Go, Ivy, Go! (31 page)

“That’s very considerate of you.”

“I didn’t think to leave it when I was at your son’s place, but I can just go back and drop the glove off there. Then you can pick it up when you’re here again.”

“I really miss that glove,” Mac said. “It was my favorite. And I may not get back up that way for a while.”

“Maybe I could mail it to you?”

“Well, I’m kind of on the move. Maybe we could meet somewhere? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“I guess that depends on where you are.”

“I’m in Kansas.”

I wondered what he was doing in Kansas, but I decided not to ask.

He gave me a reason anyway. “I was, uh, coming back to see about that glove. It’s a great glove. I really miss it,” he repeated.

“Where would be a good place to meet?”

“I was just looking at the map. Let’s see . . . How about a little town called Abner
? Have you ever heard of it? It’s over on the west side of Nebraska.”

I’d never heard of it, but I said, “I’ll find it. But how will we locate each other there, so I can give you the glove?”

“There must be a post office. How about we meet right in front of it? I’m not sure how long it will take me to get there, but if I get there first, I’ll wait.”

“Okay. If I get there first, I’ll wait.”

***

I stayed in the motel that night. I didn’t quite make it to Abner the next day and spent another night in a motel. About mid-morning the following day I pulled into the small town. The post office was easy enough to find, right next door to the courthouse, with an enormous flag snapping in the breeze. And there was Mac’s red Toyota pickup
parked out front. I parked a couple spaces behind it.

Mac was sitting on a low concrete wall that circled the courthouse lawn. I got out of my Camry, remembering at the last minute to grab the old glove. It looked even more grubby and greasy than it had when I found it. I held the glove out to him when I walked up to him.

“Here’s your glove.”

Mac slid off the wall. He was in a blue polo shirt and his familiar khaki shorts, his knobby knees showing. I tried not to think that I’d always found those knobby knees endearing.

“Hey, thanks. I really missed that glove.”

The glove had a hole in the thumb, I saw now, but that didn’t keep Mac from smoothing it on his hand as if it were a long-lost treasure. He made a fist in it and flexed his fingers. “That was really nice of you to take it all the way to Wolf Junction for me.”

“I met your son. And the addition on the house looked—” I grabbed the all-purpose word that seems to get used for everything from a good taco to a rocket roaring into space. “Awesome.”

“We weren’t quite finished when I left, but I was . . . concerned about that glove. Like I told you, I was headed back to Madison Street to see about the glove.”

“Where’s your motorhome?”

“Well, I don’t have it now. I sold it.”

“You
sold
it?”

A lawyer-looking guy in a suit passed us and turned toward the steps to the courthouse. A farmer-type guy in faded denim overalls, with a glum look on his face, was with him. A skinny reddish-brown dog ambled down the sidewalk from the opposite direction.

“This isn’t the best place to talk about this. Maybe we could go have a cup of coffee or something?” Mac suggested.

I guess I was feeling stubborn and grumpy. My back still had impressions from what had felt like old corn cobs i
n the mattress at last night’s motel. I folded my arms. “I think anything we have to say can be said right here.”

“I suppose so. Well, it’s like this. I’m a man. We hate to admit it, but men aren’t always right. Sometimes we make mistakes.”

“We all make mistakes,” I agreed cautiously.

“I made a big one. I found that I didn’t want to be on the road without you. I didn’t want to be in Montana without you. I don’t want to be
anywhere
without you.” He poked his thumb through the hole in the glove. “I wasn’t coming to Madison Street about this stupid old glove. In fact, it isn’t even my glove.”

“It isn’t?”

“I found out spending my life running around the country, if I had to do it without you, wasn’t what I wanted anymore.” He looked up and met my eyes. “Ivy, I was coming back to ask you . . . to try to persuade you . . . to marry me. If Madison Street is where you want to be, that’s where I want to be too. I won’t need a motorhome there.
If you’ll marry me.”

“Mac, that’s sweet. I appreciate it—”

“But you don’t want to do it?”

“Well, there’s a problem. I don’t have the house now. I sold it to Eric and Tasha.”

“Ivy, you
sold
the house? Why? It was your
home.
”

“I thought it was. But without you, I found out it . . . wasn’t. It was just a lonely old house. And I didn’t really drive all the way to Montana just to bring you that dirty old glove. I wented to tell you that if you wanted to be on the road, I did too. I figured, if I had to, maybe I’d ask you
to marry me
.”

We
considered both
those statements for a moment. The wandering dog stopped to sniff where dogs always seem to want to sniff.

Finally Mac said, “Let me get this straight. I sold my motorhome so I could be with you on Madison Street. You sold the house on Madison Street so you could be on the road with me.”

“Maybe we have a communication problem,” I suggested. “Or maybe we’re a couple of stubborn old geezers.” Caught in a bad melodrama.

“Maybe we are.” He grabbed me by the arms. “Or maybe we’re just a couple of people in love.”

Oh, yes!

“Because I love you, Ivy Malone.”

“I love you, Mac MacPherson.”

So right there in downtown Abner, with the flag flapping and the dog sniffing, Mac wrapped his arms around me and spun me into a breathless whirl that ended in a great kiss. Then he dropped to one knee in front of me. “Will you marry me?”

No communication problem here. “Yes!”

He jumped up. Another kiss. Although inhibited a bit by the dog sitting on Mac’s foot.

“But what will we do?” I asked. “You don’t have a motorhome. I don’t have a house. We’re homeless!”

“We can find another home,” Mac said.

“We can get another motorhome and search until we find the perfect place to put down roots together.”

Mac considered that. “Somewhere not too big,” he said.

“Not too small.”

“Not too hot.”

“Not too cold.”

I thought about past places we’d been, including Madison Street, and what had happened in several of them. “No dead bodies.”

“No murders,” Mac agreed.

“Will we ever find the just-right place?”

“Don’t you always say, The Lord will provide.”

“Yes. The Lord will provide.”

What will he provide? Good question. With the Lord, you never know what he may have in mind, or what twists and turns he’ll take you through to get you there!

What I did know was that he’d already provided. He’d taken the Braxtons out of our lives and brought us to each other. Mac wrapped his arms around me again, and we smiled at each other.

“When did you have in mind for this marrying?”

“The time is
now,
” Mac said.

Oh, yes! We might be without a physical place of residence, but I’d never felt more h
ome.

And a wife is surely entitled to know all the details about a mysterious blue tattoo, isn’t she?

End

WHAT’S COMING NEXT?

The Mac ‘n’ Ivy Mysteries

EARLIER BOOKS IN THE IVY MALONE MYSTERIES SERIES:

Invisible

In Plain Sight

On the Run

Stranded

OTHER BOOKS BY LORENA McCOURTNEY Available as e-books.

THE ANDI McCONNELL MYSTERIES:

Your Chariot Awaits

Here Comes the Ride

THE JULESBURG MYSTERIES:

Whirlpool

Riptide

Undertow

THE CATE KINKAID FILES MYSTERIES

Dying to Read

Dolled Up to Die

Death Takes a Ride

BOOKS NOT PART OF A SERIES

Three Secrets (Novella)

Searching for Stardust

Yesterday Lost