Boo (34 page)

“Give me a second, will you?”

“It’s been fifteen minutes! We’re going to be late!”

“We’ll tell them we’ve been making out all morning, okay?”

“Ooo, good idea,” she heard Garth say.

She looked in the mirror one more time, puckered her lips, and reminded herself that under
no
circumstances could she raise her arms above her head, and that at all times she was going to have to be sucking in. This did
not make
for a good Thanksgiving Day scenario, but she wasn’t there to eat turkey anyway. She was there to win the man of her dreams. She opened the bathroom door.

Garth’s eyes widened with astonishment. “Oh … my …”

“Don’t say a word.” She said this carefully, because with her organs sucked in she could only manage four or five words at a time. “This was your lousy idea. Besides, I think I look a little sexy.”

The corner of Garth’s lip twitched, but he managed to keep a straight face. What did he know about style, anyway? This was a guy who had to punch extra holes in his belt to get one to fit around his nearly nonexistent waist, and who thought they sold Wranglers on Rodeo Drive.

“Well, I guess we should go,” he said, then turned back to her and added, “my love.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Melb said, following him out the front door. She had little breath for conversation.

Oliver Stepaphanolopolis knotted his tie precisely, and for the first time since he was a teenager he put some gel in his hair. He only had a few
wisps on top, but a little gel helped them stick up in a much hipper way. He put on some cologne and then went to his closet, trying to decide which pants to wear. His size 38s made him look fit, but on Thanksgiving Day, who wanted to wear pants one size too small? But for Melb … yes, the 38s.

His heart sank for a moment, remembering that Melb was spoken for. But not in a till-death-do-us-part sort of way. He had to do something. Find the courage somehow to express his feelings for Melb. He’d already waited too long.

He bit his lip and stared into the mirror. Of course, there was one sure way, according to Miss Peeple, to win Melb’s heart: Break up Wolfe and Ainsley. Ainsley would reattach to Garth, and he would be there to sooth Melb’s wounded heart. Ainsley’s words of reassurance that Wolfe was the “one” echoed in his mind. If only he could prove somehow that no one had ever witnessed to Wolfe. Then he’d know for sure, and so would Ainsley.

He shook his head at how complicated things were getting. He just hoped no one got hurt.

Mayor Wullisworth hung up the phone, breathing hard. It was him again. Calling again. And again. Didn’t he understand “no comment”? The mayor paced his kitchen. What exactly did he know? Perhaps nothing if he was still calling. But … but … maybe too much! Anxiously he picked every crumb off the counter.

And then he stopped. He stood up straight. He was no coward. He had not become mayor of Skary by bowing to every bully that came along. In fact, he did have some control over this situation. All he had to do was get Boo back to his old self. Writing those novels again. Knock some sense into the man. Get that pesky editor of his off this tangent. Yes. Easy.

And, as Missy had suggested, if Wolfe knew how
difficult
the
Christian faith was, perhaps … yes, just perhaps Boo would go back to being who he was supposed to be in the first place. And then things would be quiet again.

Quiet—oh how he liked quiet. His fingers moved to beneath the toaster, where many crumbs were to be found.

But how? How would he convince Wolfe Boone of the difficulties of the faith without giving himself away and at the same time sounding like a general twit?

It would have to be in casual conversation, sound genuine, something you’d talk about on Thanksgiving Day. Maybe they could talk about the Bible. Yes! Perfect! He would simply mention the passages that could make a grown man cry. What could a babe in the faith like Boo know about context?

Brushing off his hands, the mayor ran to his study, trying to find his Bible. But he couldn’t. It had been years since he’d used it. Rubbing his temples, he tried to think of what to do. If he thought hard enough, perhaps he could remember enough to make him look good. He found a stack of three-by-five cards. As fast as he could, he began writing down everything he could remember. Who knew if he was getting them exactly right? It would be close enough.

“So? What do you think?”

Goose and Bunny thumped their tails against the hard wood, their eyes bright with doggy wisdom.

“Too soon? I’ll look like a moron if I ask Ainsley to marry me today?”

“Woof!” Bunny said.

Wolfe stared at the ring in his hand. “But why wait? I love her.”

“Woof!” Goose replied.

“You two are a lot of help.” Wolfe sighed and put the ring back in the box. It was nearly noon. He didn’t want to arrive too early but didn’t
want to be late either. He stood up from the bed, examining himself in the full-length mirror. He looked all right, he supposed. He turned back to his dogs.

