Part 23 (1/2)
His gaze narrowed as it roved over me. ”Very funny.”
”I'm not being funny. I'm being serious. I have to stop wasting time and get back to work. I can't lose this client.”
”So get back to work. You've got a computer and a cell phone. What more do you need?”
”A Home Depot.”
”This isn't Home Depot.” I glanced around at the cluttered store, the shelves overflowing with everything from female sanitary products to deer corn. I spotted a stack of prepackaged Hanes and a folded mountain of Wrangler jeans, and I knew this had been one of Ty's stops when he'd gone out for supplies our first night upstate. A hand painted placard that read Morty's Commissary hung behind the cas.h.i.+er's counter, along with a faded Nixon for President sign and an autographed picture of Babe Ruth.
”It's the best I can do. Besides, there's a hardware section.” Ty motioned to the right and I turned to see a small shelf filled with hammers, screwdrivers, and several coffee cans full of nails.I glared at him. ”You said you were taking me to a hardware store.”
”I said a store. You a.s.sumed it was a hardware store because I said it was the next best thing to Home Depot.”
”Another lie.”
”Hey, around these parts this is Home Depot.”
”This is a retirement home.” I pointed toward the two men sitting on either side of a checkerboard near the front entrance. ”I need alpha men. Not old men.”
”We can go back to the cabin.”
Then again, I've never been one to discriminate. I glared at Ty, turned toward the two men, and stepped forward.
Sure, they were old. But older meant wiser. They probably knew everything that went on in their town, and everyone.
”I'm looking for alpha men.”
”Don't know no Alfred Mann,” one of them replied. He wore gla.s.ses and had a head as s.h.i.+ny as the gold nickel sitting on the table near his checkers.
”She said alpha men, Ernest,” the other man said, his voice raised to an ear-splitting level. ”Not Alfred Mann.”
”Don't know no Alphie Lynn, either.” Ernest shook his head. ”You know good and G.o.dd.a.m.ned well there ain't no Alphie Lynn around these parts, Morty. Why, you been here even longer than me.” Ernest waved a crooked finger at me. ”Born and raised right up the road.”
”That's nice.”
Ernest frowned. ”We don't play no dice around here, little lady. We're strictly checker men.”
”He's hard of hearing,” Morty told me. The old man had a head full of snow white hair and a bushy mustache. The mustache wagged as he took a puff on his pipe before adjusting his gla.s.ses to get a good look at me.
I smiled and he frowned.
I Here's the deal. Vamp magnetism works on the opposite s.e.x provided they still have a little oomph left. Obviously, Morty was oomphed out.
When his gaze collided with mine, I realized why. He'd not only won several battles in World War II, but recently a knock- down drag-out with prostate cancer. He was healthy as a horse now and proud of it, and a little lonely, too. While he didn't need a woman to replace his dear, departed Rosie, he did appreciate some company when he watched his nightly game shows. And a few soap operas, though he wasn't admitting that to anyone, least of all the guys down at the local VFW hall.
Likewise, Ernest had fought in the same war. He was a widower, too, and the proud grandfather of fourteen grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Unfortunately, none of them lived nearby and so he spent most of his time playing checkers and making birdhouses and helping his brother-in-law, Morty, with the store.
I s.h.i.+fted my attention back to Morty. ”Nice store you boys have here.”
”Thank you, little lady. What can I help you with? You in the market for fresh fruits? We got the finest.”
I eyed the huge crates overflowing with apples and peaches that sat against the far wall.”That sounds really delectable, but I was actually wondering if you could help me with more of a tourist dilemma.”
”We don't carry them fancy schmancy drinks around these parts,” Ernest said as he slid his king into place on the checkerboard.
”You got to drive down to the highway to Mitch.e.l.l's Texaco if you want that.”
”It ain't a drink,” Morty called out, raising his voice. ”She's talking about a dilemma. A problem. On account of she's a tourist.”
”I don't care if she's Italian. We don't carry nothing fancy like that.”
”Deaf old goat.” Morty waved a hand. ”What sort of dilemma you in, little gal?”
”I was wondering if there was a club around here or someplace where a lot of men might congregate. Single men, that is.”
He puffed and seemed to think. ”There's the VFW hall,” he finally said, waving his pipe toward the right. ”Just up the road, there.
They're having a spaghetti dinner tomorrow night. Should be lots of fellas at that and a danged many single ones to boot. Know for a fact that Howard Eisenbacher'll be there. d.a.m.n good catch, that one. Lost his missus about twenty years ago and has been living off the life insurance ever since. Been banking his social security since then, too, which means he's got one h.e.l.l of a nest egg.”
”He sounds really great, but I'm really looking for someone a few years younger.”
He shook his head. ”Can't help you there. Most of the folks around here are retired, and so's all the VFW members. Except my nephew, that is. Lloyd's a d.a.m.ned sight younger than the rest of us.”
”Really?” I smiled. ”How is he with a hammer?”
”The boy was born with one. There ain't a car he can't fix, or a tree he can't chop. Why, me and Ernest, here, would be lost without him. Helps us right here at the store.”
”Today?”
”As a matter of fact, he's out back right now.” He grinned. ”Would you like to meet him?”
”Are you kidding? I'd love to meet him.” One down and seven more to go. ”He wouldn't by any chance have red hair?”
”As a matter of fact, he does.”
My livelihood might not be totally screwed after all.
I smiled and waited as Ernest went to fetch Lloyd.
Chapter Twenty-five.
I stared at the man who walked from the back of the old-fas.h.i.+oned general store.
He stood well over six feet, with ma.s.sive shoulders and legs like tree trunks. He wore a red flannel b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, jeans, and hiking boots. He carried an ax in one hand and a bundle of firewood in the other. He smelled of freshly cut timber and pine cones. A real man's man.
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