Kitabı oku: «Random Acts Of Fashion», sayfa 3
If things went the way Agnes Sheridan wanted them to, by next summer the small pier would be restored and there’d be boats docked there. The roses would be tamed and there would be people sitting on the terrace. Wealthy, worldly people.
People like Gillian Caine.
“If only I’d said I was sorry,” he mumbled.
“What’s that, pal?”
Lukas started at the sound of Danny’s voice, then quickly collected himself. “About time you got back with my lunch,” Lukas said, figuring a little grousing would make Danny forget that Lukas hadn’t answered him.
“Here ya go.” Danny tossed Lukas a bag from the lunch counter at Ludington Drugs. “Tuna salad on white bread and an order of fried chicken. Interesting combination.”
Lukas easily caught the bag. He rummaged inside and came out with the sandwich. “Did you tell Clara to put cheese on the tuna?”
“Yup.”
Lukas unwrapped the sandwich and started to tear it into little pieces.
Danny groaned. “Don’t tell me you found another stray?”
Lukas set the wrapper down at the top of the steps and called, “Here, Tiger, Tiger.”
A huge clump of mums started to rustle. A moment later a cat emerged—the same one he’d rescued from the tunnel. The big, lazy-moving orange tabby had a scar on his nose and half his tail was missing. He prowled over to sniff the sandwich, gave Lukas a look of appreciation, then delicately started to eat.
Danny laughed. “Cat knows a good thing. Clara uses only albacore down at Ludington’s. By the time you get around to buying cat food, that cat is gonna turn up his nose at it.”
“You can tell just by looking at him that he’s been through a lot. He’s got a little luxury coming,” Lukas said as he bit into a chicken leg.
“Next thing you know, you’ll be going over to Sweet Buns and getting him a slice of cheesecake.”
Lukas laughed. What Danny said wasn’t so far-fetched. Lukas had been rescuing things all his life. As recently as last month he’d coaxed a wounded squirrel with macadamia nuts filched from the larder at Sweet Buns that, Molly never stopped reminding him, weren’t exactly cheap. He regularly climbed trees to fetch cats and helped old ladies cross the street. Heck, he’d even rescued Danny from a bunch of bullies back in grade school. They’d been best buddies ever since. Lukas had a reputation of being an all-around good guy. So how come he’d acted the way he had with Gillian Caine?
“You know, buddy, I did a really stupid thing the other night,” Lukas said to Danny.
“Stupider than feeding a stray cat a three-dollar sandwich?”
“Afraid so. I was down in the hotel’s wine cellar measuring for the new fittings, when I thought I heard a cat yowling in the tunnel. I checked it out and, sure enough, Tiger here was trapped down there. He was kind of spooked—clawing the hell out of me—and I remembered how when you and Hannah were trapped down there you got out through a manhole onto Sheridan Road. So Tiger and I took the same shortcut.”
Danny shrugged. “What’s so stupid about that? Don’t tell me you had trouble pushing that cover aside. If Hannah could do it—”
“Oh, I could push it out of the way all right, no problem. Trouble is, I sort of pushed more than the manhole cover out of the way.”
Danny wrinkled his brow. “What else did you push?”
“Gillian Caine. She was standing on the cover and she sort of went airborne.”
Danny started to laugh.
“It’s not funny, Danny. She sprained her arm. I had to take her to the E.R. and she’s got to wear a sling and I didn’t even say I was sorry.”
“Well, that’s not like you, pal. You’re the polite type. You even manage to be nice to Dragon Lady Sheridan.”
“Danny, I gotta tell you, I feel really lousy about this. She looked so little and helpless laying there in the street—”
“Gillian Caine helpless?”
“Maybe I should send her some flowers or something. What do you think?” Lukas asked earnestly.
Before Danny could answer, Tiger gave a growl worthy of a canine and both Danny and Lukas turned to see what he was tracking with his yellow stare. A man in a suit was standing in the open French doors.
“Which one of you is Lukas McCoy?”
Tiger bolted back into the mums as Lukas wiped his fingers on a paper napkin and stood up. “I’m McCoy,” he said.
