Part 12 (1/2)

Cecily could feel her cheeks burn, a sure sign that she was blus.h.i.+ng. But she had no reason to be embarra.s.sed. She offered a vital service. ”I have a business.” Well, she had a business.

”Me, too,” he said, jerking his head to indicate the dump at the far end of the parking lot. ”What's yours?”

”It's a dating service.” And a very good one at that.

At least it was, until the final straw had glowered his way into her office-Clyde Dangler-Dunn. Mr. Double D, she'd called him, and he'd been a typical stud man-the kind of man who thought he was G.o.d's gift to women and was more interested in exercising his favorite muscle doing the horizontal bop than in finding a life companion. She had tried to do the impossible and find someone for Clyde but had failed-not for lack of trying but because there was no perfect woman for a man like him. Except for a hooker, and since she wasn't a madam she couldn't help him with that.

”None of the women your service introduced me to have met my standards,” he'd informed her, his double chin raised to its haughtiest level. (Clyde was a little on the hefty side, but since he also had a hefty bank account he expected women to overlook that.) Which probably meant they'd refused to sleep with him on the first date. ”Now, Clyde,” she'd said sweetly, ”I've found you six beautiful, talented women half the men in America would die to date.” And coming up with that many women had been a miracle.

”I'm not half the men in America. I told you I want women with big b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Real ones.”

Like she could find those easily in L.A.?

”Cancel my contract immediately and refund my money or you'll be hearing from my lawyer.”

Cancel his contract? She'd gladly have canceled him. But not wanting to repeat the disaster she'd had with Liza, she'd restrained herself. Instead, she'd said all that was diplomatically required and written him a check right then and there. And that had drained her business account.

And her patience. Burnout had destroyed both her dreams and her business. Men like Stud Man and this mule man here made it hard for Cupid and his helpers. She'd decided that Cupid was on his own. Cecily was too disgusted to care anymore. Let those losers go online and lie through their teeth, let them do their own screening and set up their own meet-and-greet parties to their hearts' content. She was done, done, done. She'd tied up loose ends, made a few final matches, then closed her doors.

”A dating service, huh?” said this latest poor specimen of the male species.

”I can guess what you're thinking,” she hurried to say. ”But not all dating services exist to match gold diggers up with millionaires.” Although that had been the case with most of her customers.

”Good. You set my mind at ease.”

Sarcasm, always a nice trait in a man. Cecily managed a polite smile, then turned her back and contemplated the thin icing of snow on the mountains. When she'd been up here for Waldo's funeral she'd thought it was nice to see the town growing. This kind of growth, however, they didn't need.

”There you go, ladies,” he said at last. ”This will hold you until you can get over to Swede's and pick up a new tire. He charges an arm and a leg for towing but his tire prices are reasonable.”

As if they didn't know that? Swede Lind had been in business in Icicle Falls for the past twenty years. In fact, he was the grandfather of the new bank manager who was giving Samantha grief.

”Thanks,” Samantha said. ”I'd offer you some chocolate to show our appreciation but since you don't like it-”

”Who said I don't like it?” he asked. ”I just think the festival is a dumb idea.”

Samantha shook her head, but she promised him a box. Then they got into the car and left the Neanderthal to go back to his drooling Neanderthal customers.

”Well, he's something else,” Cecily said contemptuously.

Samantha sneaked a look Cecily's direction. ”But he's hot.”

”A great cover doesn't make a great book.”

”Is that something you told all your customers?”

”There wouldn't have been any point,” Cecily said. ”They never listened.”

”Well, make sure you listen to yourself. When it comes to guys-”

Cecily cut her off. ”I know. You don't have to remind me.”

”Okay. Just sayin'.”

Thankfully, Samantha let it go at that. There was no need for a sisterly lecture. Cecily had learned her lesson. No more bad boys who insisted they wanted to get married but cheated on you with your best friend. No more men who pretended to have money and then asked you for loans and then forget to pay you back. No more losers! Heck, no more men. Period. Look at all the grief a girl got from them.

And, speaking of grief. Mom was still in her jammies when they arrived at the house, even though it was midafternoon. ”Welcome home,” she said, and gave Cecily a hug.

Their mother normally smelled like Calvin Klein's Obsession. Today she smelled like...well, it wasn't Calvin Klein.

Cecily remembered after their father died waking up in the middle of the night to hear her mother crying, but during the day Mom used to put up a good front. This time around, she wasn't trying to hold up that false front. Maybe she figured this time around she didn't need to. Who knew? Regardless of the reason, it was unnerving.

”You're earlier than I expected,” Mom said. ”I haven't had a chance to get dressed.”

What had she been doing? Cecily looked around the house. A fine layer of dust coated the furniture. A couple of photo alb.u.ms lay open on the couch and a half-finished mug of chocolate mint tea sat on the coffee table. Well, she was allowed, no matter what Samantha thought.

”Would you like some tea?” Mom asked.

”We can make it if you want to get dressed,” Samantha said in an attempt to be diplomatic.

”I'll be right back.”

”No rush,” Cecily told her.

As soon as their mother was out of earshot Samantha said in a low voice, ”This is how she's been.”

Cecily gave a helpless shrug. What did Samantha expect her to do about it, slap Mom and tell her to snap out of it? ”We've got to give her time.”

Samantha frowned and Cecily decided to drop the subject and search the kitchen for tea and distraction.

Samantha followed her. ”She'll be better now that you're here. I think she needs someone to need her. Once we get her involved with the festival she'll be fine.”

Cecily wasn't so sure about that. Busyness wasn't a miracle cure for a broken heart. She knew from personal experience.

Half an hour later Mom joined them, looking more like herself with her hair freshly washed and wearing gray wool slacks and a black sweater-a V-neck, which had become her trademark ever since she learned that turtlenecks weren't flattering to older women.

”How are you doing?” Cecily asked, handing her a cup of Earl Grey.

”I'm fine,” Mom said. ”It's good to have you home, sweetie.”

”It's good to be home,” Cecily said. Here she'd gone off to follow her heart, prove herself and fill the world with love only to realize that her heart had misled her. Filling the world with love was a Herculean task when the world was overflowing with selfish, shallow people.

And then there were the people who were simply too busy for love, like her sister. Samantha managed to sit still long enough to drink a mug of tea, but then she got fidgety.

”I know you need to get back to the office,” Mom said, giving her permission to escape to work.

”I should.” To Cecily she said, ”Maybe you can tell Mom about some of the things we were discussing in the car.”

Cecily agreed, and after Samantha left she started to talk about the festival. But somehow, they drifted from the subject of Mr. Dreamy to Mom's own dream man, Waldo, and out came the photo alb.u.ms. Cecily didn't mind looking at them, though and, unlike Samantha, she didn't have a problem reconciling the man they'd all liked with the man who'd brought so much chaos into their lives.