Luck of the Draw (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 1) (23 page)

Liz:
 
I don’t know what made me just say that, or press SEND for that matter, but *please* ignore any untoward
remarks I might blather from now on.

Jim:
 
Are you kidding? No way. Your true colors are shining through. Are you SURE I don’t know you? Quick—who shot JR?

Liz:
 
You mean from the TV show Dallas? I don’t know.

Jim:
 
That’s okay.
Neither do I. A little before my time. But I’m signing off anyway. For all I know you’re sixteen. Or married. Or a guy... (Alex? Please tell me it’s not you.)

Liz:
 
I’m not Alex.
And before
you sign off... why would you ask me a question you didn’t know the answer to?

Jim:
 
You mean about Dallas?
I figured if you knew the answer it would date you. If you didn’t even know who JR was, it would date you in the other direction. See?

Liz:
 
Tricky
.
Now you know I’m over 20 and under 40. If it makes you feel any better, I AM female, single and, just for the record, NOT related to you.

Jim:
 
Cross your heart?

Liz:
 
And hope to die.

Jim:
 
Okay, Susan, I’m telling Alex you’re posing as a single woman to score points with all these calendar guys. Tsk! Tsk (What’s a time-out, anyway? Sounds naughty.)

Liz:
 
Stop. I said I was sorry about the time-out comment. (I’m not Susan.)

Jim:
 
Hey, I’m not the one that brought it up. Don’t point fingers at me. I was just asking for advice... You’d think after all we’ve been through together, Beth, you’d be nicer to me.

Liz:
 
I’m not Beth either.

Jim:
 
Are you sure?

Liz:
 
Pretty sure. How would I know? A secret mole? Tattoo?

Jim:
 
Hey, I’m not telling.

Liz:
 
Neither am I.

Jim:
 
Fair enough. Can you tell me if you’re going to the fireworks tomorrow night?

Liz:
 
And that will narrow it down... how?

Jim:
 
I can rule out any blind women I know.

Liz:
 
You’re hopeless.

Jim:
 
Not entirely. I’m hoping we chat again soon.

Liz:
 
Why?

Jim:
 
You’re funny?

Liz:
 
Is that a question?

Jim:
 
Only if you don’t return the sentiment.

Liz:
 
LOL. You’re charming, Jim Pearson.

Jim:
 
So are you, Lizzie.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
____________________

“F
LOOF IT A LITTLE MORE,” Ruth Pearson instructed, eyeing the red, white and blue swag critically.

“
Floof?
Grams, that isn’t even a word! It looks fine.” Grace pushed her hair petulantly off her face. “Can we be done? It’s hot.”

Ruth frowned. If she were a few years younger, she’d be balancing on the ladder herself.
Then
it would be floofed properly. As it was, she had to depend on the reluctant help of her granddaughter.

“Fine. Come down. But if anyone comments on the limp and sorry state of that swag, I’ll point them to you.”

Grace descended the stepladder and wiped her brow. “The only limp and sorry thing they’ll be commenting on will be the float riders. What is it with this heat?”

Ruth fanned herself lightly with her parade schedule. Fine, it was a
tad
hot and humid. It was to be expected. It was July. Young people weren’t nearly as hardy as they were in her day. “Get yourself a cool drink and freshen up,” Ruth offered charitably. “You have twenty minutes. Don’t forget to change!”

Ruth pressed her lips together as Grace disappeared into the crowd milling around the athletic fields waiting for the parade to start. The average person would see chaos. To Ruth it was a well-synchronized, if not well-oiled, machine. She’d been in charge of organizing the town’s parade for twenty years.

“Grams! Sorry we’re late.” Rachel jogged over.

Ruth smiled with satisfaction as she spied Rachel with Kate a few steps behind.  “Right on time. So glad you could come, Kate. I always think it’s more interesting to have a float with
people
on it. Don’t you?”

Rachel hoisted herself onto the back of the pickup. “Kate’s never ridden a float before.”

Ruth looked to Kate. “You haven’t? Oh, you’ll have fun. Besides, a float promoting Gifts for the Greater Good will get a whole lot more attention with three attractive young ladies waving from it!”

Ruth noticed Kate’s cheeks flush prettily against the navy tank and skirt she wore. Rachel looked fresh and lovely in an all-white tennis outfit.

A few minutes later, Ruth pursed her lips as Grace strode through the crowd in a red tank and a matching pair of shorts. “Young lady, just what is the inseam on those shorts?”

Grace looked down and shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Well, maybe next year you’ll wear something a little more modest. No time to change now.”

Grace leapt onto the tailgate of the pickup. “I thought the whole point was to draw people’s attention.”

“The right kind of attention, young lady.”

Grace rolled her eyes as she made room for Kate and Rachel on the bench beside her. She hooked her thumb toward Kate. “How’d you rope her into this?”

“Kate,” Ruth said—wondering if she should reposition Grace to a lower seat to make her long thighs less, um, obvious—“was gracious enough to be the blue in my women of red, white and blue.”

“This is so sexist,” Grace harrumphed.

“Then why are you doing it?” Rachel popped one of the candies they had for the parade-goers into her mouth.

“If I weren’t getting fifty bucks, I wouldn’t.”

“Grams is paying you fifty bucks?”

Grace frowned and lowered her voice. Thankfully, Ruth’s hearing was better than anyone suspected, as she was able to just hear Grace’s whispered reply. “Hell, no. Jeff Dayton is. He said he’d pay me fifty bucks if I wiggled my booty and blew him a kiss on our way past the police station.”

