Home > The Santa Suit(9)

The Santa Suit(9)
Author: Mary Kay Andrews

“Give it time,” he advised. “You’ve been here what, three days?”

Punkin wandered into the kitchen and went immediately to Ezra, placing one muddy paw on their guest’s lap. Ezra chuckled and obligingly scratched the setter’s ears. “Good boy,” he said.

“I can’t believe he’s doing that,” Ivy said. “He’s usually pretty standoffish with strangers.”

“I keep telling you, I’m not a stranger,” Ezra chided. He stood and placed his plate and coffee cup in the sink. “I took the liberty of measuring that broken windowpane in your room and the back bedroom. If you want, I can pick up some glass at the hardware store and replace the panes. How’s tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s good, but honestly, don’t you have better things to do? Ezra, I appreciate it, but I don’t know how I can repay your generosity.”

“You could let me take you to dinner, for starters,” he said. Then he pointed to the hunk of cake on the kitchen counter and grinned. “And I wouldn’t say no to the rest of that cake, if you’re not going to eat it.”

Ivy felt herself blushing. “How about this? You let me cook dinner for you. Not like a date. More as, like, a neighbor thing.”

Ezra’s grin faded momentarily. “Not really what I had in mind, but I guess it’s a start.”

 

 

Chapter 6

 


Ivy stood, shivering, staring at the thermostat. No heat. Temperatures had plummeted overnight. She’d burrowed deeper under the sleeping bag and quilt and finally, at daylight, she’d faced facts. No heat.

She bundled up in her warmest clothes, donned two pairs of socks and her boots, and went down to the basement to check out the furnace. It was cold and silent. How old was this thing? James Heywood had mentioned that his in-laws had only installed central heat in the eighties. Which meant her furnace was beyond middle-aged and facing obsolescence.

“Nooo!” she wailed, trudging back up the stairs. The chicks were peeping loudly from their cardboard crate.

She carried the crate into the chilly kitchen and set it on the table. “Hang in there, girls,” she told them. “I’ll have you warmed up in a second.” She turned on the oven and opened the door. Nothing. No blue flame. Nada.

It occurred to her that both the furnace and her stove were gas fueled. That was the good news. The bad news was that her propane tank was probably empty.

The chickens were still chirping their complaints about the cold. She dashed into the bedroom and brought back the quilt, which she draped over the box, being careful not to cover the ventilation holes.

She picked up her phone to call Ezra Wheeler to ask about having the propane tank refilled. Which was when she noticed she’d missed a call during her basement expedition.

The caller, Acme Movers, who should have been pulling into her driveway right about now with her furniture, had left a voicemail:

“Uh, hi. This is Jenny from Acme Movers Dispatch. Just wanted to let you know we’ve had a little mix-up down here in Atlanta. Seems like your load got sent down to Fort Myers. Your new delivery date is Wednesday. You can call our office if you have any questions. Sorry about that!”

Ivy buried her face in her hands. She was cold and hungry and pissed. She needed caffeine. She trudged into the bathroom, turned on the taps, got undressed, and stepped into the shower.

She was sure her shriek could be heard all over the county. Apparently, her hot-water heater was also propane fueled. She dressed with lightning speed.

Her call to Ezra Wheeler went directly to voicemail. She was having that kind of morning.

Punkin met her at the door with his leash in his mouth. “Okay, boy, we’ll warm up walking into town.”

 

* * *

 

“Stay here and be good, and I’ll bring you a treat,” Ivy said as she tethered Punkin loosely to the bike rack outside the café.

The Coffee Cup had hot coffee, grits, biscuits, bacon, and eggs and Ivy ordered it all. No sign today of the ponytailed waitress she’d encountered the previous day. She was sitting at a table by a sun-soaked window, clutching her coffee mug in both hands, when her new friend Phoebe walked in.

Ivy waved her over to her table and Phoebe sat down.

“What brings you to town so early? I thought you said your movers were coming this morning?”

“I thought so too,” Ivy said, her expression grim. “No movers. No heat, no hot water. Seems like my propane tank is empty.”

“Ohhhh,” Phoebe said. “You poor thing.”

The waitress appeared. “Hi, Phoebe, whatcha having?”

“Just coffee, Angela. Black, please.”

“No biscuits? Or doughnuts?”

“Just the coffee,” Phoebe said firmly.

When their server was gone, Phoebe leaned in to whisper, “Everybody in here is lookin’ at you.”

“Yeah, I kind of noticed that,” Ivy said. “Must be a slow news day.”

“Every day is a slow news day in Tarburton. You’re kind of the talk of the town. Folks are wondering why a gorgeous city girl like you wanted to buy a falling-down farmhouse in a hick town like this way off in the mountains.”

Ivy laughed. “Days like today, I wonder that myself. But I can assure you, it’s nothing sinister. It’s peaceful here. No crime, no traffic like Atlanta. No … memories.”

Phoebe motioned toward Ivy’s ringless hands, especially the left, which bore a pale, untanned band of skin on the ring finger.

“He hurt you bad, huh?”

“Let’s just say we hurt each other. And since I can work anywhere I want, I chose here.”

“Here?” Phoebe looked around the homely diner. “There’s not but three stoplights—and one, the one in front of First Baptist, is really only a blinking light. No mall, no clubs, no fun.”

“And why are you here?” Ivy asked.

“Born and raised here. Like my mama and daddy.” Phoebe leaned in and lowered her voice. “I’ll tell you a secret. I’m not fixing on staying here much longer. My boyfriend, Cody, is deployed. He’s an Army Ranger. And where he’s at is so supersecret he can’t even tell me where it is. But he’ll be home in two weeks, and then…”

She looked around the café to make sure nobody could overhear. “You can’t tell a soul this next part, okay?”

“That’s easy. I don’t know a soul in Tarburton.”

“You know me. And you know that cute Ezra Wheeler.”

“How do you know…” Ivy’s voice trailed off. “Oh yeah. Small town. Anyway, your secret is safe with me.”

Phoebe took a deep breath. “We’re gonna elope. We’ve got it all planned out. It’ll be so romantic. He’ll be home two days before Christmas. Mr. Schoonover, he’s the city clerk you met, he’ll give us our marriage license, and Judge Briggs, I’ve known him since forever, I think he’d marry us, but just in case, I think we’ll go over to the next county and find a justice of the peace. And then we honeymoon in Gatlinburg.”

“That does sound romantic,” Ivy said, thinking about her own lavish wedding, with eight bridesmaids and as many groomsmen, and the flurry of parties and celebrations. And then, six years later, she was single again.

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