Marriage Seasons 01 - It Happens Every Spring (13 page)

"Was your ex that bad?"

"You can't imagine."

Patsy shook her head. "Why can't people be nice to each other?
You would think folks would want to try to get along, wouldn't
you? And not do things to hurt or irritate each other? Is that so
hard? Folks can be downright awful."

As she punched the buttons on her cash register, a familiar form
crossed in front of the salon window. "Oh, speak of the devil,"
Patsy said in a low voice. "Here comes Pete Roberts from next
door. That man is liable to drive me to drink. What can he mean by
coming over here when he knows good and well I'm shutting down
for the day?"

"Esther Moore told me Pete likes you," Kim spoke up. "Charlie
says Pete thinks you're cute."

"Well, I don't care who said what. You would think Deepwater
Cove was the gossip headquarters of the world. Kim, your hair
looks beautiful, and I'll be praying that Luke gets to feeling better.
You give him and Lydia suckers from me, okay? Now, hurry up
and escape while you can. I'll get rid of this intruder lickety-split."

Patsy handed a couple of bright red lollipops across the counter
to Kim just as Pete Roberts pushed open the door to Just As I Am.

Reaching out, Kim covered Patsy's hand for a moment. "Thanks, Patsy," she said softly. "Thanks for cutting my hair ... and for listening.

"Praying, too. Don't forget that. I pray for all my clients."

Kim smiled. "I count on it."

"Evening, Mrs. Finley," Pete said, tipping the brim of his cap at
Kim as she hurried by. "Tell Derek that Charlie Moore caught a
whopper yesterday out in the cove. He used a four-pound test
line to cast a 1/64-ounce jig under a lightweight float. The water's
so muddy these days that I'm recommending the chartreuse
jig-n-float."

"How big was Charlie's fish?"

"Nearly three pounds. Largemouth bass." Pete kept walking
toward the salon desk. "I saw the thing myself. Charlie came over
to the shop to show it off. Lunker."

"I'll tell Derek."

Kim waved as Pete turned to face Patsy. "How much you want
to bet I'll have a run on those chartreuse jig-n-floats tomorrow
afternoon?"

"Sunday's the Lord's Day," Patsy reminded him. She turned her
shoulder and went to fetch her broom. "You shouldn't even open
Rods-n-Ends."

"A tackle shop can't be closed on a Sunday! I'd get run out of
business for sure."

"At least you'd have a clear conscience."

"And an empty wallet. Don't you remember what the pastor
said in his sermon a couple weeks ago? Jesus told the disciples that
the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. Besides
that, Sunday's supposed to be a day of rest. If folks want to go fishing on a Sunday afternoon, they need bait. And why not a good of
boy like me to sell it to 'em?"

"It's your decision," Patsy said. She tried to keep her focus on
tidying up the shop for the two-day break. Her stylists were long
gone, and everyone in the lake area knew Just As I Am would be
shut tighter than a drum on Sunday and Monday every week. But Tuesday mornings, Patsy opened early and made sure the place
looked clean, fresh, and neat as a pin.

The few times she had come face-to-face with Pete Roberts
since Rods-n-Ends opened, he had been standing behind the
workbench in his shop. Furious as she was about the noise, she
had hardly paid attention to how the man looked. But now, with
both Kim Finley and Esther Moore whispering that the man was
sweet on her, Patsy found it difficult to keep from giving him the
once-over.

Truth to tell, Pete was not a bad-looking fellow. What had at
first appeared to be an oversized middle now turned out to be
something more like an extra-large, out-of-shape T-shirt hanging
from a pair of massive shoulders. Maybe that beer belly wasn't
quite as pronounced as she had imagined.

Pete still carried the hulking demeanor of a grizzly bear. His
dark brown hair needed a good cut and even some thinning. If he
had a jawline or cheekbones at all, the beard ought to go. And that
cap could use a run through a washing machine.

But he did have startlingly blue eyes, a genuine smile, and a deep
voice that settled into Patsy's bones like warm honey. Hitching up
his baggy jeans, he plopped into one of the stylists' large black
chairs and leaned back comfortably, as though expecting to begin a
nice little conversation.