Rachel coughed and swallowed her candy in a gulp. “And you think
Grams
is sexist?”

Grace shrugged. “If I’m gonna do something I dislike, I might as well get paid for it.” She looked around the athletic field. “So where’s that little cutie of yours, Kate? I don’t see him.”

Kate looked at Rachel who’d turned a little pale despite the heat. “Ah, Doug and Jim offered to take care of him during the parade.”

Rachel looked at Kate then her cousin. “Right. I thought it’d be good practice for Doug to take care of a toddler. But then, Grams thought maybe it would be better to have two men responsible, their being inexperienced and all.”

“Yeah.
That’s
why Grams suggested it,” said Grace.

“Why I suggested what?” Ruth piped in, knowing full well what the conversation was about. As if she was deaf as a doornail.

“Oh, nothing,” Grace said.

“How much time until we get going?” asked Rachel. “I forgot my sunscreen and this sun is sweltering.”

Ruth checked her watch. “Only a couple minutes. I have to gather the antique car contingent now. They’ll be next to last.”

“Who’s the unlucky sucker to go
last
?” Grace asked as she swiped the sweat from her brow again

“Why, you, my dear,” Ruth replied airily. Then she strolled over to the assembly of vintage cars.

Jeff Dayton would be viewing a very wilted wallflower by the time Grace got to him.

Fifty dollars, indeed!

“N
OW HERE’S THE DEAL.” Jim squatted as close to three year-old level as he could get. The sun was high in the sky and blisteringly hot. “In about five minutes, the parade will start coming down Main Street. I don’t know how they do it where you come from, but here, because you’re a little guy, people will throw you candy.”

“
They will?”
Now
that
got Liam’s attention, Jim noted.

“Yeah. And we’re near the end, so that means, whatever they have left, they’ll be looking to unload. So unless they’ve run out, you’re liable to score big.”

“
Wow.
” Liam’s voice was all humble reverence for this wonder of rural life.

“The thing is
—and this is really important—you
cannot
run into the road to get the candy. That’s Doug’s job. You just collect what falls here on the sidewalk. Okay?”

“Okay.” Liam looked down the road eagerly.

“And one more thing.” Liam’s brown eyes shot up again. Jim took off his baseball cap. “We collect it all in here until your mom says you can have some.”

Clearly this was an unwelcome caveat, but Liam agreed.

Jim shaded his eyes as he looked down the street. He knew from experience, the first car would be the ambulance or a fire and rescue vehicle, the last a police cruiser. The high school band, local tow trucks, Miss Bessy and the ‘Riders’ all on their Harley Davidson motorcycles—not a one of them a day under seventy—Frank Reynolds on one of his antique tractors and a motley assortment of floats would fill in between. Most, of course, were simply pickup trucks or convertibles with simple homemade banners for various businesses, civic clubs and causes. The prom king and queen would be riding in Hank Russell’s hay wagon with their “court.”

As the first vehicle
—an ambulance this year—approached with its lights going and occasional toots of its siren, Jim looked down at Liam and laughed.

The kid was jumping up and down on the curb, clapping his hands as if he’d never seen anything so exciting or wonderful in all his life. Jim didn’t have the heart to tell him the whole spectacle would last all of fifteen minutes. Instead, he turned to look down Main Street himself, watching with his own degree of eagerness for the float that would carry the woman who’d knocked his socks off in more ways than one.

Members of the local ski club, wearing hats and scarves, waved limply from a float decked out in tinsel and tin-foil snow-flakes.
Poor kids. They must be frying in this heat
.

“Jim? Jim!”

Jim closed his eyes, knowing that particularly husky female voice all too well.

“I should have known we’d run into you here. You always were a civic pride sort of guy.”

“Hi, Justine.” Jim forced himself to turn and face his ex-girlfriend, knowing before he saw her she’d be cool and pulled together. Her demeanor had always struck him as mysterious, composed. He knew now it was simply indifference. “Didn’t expect to see you,” he said.
Didn’t want to,
was more accurate.

“You know how Sarah loves this kind of stuff. Truthfully, I’d forgotten it was going on, but I’d just finished getting my nails done and what do you know?
—there’s a parade outside!”

Jim waved a hello to little Sarah, but she was too busy grappling for candy to notice.

She’d grown since he’d last seen her. And her hair was longer. She pushed it off her shoulder impatiently, and Jim tried not to think of the time he’d attempted to braid it—because she’d asked him to. He’d been all thumbs, and the results had been less than impressive, but when he’d finished, she’d given him a hug and smiled…

He swallowed the tightness in his throat and grabbed the back of Liam’s shirt a second before the boy could scramble off the curb toward a pile of candy.  “Whoa. No going in the street. Remember?”

“’kay.”

“Oh, Dan! I didn’t see you there.” Justine waved dismissively at Doug, oblivious to the fact that she’d gotten his name wrong, then turned back to scan the crowd as if looking for someone of more interest. She’d always had a habit of doing that. Funny it hadn’t struck Jim as blatantly rude until now. She motioned toward Liam. “Is that your son?”

“No,” Doug said. “My kid’s not this old.”

“Oh. Right,” Justine replied, as if she’d met Doug’s offspring at some other occasion, which would be a pretty neat trick seeing as his kid wasn’t born yet. She turned toward Jim. “Guess who I ran into the other day?”

Jim picked a Tootsie Roll off the curb and stuffed it in his hat. “I give up.”

“Your cousin. Carter.” She watched passively as little Sarah collected candy off the street.