“Okay, kids. You be good. I promise to bring some turkey back for you.” Then, without further hesitation, he took the ring out of the box and stuffed it in the front pocket of his pants. “If it’s supposed to be, it will happen,” he breathed. It was time to go. But not without a prayer first.

G
UESTS WERE ARRIVING
every two to three minutes, and Ainsley couldn’t have been more pleased. She noticed the way they stopped and looked at the Thanksgiving wreath on the door and the way they raised their noses as they entered the house, each commenting on their favorite smell. The fire crackled in the corner of the living room where most of the guests were gathering, including Wolfe, whom Ainsley found remarkably handsome.

His tall figure towered above the rest, and every once in a while he’d look away from the conversation and smile at her. She melted every time. She’d decided early in the morning to try not to interfere with the day at hand. So much of her wanted to control every moment, to make sure her father behaved himself around Wolfe, to make sure the guests completely enjoyed themselves, to make sure Wolfe felt secure. But she knew she couldn’t do all those things and would just have to enjoy the day and all that it offered … which was so much.

The doorbell rang, and Ainsley answered it. Standing there was Missy Peeple, her arm wrapped around a middle-aged man with dark hair and a dark coat to match. Miss Peeple smiled graciously. Her friend—a man she recognized as being at the church meeting—looked very uneasy.

“Miss Peeple, welcome,” Ainsley said, stepping aside to usher them in. “You brought a guest! How lovely.” She offered her hand. “I’m Ainsley Parker.”

The man said, “Alfred Tennison.”

“I hope it won’t be a bother. This was a last-minute decision,” Miss Peeple said.

“It’s fine,” Ainsley said. “We’ve got more food than we’ll know what
to do with.” She mentally juggled the seating arrangements and hoped no one would mind scooting down on one side of the table. “Everyone’s in the living room. We have plenty of hors d’oeuvres and drinks. May I take your coats?”

Ainsley couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable the poor fellow was. Maybe it was because Missy Peeple was clutching his arm as if she thought it might fall off. She took their coats, hung them in the closet, and watched the odd pair join the crowd.

“Alfred?” The question came from Wolfe. Ainsley caught his surprised expression and stepped into the room to join him.

“Hi, Wolfe,” Alfred extended his hand. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“What are you doing here?”

The chattering crowd hushed to eavesdrop.

“He’s with me,” Miss Peeple said. “We met when he was in town last, and—well, let’s just say we hit it off.” She looked at Mr. Tennison with adoring eyes. “I can see why you like him so much, Mr. Boone.”

Wolfe’s eyes went wide. “You two are dating?”

Missy Peeple was about to say something when Mr. Tennison said, “Well, march us up to the altar already, would you? We’re getting acquainted, let’s just say that.”

Wolfe looked at Ainsley, who could only shrug with bewilderment. Alfred offered a nervous laugh, which seemed enough to break the tension. Ainsley steered the two over to the drink table. After she got them situated, she found Wolfe, who had abandoned the group for a quiet corner of the kitchen.

“Alfred’s my overly ambitious editor,” Wolfe explained. “I can’t believe he’s here. I knew he was in town. Did you know he was coming? I thought he was just lingering, trying to get me to talk to him.”

Ainsley shook her head. “He seems nice enough.”

Wolfe bit his lip. “I guess so. I can’t believe he and Miss Peeple are an item, or whatever you want to call it. It just seems so weird.”

“Well, something must be in the water, because the last two people I would’ve hooked up would be Garth Twyne and Melb Cornforth.” The doorbell rang. “Speaking of, maybe that’s them. Excuse me.”

Ainsley went to the door and opened it. There they stood, Garth’s arms wrapped around Melb’s neck, Melb smiling as though she’d just won a million dollars. “Hi there, you two.”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” they both said.

“Come on in. Can I take your coats?”

Garth slipped his off, but Melb said, “No. Um, no. I’ll keep mine.” She wrapped her arms around herself as though Ainsley might take it anyway.

“Are you sure? It’s plenty warm in here. I’ve got the fire going.”

“I’m
very
cold natured. I wear sweaters in the summer. I sleep with four blankets. I have more wool socks than a sheep. No … um, thanks.”

“Well, of course I want you to be comfortable. The crowd’s in the living room.”

She watched the two hug and kiss their way down the hallway and into the living area. She hoped she wasn’t going to have to watch
that
all afternoon. She went back to find Wolfe, but he was gone. And, she noticed, so was Mr. Tennison.

“She’s a hundred years old, Alfred!” Wolfe said as they stood in Sheriff Parker’s den. Alfred was swishing the ice in his drink, but Wolfe could only stand there and demand more of an explanation.