"I'm shutting down for the week," Patsy told him. "I hope you
didn't come over for a cut."

"Nah. You go ahead and finish your sweeping." He tapped his
fingers on the vinyl arms of the chair. "I already locked up next
door."

"How's business these days?" she asked.

"Picking up. You?"

"Busy all the time. Of course, I've been here in this same spot for
years. People know me."

"I don't know you much at all. You still mad at me about the
weed whacker?"

"Can't say I'm happy. My tea area brings in a lot of customers,
and they want to relax. The last thing any of us needs is one of your
machines starting up."

"I heard you lost a bunch of teacups."

"Antiques. They fell off a shelf thanks to your chain saw."

"Sorry about that. You want me to pay for 'em?"

"I can't replace antiques at the dollar discount store, Pete. It
took me several years to collect all those. One of them belonged to
my grandmother."

She glanced over and saw that he had hung his head and was
staring glumly at his fingernails. Carrying the dustpan to a wastebasket, Patsy noticed the words she had painted behind the desk.

Just As I Am ...

"Don't worry about those cups," she said, swallowing her frustration. "They were just for show anyhow. People use the ones on
the table across the way for their tea. You want to try a cup? Earl
Grey is relaxing at the end of a long day."

He looked up, surprise lighting his eyes. "Me?"

"Men drink tea here all the time."

Though Patsy's voice had been light and welcoming, she couldn't
deny that she really didn't want to serve this grizzly bear who had
ruined her peaceful sanctuary. But ... Just as I Am. That was how
God accepted people. Jesus had died for folks just as they were. The
Holy Spirit filled hearts that way too. If God did it, Patsy ought to at
least try.

"Come on over to the tearoom," she said. "I'll fix us each a cup."

Pete pushed himself out of the chair and edged across the salon
toward the lavender alcove as though entering forbidden territory.
He perched on the first chair he came to and put his hands in his
lap as though he was afraid to touch the lace tablecloth.

Patsy set two Earl Grey bags into cups and filled them with
steaming water. "Milk and sugar?" she asked.

"Well. . ."

"It's best that way. Might as well give it a try."

She went ahead and fixed his cup. Then she set a shortbread
cookie on his saucer and carried it over to him. As she settled down
in the chair across from Pete, she decided this might be just the
thing to ease the tension between them. He would see how special
teatime could be, and then maybe he would quit revving up
engines next door.

"I always say a teatime prayer," Patsy told him. Without waiting
for a response, she bowed her head. "Dear Lord, thank You for this
Saturday evening when we can look forward to a day of worship
and rest. And thank You for Pete Roberts, my next-door neighbor.
In Jesus' name we pray ... amen."

"Amen," he intoned in his deep baritone. Stirring his tea, he
cleared his throat. "Us being Christians and all ... well, that leads
me to the reason for my visit. The other day, Steve Hansen stopped
by for gas. He mentioned a problem. A rumor."

Patsy gave an involuntary gasp. "About Brenda?"

"That's what I thought at first too. But that's not it."

"Wait a minute ... what did you think at first?"

"That he wanted to talk about Brenda."

"Oh." Patsy clamped her mouth shut. She didn't know what
Pete had heard about the Hansens, but some unpleasant tidbits
had drifted her way over the past few weeks. The last thing Patsy
wanted to do was spread rumors, so she decided to take a sip of tea.

"Steve told me the store next door has been rented," Pete said.
He paused a moment before adding, "To an adult-movie place."

Patsy's mouthful of tea went down the wrong pipe, and she
began to cough. "You're kidding! Here? Why would anyone want
to put a place like that way out here in Tranquility?"

"Exactly because it's way out here. People don't want to be seen
walking into an adult-movie store on the main street of Osage
Beach or Camdenton. No, this is exactly the kind of spot that
attracts that kind of business. It's off the beaten path, and folks can
keep their comings and goings private. Steve Hansen is opposed to
the rental place moving in, and so am I. Dr. Hedges doesn't want it anywhere near his chiropractic clinic. I don't know about the tattoo folks. Where do you stand, Patsy?"

