Trouble When You Walked In (Contemporary Romance) (7 page)

“It can’t be very big if it’s in your purse.” Cissie tried to peek.

Sally pulled it back. “It’s not. It’s teeny-tiny. Actually”—she was in whispering mode again—“it’s a thong.”

“You can’t seduce someone in the
library
,” Cissie murmured, “and in a thong. Especially with Hank Davis and Charles here. You’re going to have to sleep in your regular clothes. And who are you expecting anyway?”

“Who knows,” said Sally happily. “This is the best night of my life.” She twirled. “We’re in the library when it’s
closed
. It’s not like the Greyhound station, which is open twenty-four hours a day. This place has standards. This place is off-limits at night.” She paused. “Maybe for good reason. Maybe it’s haunted.”

“Boom boom,” said Hank Davis.

Charles grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.” He dragged Hank Davis over to the children’s section.

Sally’s gaze grew wary. “I hope it’s not haunted. So many years have gone by. What if someone a long time ago forgot to return his library book, and now since you’re here when he walks at night, he’s gonna come give it back?”

“I’ll say no,” said Cissie. “He can keep it.”

“Why do ghosts wear clothes?” Sally asked. “Shouldn’t they be naked after they die?”

“I have no idea. But look!” All at once, Mrs. Donovan, Mrs. Hattlebury, and an entire Amish-looking homeschooling family with five kids from the new apartment complex came in the front door. “Welcome!” Cissie said.

Everyone was carrying food, too.

Cissie was prepared. She’d cleaned off both old card tables from the storage room and put them out. “Please, leave everything there.” But the tables were already covered in casserole dishes, cake plates, and pie pans. There was even a cooler of bottled water and Cheerwine someone had dropped off.

“Let’s pull out some chairs,” Mrs. Donovan said.

So they did and put all the food on them, Sally making comments about every new dish: “Now that’s one I’m gonna try!” “What the—?” she said about another one.

“Marinated tofu chunks,” said the Amish woman, “mixed with the ancient grain freekeh.”

“I’ll say it’s freekeh.” Sally chuckled.

One of the toddler Amish children starting sticking her fingers in some banana pudding.

“She’s so smart.” Mrs. Hattlebury gently pulled her fingers out and handed her over to her mother. “That’s my banana pudding. Made with a secret ingredient.” She winked.

“We don’t do refined sugar,” said the Amish woman. “And we’re not Amish, in case you’re wondering. We’re part of the homestead movement. We brought a tent.” She indicated the large green nylon bag on her male partner’s back.

“That’s so interesting,” Cissie said weakly. “I’m touched that you came to the sit-in. Thank you. Please feel free to … sit. Or stand. Or read books. Or pitch your tent. Somewhere by the magazines, I should think. I suppose we’ll eat in another hour or so.”

The family shuffled off to make themselves at home.

“You use Chessmen cookies from Pepperidge Farm, don’t you, in that banana pudding?” Mrs. Donovan asked Mrs. Hattlebury sweetly.

Mrs. Hattlebury glared at her. “I’ll never tell.” She put her hands on her hips. “How is the newspaper reporter going to be able to tell we’re sitting in? This looks like a party.”

“Well, it’s not,” said Cissie. “It’s a protest. Big difference.”

“I’m not really against the library moving,” Mrs. Donovan reminded her. “I’m here for Laurie. She couldn’t come. The boys both have earaches from all the Play-Doh they stuck in them today. I’m her placeholder.”

“Wasn’t that nice of you,” Cissie murmured, and tried to be thankful she had a placeholder for Laurie rather than be annoyed at Mrs. Donovan for disagreeing with her about the library. “Laurie called and told me.” And Cissie was glad she had. Laurie had sounded sorry she couldn’t be there and promised they’d get together soon. She’d also apologized for her mother in advance.

Nana came in a few minutes later with her sleeping bag and pillow and stopped flat at the door. “Wow! This looks like a party!” She was wearing her red-and-white-striped footie pajamas.

“It’s
not
,” said Cissie. “But we sure have a lot of food.”

Nana held up a canvas bag. “And Jameson and cigars.” She chuckled in her naughtiest fashion.

“Oh, no,” said Cissie. “This is an alcohol-free, cigar-free sit-in.”

“I thought I’d try,” Nana said. “I did bring the paper plates and plastic forks you asked for.”