“Then this is for you.” The man handed Lukas some papers and rapidly retreated.
“Hey, wait!” Lukas called to his back, but the guy just kept going.
“What’s with the papers?” Danny asked.
Lukas looked down at them. It took him a few moments to comprehend what he was reading. “Unbelieeeeevable!” He thrust a hand into his hair and started to pace the terrace while he read it again just to be sure. “Un-damn-believable.”
“What is it?” Danny asked.
Lukas looked up. “Gillian Caine is suing me.”
Danny whistled, long and low. “I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t order those flowers yet, huh, pal?”
“I do hope,” said a familiar voice from just inside the French doors, “that this doesn’t mean that my grandson was right about the two of you.”
“Mrs. Sheridan,” Lukas said with surprise. “Did we have an appointment? How long have you—um—”
“Been standing here?” the old lady finished for him. “Long enough to know that someone is suing you. Long enough to make me wonder if I’ve made a mistake.”
Danny hopped to his feet. “You know nothing about what’s going on, so if I were you—”
Lukas stepped in front of Danny, cutting him off both literally and figuratively. “What you just heard, Mrs. Sheridan, had nothing to do with Timber Bay Building and Restoration. It’s me getting sued. Not the company.”
Danny poked his head around Lukas. “Not that it’d be any of Gavin’s business either way.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Agnes Sheridan said with a haughty thrust of her head. “Gavin is coming back to Timber Bay.”
Behind him, Danny swore and Lukas tried to cover it up with a cough. “That’s—um—swell, Mrs. Sheridan,” he said after he’d cleared the imaginary frog in his throat.
The old lady’s black eyes glittered and her thin, usually stubbornly set mouth, actually smiled. “It’s what I had hoped. That once work started on the hotel, Gavin would take an interest and reclaim his life in Timber Bay.”
“Don’t tell me he’s coming home for good?” Danny asked. “One can hope, Mr. Walker.”
“Yes,” Danny agreed. “One can.”
Lukas was pretty sure that Danny and Agnes Sheridan weren’t hoping the same thing. He’d feel safer if he separated the two of them.
“Mrs. Sheridan, why don’t you let me show you the progress I’m making in the lobby. I think you’ll be pleased with the way the staircase looks.”
“Lead on, young man,” she said. But before she went through the French doors she turned and gave Danny a poke in the leg with her cane. “I suggest you get on with your lunch, Walker. I assure you that Gavin won’t take this sitting about on the job any better than I do.”
Danny opened his mouth but before anything could come out, Lukas took the Dragon Lady by the arm and ushered her into the ballroom, closing the French doors behind them.
Danny and the Dragon Lady had been enemies for years. Things had gotten better since Hannah, who Agnes Sheridan totally approved of, had hit town. But now that Gavin was coming back, Lukas was going to have his hands full as a peacemaker. The last thing he needed right now was to have some big-city brat take him to court.
He’d been right. Nothing good was coming from Gillian Caine being back in Timber Bay.
“THE HEARING IS TOMORROW, Mom,” Gillian said into the phone receiver.
“Justice moves swiftly in the Midwest.”
“They’ve got this judge who takes care of several counties and he’s only in town once a month. How primitive is that? My lawyer—who, by the way, I had to go to the next town to get—said that if we didn’t get on the docket this time, we’d have to wait a whole month.”
“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing, Gilly?”
Gillian sighed. “What are you trying to say, Mom?”
“Well, as I remember it, the McCoys were well liked in Timber Bay. The town might not take too kindly to an outsider taking one of their own to court. Have you thought of what it might do to business?”
“Mom, I’m not planning on taking him to the cleaners. I just want enough to hire someone to help me for the next couple of weeks.”
“But, honey, I already offered to come out and—”
“Forget it, Mom. We’ve been through all this already. I need to do this on my own. I need to be totally independent.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Gilly.”
Her mother was wrong. Gillian had to prove something to herself. She had to prove that she could be her own person and not have to count on anyone coming through for her ever again. If she failed, she’d have no one to blame but herself. And if she succeeded, no one could ever take it away from her.
