Sweet Tibby Mack. Roz Fox Denny
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that would end with him paying some outrageous price for putting in a light. If the powersthat-be deemed a light was necessary.
Cole washed his hair, rinsed off, then blindly grabbed for a towel. He regretted having lost his temper with Tibby earlier. Unfortunately Tibby Mack had a way of setting him off like no other woman he’d ever met. He owed her an apology for this morning. And he’d have delivered it, except she’d been gone all afternoon. Where to? he wondered. Not that what she did was any of his business.
Irritated by his turn of thought, Cole took care laying out his clothes. Cicely liked a man’s slacks pressed and his shoes shined. She was big on people wearing the right weight for the right season, too, he recalled as he quickly discarded one shirt and selected another.
Heading for the kitchen, he strapped on his watch. Once there, he uncorked the wine to let it breathe, then decided to set the table on the patio while it was still light. He’d bought a candle in a shallow dish for a centerpiece. Nothing he hated more than breaking his neck trying to see the person seated across from him.
Was he nervous? Probably. It’d been nearly five months since he’d seen her. Cole didn’t kid himself that Cicely had sworn off dating while he was in Europe. They’d had no real commitment then. If things were to change, it was imperative that Cicely like Yaqui Springs, dinky or not.
Straightening, Cole gazed out through a ruff of pine trees toward the Mack place. Tibby seemed acclimated to the slower pace. Even when she was busy, she didn’t give the appearance of rushing. Her braid sort of floated lazily out behind her when she walked, the honey gold strands catching fire in the sun.
But why was he dreaming about Tibby’s hair when Cicely was due any moment? In fact—he cocked his head—was that someone at his front door? It sure sounded like it. Damn, now he’d be cooking, instead of relaxing. But maybe she’d like to shower and rest after the drive. Cicely had a tendency to be high-strung.
Cole skirted the couch on his way through the living room. When he reached the entry, he flung open the door, prepared to greet and be greeted with a lingering kiss.
Instead, Cicely exploded through the door, tromping on his new Italian loafers. Her spine carefully rigid, she paced the room in circles.
“Wake me at midnight, beg me to come for a romantic interlude—or at least that’s what I thought your call implied, Cole. Did you think I wouldn’t find out you’ve got another woman stashed in the wings? I guess you did, since it was quite by accident I found out.” She flung a hand dramatically toward the south wall. Silver bracelets skittered up and down her slender arm.
“Cicely, hold it right there. I have no idea what you’re raving about.”
“Ha! I’m raving about the dozen roses you sent that…that…funky…person, when you’ve never sent me so much as a carnation.”
Cole stared at her. “You told me flowers make you sneeze. That’s why I haven’t sent.you any. But I haven’t sent them to anyone else, either.”
“Ha!”
“Will you quit saying that?”
“Don’t lie to me, Cole. I read the card. Some drivel about how you’re sorry and would she please forgive you. I could hardly miss it. She left it on the counter for the whole world to see. What are you sorry for, I’d like to know?”
“She who?” Cole reached for Cicely, but she pushed him away.
“That woman at the country store. The one wearing the kiddy braid and sweet-as-apple-pie smile. That she who.”
“Tibby?”
“If that’s her name, yes.” Cicely sniffed and inspected her nails.
“Listen, I don’t know what you think you saw. I swear I did not send her flowers. We’ll go over there right now and get to the bottom of this.”
“You go. Get the card. I’d like to hear you explain how your name got on it.”
“All right, I will. I’ve opened a bottle of wine. Help yourself. Relax. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.” Cole steered her to the kitchen, where he pointed out the wine.
“Ha!”
Since she insisted on sounding like a broken record, he stalked out the back door, past the table he’d so carefully set and down the back steps. At the trailhead, he met Winnie Toliver. She clutched a crystal bowl full of green salad. Probably on her way to a potluck. Joe had mentioned that the residents held quite a few. Cole would have passed her with a brief greeting, except that Winnie grabbed his shirtsleeve.
“I hear you have a dinner guest, Cole. Shame on you for not telling us sooner. A man entertaining a lady shouldn’t have to cook. I’ll just leave this salad on your counter, shall I? Henrietta’s making you manicotti. Rosamond promised a dessert to die for. If you’re on your way to the store, pick up a nice bottle of red wine. A fullbodied red goes best with pasta.”
Cole started to object. Then he held his tongue. He didn’t know how long this mission would take. It’d be nice not to have to cook dinner and spend the time pacifying Cicely, instead. Smiling, he capitulated. “Thanks. Her name’s Cicely. I’d appreciate it if you made her feel welcome. I want her to like it here, if you get my drift.”
Winnie squeezed his arm. “You can count on me and the girls to explain the ins and outs of Yaqui Springs. Oh, and Cole—take your time. It’s better not to rush girl talk, if you get my drift.”
Feeling better, Cole watched her disappear down the path. He thrust his hands in his pockets and whistled softly as he sauntered toward Tibby’s store.
WINNIE RAPPED SMARTLY on Cole’s back door before breezing into his kitchen. “Hi,” she said, setting her dish on the counter next to a surprised Cicely. “I’m Winnie Toliver, one of Cole’s neighbors. He’s such a dear. Everyone here thinks so. We’re delighted that he’s decided to come live in his grandfather’s house.”
“Live here? Cole?” Cicely plunked her wineglass down next to the bottle. “Oh, no. It’s far too remote. He has a nice condo just blocks from Wilshire.”
Winnie looked properly sympathetic. “It’s not so bad once you learn how to cope with the heat, mosquitoes and such. I see Cole set a romantic table for two out on his screened porch. I hope he remembered to spray for scorpions. The house has been closed up since his grandfather died. Where is the dear boy?”
Cicely’s mouth opened and closed like a fish taking bait. “Out,” she managed before another loud knock precluded anything else she might have said.
Henrietta Feeny bustled though the door and set a steaming pasta casserole and a foil-wrapped package of bread on the stove. “So you’re Cicely,” she gushed. “Welcome to Yaqui Springs. Any friend of Cole’s is automatically a friend of ours.” She nudged Winnie. “I see we have our work cut out to fatten this young lady up. Ah, here’s the very person to add those calories. Our Rosamond.” Henrietta beamed at Cicely. “I don’t know what decadent delight she’s brought, but knowing Rosie there’ll be at least a thousand calories per bite. Would you believe? All of us were once as skinny as you.” She patted her ample girth.
Winnie opened the screen. “Four-layer raspberry torte. Rosie, you outdid yourself. Here, let me put it in the fridge. I’ll pop the salad in to cool, too.”
Rosamond waved the rich confection under Cicely’s nose as Winnie made room on the top shelf. Closing the refrigerator gently, Rosamond introduced herself, then said she had to run. “If you don’t mind, I’ll leave by the front door. I remember Yale—that’s Cole’s granddaddy,” she clarified for Cicely. “Yale had problems with rattlers nesting under his rear steps. Some say