Mrs. Donovan and Mrs. Hattlebury had settled in at the front desk and were playing cards.

An hour went by. Everyone kept well occupied. The homesteading kids got to watch
Frozen
. Their parents quietly read the
Whole Earth Catalog
. The gin rummy tournament, which now included Nana, was in full swing.

Cissie didn’t feel she could really participate in all the happy activities. She had to maintain the sit-in presence and act serious and troubled—because she was.

But no else came in. Not even a reporter from the
Bugler
.

“You need to call Edwina,” Nana said.

“I shouldn’t have to call the newspaper editor to get someone down here.” Cissie acted nonchalant, but her feathers were definitely ruffled. “This is a legitimate story. Not much happens in Kettle Knob.”

“That’s right. We’re such a happy place,” said Nana, just like Boone’s parents had said.

Cissie eyed her suspiciously. “Do you really believe that? I heard someone else say the same thing today. Or are you spouting propaganda?”

“We
are
happy. Aren’t we?” Nana laid down three aces on the desktop.

“Yes.” Cissie sighed. “We’re happy.”

What was wrong with her? Why did she not feel happy deep down? Was she really going to be one of those women who needed a soul mate to be truly fulfilled? She loved her job. She loved her friends. She loved where she lived. She was
fine
.

Another half hour went by. Still no one else came to sit-in. And the newspaper didn’t show. She’d even left a flyer with the local radio station.

“Let it go!” Hank Davis shouted. “Let it go! Let it go!”

Sally came out from the back. “Hank Davis and Charles are hungry. It’s time to eat.”

So everyone ate, and with each passing minute, instead of being happy that her good friends and family had shown up, Cissie fretted.

Nothing was being accomplished.

Nothing.

“But it is,” Nana reassured her when she hovered by the card game and expressed her frustration. “The wheels of justice turn slowly, imperceptibly. Nothing we do is wasted. Every vote counts at every election. Every protest matters.”

“Speaking of elections, we’ve got one in a little over three weeks,” said Mrs. Donovan. “Governor, US congressmen, Kettle Knob mayor, and some school board members.”

“Well, Boone’s got it locked up again,” said Nana.

“I don’t remember the last time anyone ran against him.” Mrs. Hattlebury laid down her cards. “Gin!”

Mrs. Donovan blew out a breath and tossed down her cards. “I brought Scrabble if anyone wants to play that.”

The homesteading family came out, their tent folded up and returned to its bag. “We’re going home,” said the father. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Nothing really happened,” said the mother with a friendly shrug.

Cissie threw Nana an “I told you so” look. “Thanks for coming anyway.”

“Maybe write a letter to the editor next time,” the father suggested.

“But there isn’t going to be a next time,” Cissie said. “This is it. Now or never. The library will move if we don’t stop it.”

She handed the family an entire lasagna, waved them off, and swallowed a lump in her throat when they shut the door, which wasn’t easy. The wind was gusting pretty hard. How many more times would that library door open and shut before closing forever?

And then it opened again.

Boone stood there with Chief Scotty.

“You sure are here a lot lately,” Cissie complained to the mayor, but inside her heart leapt, mainly because he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. She had another reason to be excited to see him, too, a political reason.

If his stubborn jaw was anything to go by, this sit-in was about to get good.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The library meant the world to Cissie Rogers, obviously, and Boone wasn’t going to patronize her. He intended to follow correct procedure. While he was at it, he’d try not to be seriously turned on by how fierce she apparently was beneath that strait-laced librarian outfit. He’d bet a million bucks she’d picked it up at Party City on the stereotyped professions costume aisle and used it to disguise her true supergirl nature.

Scotty stepped forward. “Miss Rogers, I’m sorry, but you’re on property under the jurisdiction of the county, and the sheriff has authorized me to ask you to move. The library is closed for the evening.”

Boone was secretly touched at how she stood straighter and said, “I’m sorry, Chief Scotty, but I’m not going anywhere.” Everyone had gathered behind her. She looked back at them, smiled hopefully—they smiled back—then looked at Scotty again. “And neither are my friends.”

Mrs. Donovan raised her hand. “I actually want the library to move, but I’m a placeholder for my daughter.”

“Don’t make excuses, Ginger,” Nana told her. “You’re here, so you count.”

Scotty scowled. But Boone wasn’t worried. He’d already gone over with him what he expected him to do.