“Can’t you just be supportive, Mom? I mean, Dad keeps saying that he wishes I hadn’t let Ryan off the hook. You should be jumping up and down with joy. I finally think Dad was right about something. I shouldn’t have let Ryan get away with it. I’m not making that mistake again.”
“But, Gilly, it’s not the same thing at all. In fact—”
Gillian was picking at a fingernail and mostly tuning her mother out when she heard a knock on the door downstairs.
“Mom, someone’s at the door,” she said, sending silent gratitude to whoever it was for getting her out of this conversation. She loved her mother, but she had heard it all before. “I’ll call you after court tomorrow. Kisses to everyone,” she added as brightly as possible. “Bye!”
She hurried downstairs and through the workroom to the back door. But when she opened it, no one was there. Sitting on the cement stoop was a wicker basket covered with a green-and-white gingham napkin. She recognized the napkin, but even if she hadn’t, she would have known that Molly had left the basket. Gillian could smell the cinnamon buns that were lurking beneath the gingham.
A bribe.
She snatched the basket up, shut the door and locked it behind her.
The smart thing would be to leave the basket downstairs in the workroom. Or better yet, out in the shop. Less temptation that way.
On the other hand, it was an old building. It wouldn’t do to encourage any rodents that might have designs on the place—make them think they were going to be able to stop in for a midnight snack.
She decided that she better take the basket upstairs with her, after all. That didn’t mean she was accepting the bribe, though, she told herself, climbing the stairs. She was a big girl. She could certainly resist a couple of cinnamon buns.
When she put the basket on the small drop-leaf table in the kitchen, she noticed the note tucked inside. With two fingers she carefully pulled it out, trying not to disturb the napkin and have to actually look the bribe in the eye. Or in this case, in the frosting.
I thought you might feel funny about coming into Sweet Buns so sweet buns are coming to you. Sorry again for the mud pies. Molly.
“Mud pies. Huh—yeah, right,” Gillian muttered. The basket was an obvious attempt to sweeten her up and make her drop the suit. She wondered how many cinnamon buns Molly thought it would take to buy her.
Well, she could just keep wondering because there was no way she was lifting that napkin and looking underneath.
Stoically, she marched into the bedroom. There were several outfits laid out on the canopy bed Aunt Clemintine had gotten for her the summer she’d turned six. Gillian was still trying to decide what to wear to court the next day.
“Something feminine, yet strong,” she murmured.
That left out the pink polka-dot suit with the ruffled hems.
“Something strong, yet sympathetic.”
That left out the black shantung tuxedo with the sheer tailored shirt and her witty take on a men’s club tie (diagonal rows of pink poodles against an aqua background).
“Something—” Well, above all something that would go with her sling. Which, she supposed, would be the black sleeveless sheath with the little turquoise capelet. The only problem was that it was very, very formfitting. But she had just lost five pounds.
When she tried it on, it fit beautifully. She didn’t even have to hold her tummy in—much. And it barely hurt her arm to put it on.
“Perfect,” she pronounced as she looked in the mirror. Whoever invented those diet shakes should get the Nobel or something. She had missed chewing, though. The sensual feel of food actually in her mouth. Hmm. And that reminded her. She hadn’t had any dinner yet. She’d picked up a salad at the supermarket and it was waiting in the fridge. She peeled out of the dress, hung it up and headed for the kitchen.
Was it her imagination or had the basket from Sweet Buns gotten bigger? Gillian ignored it and went to the fridge. She grabbed the salad, wrestled off the plastic cover and dug in.
“Oh, yum,” she muttered with her mouth full. “Iceberg lettuce and hothouse tomatoes.”
She kept forking into the salad but her stomach kept right on growling. Or was it the siren song of the cinnamon buns she kept hearing over the crunch of a woody radish?
Gillian eyed the basket. It would be such a shame to waste those buns. And didn’t carbohydrates help induce sleep? She started to reach for the basket, then drew her hand back. But, if the buns really were a bribe, did that mean that if she ate one she’d be accepting the bribe?