"Opposed, of course!" She took a big sip and managed to get it
down right. "What's next? We've had the bar for years. Someone
put in a strip club down the road a while back. I think it got
torched, but they rebuilt it anyhow. If we have to put up with an
adult-movie place in our mall, it'll start to give the whole place a
reputation."

"A tone. That's what I told Steve Hansen. It would set a tone that
we just don't want. But since we're renters, we don't have any voice
in the matter."

"We most certainly do!" Patsy exclaimed. "If the owner wants
his building rented out, he'll have to listen to us. And I'll do whatever it takes to keep that adult-movie place away from here."

The corner of Pete's mouth tilted up. "Now that's exactly what I
thought you'd say. You're a fighter, Miss Patsy Pringle, and I like
that."

Suddenly uncomfortable, Patsy focused on the lace curtains and
realized that she and Pete Roberts were all alone at the mall. Their
cars were parked side by side, and no doubt people could see their
silhouettes in the tearoom. She pursed her lips for a moment. "Listen, I need to get home. My sitcom is on in less than an hour, and I
haven't even finished cleaning up in here."

"What about dinner?"

"I eat popcorn and carrots for supper. Healthy, you know."

"No, I mean what about having dinner with me? Tonight?"

"I can't," she said before she even had time to think about it.
"I'm busy."

"Watching TV and eating carrots and popcorn?"

Patsy felt her cheeks grow warm. "Pete, you're a nice man and a
good neighbor ... well, for the most part I've felt okay about you
being next door. But I'm not interested in having dinner with
you.

"Tonight? Or ever?"

She hesitated only a moment. "Tonight. And you never told me
what you're going to do about the movie store."

"Fight it, of course. I'm rounding up support from the other
stores and the community." He fished a sheet of folded paper from
the back pocket of his jeans. "This is a petition I wrote up. I made
copies. It kind of surprised me, but the guy who runs the tattoo
parlor wants nothing to do with a place like that. And Dr. Hedges is
about to have a fit over it moving in right next to his chiropractor
joint." He paused for a moment. "That's a little joke. Chiropractor
joint ... get it?"

Patsy rolled her eyes. "Let me take a look at that petition," she
said, taking the grease-stained document from his hand. After
skimming it, she nodded. "I'd be happy to ask my clients to sign
this. I'll put it on the desk next to the cash register-right beside
my Plan of Salvation pamphlets."

Chuckling, Pete rose and returned his chair under the table.
"That hit the spot. What do I owe you?"

"Not a thing. I'm glad you dropped by, Pete." She began walking
him toward the salon's front door. "See how restful and rejuvenating a cup of tea can be?"

"I don't know about that, but it tasted delicious." He smiled at
her. "Mind if I ask you a personal question, Patsy?"

She stiffened. "I guess not."

"What color is your real hair?"

"Well, for heaven's sake, what kind of a question is that?" She
fingered the gelled auburn spikes she had worked into place that
morning. "I don't remember. Mousy brown or something. Who
cares?"

"I do."

"If appearance really mattered to you, Pete Roberts, you'd realize that you need to shave off that awful beard and get a decent
haircut."

"My beard is awful?"

"A bird could build a nest in there."

He fell silent for a moment. "You're a fighter, Patsy ... and
you're honest, too. I like that a lot." Shaking his head, he eyed her
with a worried expression. "So, do you think something might be
going on between Steve and Brenda Hansen? And maybe the
handyman, too? Like folks are saying?"

"I don't gossip," Patsy said firmly.

"But you do pray."

She nodded and spoke in a low voice. "I do. I've been praying
for them."

"Me too," he said. "Well, good night, Patsy. I hope I see you in
church tomorrow."

She watched him walk out the door and went back to her cleaning. As Patsy sprayed the desktop with lemon wax and gave it a
wipe, she saw Pete cross the sidewalk in front of the salon window.
Now that she had gotten a closer perspective on the man, he didn't
look nearly as much like a grizzly bear as she had thought.

She glanced into a mirror and studied her auburn spikes. Maybe
next week she would try a softer brown.