapping at her microphone and adjusting her singer’s costume – a long pale green skirt with a rough-spun, cream-colored peasant blouse. Gina was the soloist for the community band. She had a pleasant voice which got everyone moving, but most entertaining for the crowd were her alternately outrageous flirtations and horrific putdowns she lavished on the band’s percussionist – her husband of eleven years.
Starting, Lillian realized she had been staring after the sheriff like a lovelorn puppy, and hurriedly turned to give Gina a half-hearted scowl. “I don’t want to encourage him. He flirts enough when he eats at the diner as it is.”
“Tell me you don’t enjoy the flirting,” Gina murmured back, with just a trace of wry sarcasm, “and I might even believe you,” then she added, “after more than a few beers, anyway.”
Groping for a retort, and acutely conscious of her romantic shortcomings, Lillian barely managed to clear her throat before she noticed Sonya nearly tackle the sheriff in the milling crowd, and drag him toward her family. Her throat tightened some more around a sudden lump.
“Well,” Gina continued, seemingly unaware of the conflicting emotions exploding inside her friend like the finale of a holiday fireworks display. “You may be right. Dancing with him, here, tonight, is too public. Though if you showed him what a terrible dancer you are, he might just lose interest.”
Outraged, Lillian tore her eyes away from Cameron being introduced to Sonya’s remaining extended family across the pavilion. The look of exasperation on Gina’s face stopped her long enough for Gina to add, “Maybe if you went out with him, quietly, privately, just as friends, you could have a little talk, explain things to him, and send him on his way.”
Having a vivid flashback of the first time they had met, and then a flashing series of memories of his smiles and flirtations, she drew herself up indignantly and said quietly, “A man like Cameron isn’t looking for a quiet, platonic friendship; he’s looking for a girlfriend… or a wife. And I’ve had enough of being hurt; one date would be one too many. I won’t do that to myself.”
“Oh, its a first name basis now, “Gina observed, infuriating Lillian further. “And I thought he preferred ‘Cam’ or ‘sheriff’.” Before her friend could protest the unfairness of the daily name duel, Gina smiled brightly and said, “I’m on. See you at the break.”
Within minutes the band was in action and Gina was in full voice. The wall flowers gravitated to the tables along the sides to eat and drink and make merry conversation. The volume of the entertainment was perfect; loud enough to reach clearly to every corner of the pavilion, but not so loud that conversation was a frustration. The dancers moved as the spirit took them on the large open floor before the stage. The songs and the music spanned a century or more, and there was a great generational migration as different age groups claimed the floor to celebrate familiar tunes and attempt to recapture memories. After an hour, the band gave Gina a short break and was exploring 40’s Swing. Not that she was watching, but Lillian noticed that the sheriff wasn’t dancing much, and that only to be polite. At least, that was how it looked to her. Wondering when – if – he was going to ask her to dance, she kept busy and made sure that….
“You wouldn’t happen to have a dance to spare for your old Dad, now would you?”
She turned and smiled skeptically. He looked like a shy boy at a school dance, an illusion only slightly compromised by his rapidly thinning grey hair. “You haven’t danced with me since the Father and Daughter dance in my junior year at high school.”
“Then I’m terribly behind.” He offered her an arm. Smiling, she decided the refreshment tables could survive a few minutes of inattention, and she allowed him to lead her onto the floor.
She was actually enjoying the twirling and spinning dance when….
“Would you mind if I cut in?” a terribly familiar baritone voice beside them cut through the music and the chatter.
“Why, I think that would be alright, sheriff,” her father responded with suspicious promptness.
Lilian shot a glare at her father; an expression suitable for grotesque bugs and particularly loathsome traitors. He grinned guiltily and beat a hasty retreat off the dance floor. Turning to the sheriff, she hesitated a moment, and then nodded with stiff formality, avoiding his gentle, smiling eyes. She had been set up, and didn’t want to make a scene, and at least it wasn’t a slow dance.
With numerous wheezes and twangs, the band skidded off of the 40’s swing dance and settled into a popular slow dance rhythm. Gina began to croon ‘Breathe;’ failing to sound like Faith Hill, but wringing every last ounce of emotion from the song she could. Lillian felt her face redden, and hesitated just long enough that the sheriff could wrap her hand with his, nearly encircle her back with his right arm, and pull her gently but firmly to him, their legs intertwining. To her soaring discomfort, she realized that they fit together perfectly; her head could rest right under his chin, their legs moved around each other without a bump; and her body, caring not a whit what her brain was struggling with, followed his as metal clings to a magnet.
Her last dance had been more than three years ago, when Sean had found out about… her operation… and had smiled like a wax dummy, his eyes giving lie to his mouth saying it didn’t matter. And within a week his phone calls and notes and flowers had dried up and blown away, and she had heard through a friend of a friend that he had been seen in Morrisville ‘accidently’ bumping into Jennifer Ellis. And he must have told Sean and Colin, because they had not only stopped calling, but actively avoided her on the street, and, and,…and, the effort to support the hurt and the anger was just too great, and, and,… she felt a tear forming in the corner of her eye, and her body instinctively ducked her head against his chest to hide it. A deep breath of cologne, smooth and mellow as aged cognac, left her at the mercy of loneliness and attraction which fought in her painfully throbbing chest, and she was lost in the rush.
Her body buzzed with the heat that spread through it from the long, strong fingers wrapped around hers, from the firm chin nestled in her hair, from the muscular arm supporting her back. The heat filled her up, overflowed her; heat that started to pulse like a heartbeat, heat that pounded in her ears like storm surf on a rocky coast, heat that made her head dizzy and her legs weak. A hot, heavy, bright longing settled low in her belly and of its own accord her arm tried to pull him even closer.