“If you refuse to leave,” the good chief said, “then I’ll be writing each one of you warnings”—not fines; Boone had already talked to the county commissioner about that—“for trespassing.”

Cissie’s face was red. “Well, all right, then.”

“Don’t you dare go to the newspaper and tell them we’ve messed with your plans, Mr. Mayor,” Sally said to Boone. “You’ve messed with
ours
. I don’t get my milk at the Harris Teeter. I get mine at the gas station. I’m not gonna switch just so I can pick up a book at the library. I don’t like Harris Teeter milk. That carton is ugly. No book is worth that purple carton.”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“You told us we’ll be able to pick up our milk and books at the same time,” Cissie reminded him, “at the strip mall. You said it would be convenient.”

A little boy sucked his thumb hard and glared at him.

Boone stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry, Sally, but I might just have to do that. Contact the media.”

“Oh, no!” said Mrs. Hattlebury with mock dismay. “Now you’ve really caused us problems.”

Did she honestly used to be in Elvis movies? Because an actress she wasn’t.

Boone shrugged. “A mayor’s gotta do what a mayor’s gotta do.” He pulled out his cell and dialed Edwina.

She picked up instantly. “Oh, Lord, Boone, are you down at the library?”

“Yes’m.”

“Don’t make me come down there. I’m watching a good show on TV. I’m tired. Everyone knows we need a bigger library and that the waste management people need that building.”

“I think it’s important you record this event, Edwina,” he said calmly.

“Poop,” said Hank Davis.

The little kid broke into guffaws.

“You tell Edwina that Nana’s going to play the trumpet outside her window tonight if she doesn’t come,” Nana said, “and it won’t be pretty. I’ve never played a trumpet in my life. Someone donated one to the theater today.”

“Did you hear that?” Boone asked the editor.

“Yes.” Edwina sighed. “I don’t know why everyone calls her Nana. She’s a tough old bird. I’ll be down in half an hour.”

He put away his phone. “The
Bugler
is on the way,” he told the little ragtag group. “And if you don’t like the publicity, well, it’s your own fault. Chief Scotty gave you a chance to leave.”

Scotty was busy writing out warnings at the front desk.

“That’s going to take you a while, Chief,” Cissie said primly. “Would you care for a cookie while you work? Or some chicken casserole? We have a lot of food.”

Damn. Boone was hungry.

“No, thank you.” The chief had a deep ridge on his brow. He was concentrating hard on scribbling those notices. “My wife’s got a pot roast waiting for me at home.”

Cissie cast a quick glance at Boone. “You probably have to rush off, too, Mr. Mayor.”

Well. Now that she’d gotten what she wanted from him—publicity—she was done with him. And hey, he’d had a long-ass day. Just finished up with the football players. An extra-tough practice. He couldn’t wait to get home.

But leave? Why should he give her the satisfaction?

“I’ll wait for the chief.” He tried to look more official than he ever had.

“You need to eat, Boone.” Mrs. Hattlebury looked him up and down.

“Since you’re a bachelor”—Mrs. Donovan gave him the same brazen stare—“your cupboards are probably empty.”

“Or them cupboards is filled with potato chips and Scotch. Like my ex-boyfriend’s,” offered Sally.

Boone pulled an ear. “Maybe I’ll take a cookie.”

Cissie’s eyes widened. She wanted him gone.
Bad
.

“Make that some casserole, too, please,” he said. “Why not?”

Cissie’s lips thinned.

Scotty finished up his last warning just as Mrs. Hattlebury came over to Boone with a plate full of all kinds of delicious: cheesy tater-tot casserole, three-bean salad, chicken casserole with mushrooms and artichoke hearts, a tossed salad, and a slice of home-baked bread.

“It’s a shame for this all to go to waste.” She gave him an approving smile.

And then Boone had an idea. The football parents assigned to provide a Thursday night meal for his first-string team this week had to cancel for tomorrow night. And it was a much-valued tradition. It kept the unit cohesive, like family. And here was a feast.

“Hey,” he said to the small gathering, “I have a way to get a bunch of people down here before Edwina shows up. Some boys from the football team. They can help eat up all this food and maybe make your crowd a little bigger. You know, more impressive.” He explained about the weekly dinner getting cancelled.

“This’ll fill ’em up,” said Mrs. Donovan.

“You must be on our side of this fight now,” said Sally. “We could use a strong, handsome man.”