The song trailed into graceful, poignant silence. Applause rose from the spectators, unheard by either of them.
“That was…,” Cameron started to murmur.
Lillian was trembling against his chest. She knew if she looked into his eyes, she wouldn’t turn into a pillar of salt, she’d turn into a pillar of Jell-O, and melt all over his arms, and he would kiss her, he would, right in front of the entire town. And she’d kiss him back, she wouldn’t be able to help herself.
She couldn’t stand another betrayal; she wouldn’t put herself through that again. She managed to mumble a horribly garbled, “Thanks for the dance,” and pushed herself away and half ran, half stumbled, unseeing, off the dance floor toward the restrooms, the closest haven to recover her composure.
“… an incredible dance,” Cameron sighed.
Jodi and Sonya’s glares followed her to the restroom door. On the stage, Gina rolled her eyes and huffed her frustration. Lillian’s father contemplated his fate, wincing as the thought of spending the next few weeks in water which wouldn’t be just hot but scalding hit him. The rest of the town attentively ignored the byplay sympathetically.
CHAPTER 4 — Hometown gossip network
The next morning in the diner Lillian avoided the sheriff as if his eyes were death rays and his breath was laced with bubonic plague. She went so far as to order Adele to wait on him; and ignored her muttered grumblings, from being bossed by her boss.
And she still couldn’t catch the sheriff changing out the flower, though she knew exactly when it happened, because she was talking to Doug, who proceeded to snort into his orange juice to the point she thought he was choking. When she turned around, the sheriff was gone, there was money beside the plate, and there was a new flower beside the register – a single red sweetheart rose. She couldn’t bring herself to throw it out, though she actually tried. She settled for saying a quick prayer that life would get back to normal as soon as possible; and decided she would catch the sheriff in his flower delivery act one way or another.
One morning, six weeks after the sheriff’s first visit, she spent the entire time standing behind the register, staring at the sheriff as he ate. She made short, pithy responses to all of his conversational sallies and didn’t take her eyes off of him. Service was a lot slower that morning, since she wasn’t helping Adele or responding to any of Judy’s requests in the kitchen. This didn’t appear to distress her customers too much; they sipped their coffee, tea or juice, as the case might be, and watched the two as if they were locked in mortal combat on a reality television show. The sheriff didn’t betray, by the slightest flicker, any concern about being Lillian’s sole focus, nor did he seem to be anxious or hurried at all.
He ate his breakfast, neither faster nor slower than usual, and asked her politely if she would care to see the newly opened movie at the town theater. She declined, stiffly but politely, as she had every invitation to every movie, play, and community event he had brought up every day for the past six weeks. Her eyes darted to the clock. Two minutes. The sheriff was just wiping his mouth. “Wonderful breakfast as always,” he remarked casually, reaching for his wallet. Lillian felt a surge of triumph and allowed a slight smile to grace her lips. Either he wouldn’t be able to change the flower, or he’d give in and change it in front of her; either way she figured she’d have won. Every seat in the diner was filled this morning, and everyone was pretending so hard that they weren’t watching that the air seemed to throb.
A massive clatter thundered out of the kitchen behind her. Crying out, leaping upward, and twisting around, Lillian took the three steps to the kitchen door in a fraction of a heartbeat, certain that Judy was, if not dead, than seriously maimed. She hadn’t heard that much noise since lightning had struck her house when she was seven. She flung open the door as far as it would go, only to find it partially blocked by one of the huge oven racks, with Judy standing behind it looking annoyed.
“Are you okay,” Lillian gasped, her shrill breathlessness advertising that her heart had only just started beating again.
“Clumsy, but okay,” Judy grumbled, hefting the heavy rack up off the floor. “Just thought I’d clean the blasted thing and next thing ‘crash!’ Probably all the cakes fell, too,”
Lillian started to take her relief out on Judy when some small part of her noted that the oven and deep sink were on the same side of the kitchen – the opposite side of the kitchen. She spun around. The sheriff’s patrol car was pulling out of its usual spot, the exact cost of breakfast and the usual tip were set beside his nearly clean and neatly stacked place setting… and a tiny sprig of bluebells waved aloft from the tiny glass vase by the register, where a small sprig of honeysuckle had been just one loud noise ago.
She glared at the flower, glared at the customers – all of whom were eating or drinking intently, and turned and glared at Judy’s back as she toted the rack over to the sink and started the water. As her mood soured, she could swear she saw Judy’s shoulders shaking slightly, possibly from the effort of not laughing. Had the sheriff gotten the entire town in a conspiracy against her, she wondered? Feeling increasingly isolated and misunderstood, she determined to win this silly little contest between them, no matter what.
The next morning, Lillian skidded into the parking lot and unlocked and opened the diner at precisely 5:45. Her expression, however, was that of an ambassador about to deliver a declaration of war. The traitor, Judy, shuffled in behind her, yawning and heading straight for the kitchen. As soon as the kitchen door shut, she turned around, an almost manic smile on her face, and held the door for Doug.
“Good morning, Doug. Why don’t you sit at the counter for a change, right here by the register?”
For a moment the quite elderly Doug Fenster looked like he usually did when suddenly realized he should have put new batteries in his hearing aid. Then, hunched over his walker, he shot an almost horrified look. “I can’t sit there. That’s the sheriff’s seat.”
Lillian’s temper went from nothing to explosive in the blink of an eye, and she was just about to snap that it was NOT the sheriff’s seat, it had no name on it, was not fenced off, and certainly did not belong to him, when she was brought up short by Doug’s next remark as her shuffled to his usual booth. “Though he might not be in this morning, what with going to the hospital last night.”