She picked up the note and read it again.
There really was no mention of Lukas, or the court case, at all. And she was, after all, owed some sort of payment for the pants that adorable Chloe ruined. Just a little carbohydrate to soothe the nerves. It’d be the healthy thing to do, wouldn’t it?
She pulled back the napkin. Six large buns, slathered with thick frosting, were nestled oh-so-beautifully in another gingham napkin. It was more than Gillian could stand.
Just one, she thought. One wouldn’t hurt.
3
IT WAS NEARLY TIME to leave for court and Gillian was still struggling with the side zipper on the black sheath. It turned out that the cinnamon buns hadn’t been a bribe at all. Sabotage. That’s what they were. Sabotage to make her gain back those five pounds.
Of course, no one had made her eat all six of them.
“But Molly should have known I couldn’t resist!” she wailed at her bloated reflection. Following a half-dozen sweet buns from Sweet Buns, the dress had ceased being a sheath and had turned, overnight, into a sausage.
Gillian gave up on the zipper and started to rip the dress off.
“Ow!”
Drat her sprained arm. It made dressing, something Gillian ordinarily loved to do, nearly impossible and painful as the dentist.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t as bad as a root canal. But it was so frustrating to have to do everything not only one-handed but gingerly, as well. She couldn’t wait to face Lukas McCoy in court. If the judge didn’t throw the book at him, Gillian just might have to throw something at him herself.
One-handed, of course.
She yanked a sleeveless red shirtwaist with a retro full skirt out of the closet and struggled into it, managing to howl in pain only twice. It had a wide belt that was, thankfully, adjustable, and even though it was a little snug in the bodice the full skirt definitely hid any evidence of her carbo pig-out session the night before. She took a white cardigan sweater that she’d picked up in a vintage clothing shop in the Village out of Aunt Clemintine’s bureau. It had a darling little Peter Pan collar that was edged with tiny seed pearls. Perfect for throwing over her shoulders. She slipped red pumps on her bare feet—panty hose had proven impossible to maneuver with only one hand—transferred the necessary junk to a vintage red clutch purse, then checked herself in the mirror.
“Hmm, not bad,” she murmured. Maybe even better than the outfit she was going to wear in the first place. Feminine yet strong. Original, yet not too funky. The sling, however, nearly ruined the look. Gillian rummaged through a few hat boxes of accessories and came up with a long white scarf scattered with tiny red dots. Using her teeth and her good arm, she managed to tie it. She slipped it over her shoulder then ducked her head to get it around her neck.
“Better,” Gillian said to her reflection in the mirror. She was making some minor adjustments to the scarf when out on the street a horn honked. She ran to the window and looked out. An enormous old hulk of a car, the color of lemons, waited at the curb. Gillian smiled. Yes, Philo Hernshaw would own such a car.
She ran down the stairs, went out the front door and got into her lawyer’s car.
“You’re so sweet to pick me up,” she said. “It’s such a nuisance not being able to drive.”
“My pleasure, Miss Plane.”
“Um—that’s Caine, Mr. Hernshaw.”
“What? Oh, no. I don’t use a cane. Although I think they can sometimes add a touch of distinction to a gentleman.”
“No, Mr. Hernshaw. My name is—”
There was the blare of a horn and the squeal of tires as Philo Hernshaw edged the car into traffic and Gillian decided it was best not to bother him while he was driving.
Philo Hernshaw was a sweet man, very courtly, with crisp white hair, a short little beak of a nose and pale blue eyes. He dressed impeccably in suits that could have come from the kind of vintage clothing shops Gillian loved to rummage in—though, in Philo Hernshaw’s case, Gillian was fairly certain that the suits were strictly one-owner. In all the social graces, her lawyer was quite acceptable. But Gillian was a little dubious of his mental powers. Oh, he didn’t seem senile—exactly. He was just a bit vague. Most of the time he had a secret little smile on his faded lips—like he was experiencing a pleasant memory—but every once in a while he’d sort of get this look on his face like he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten where he was at that particular moment. Very unsettling.
There was another blare of car horns as Philo made a turn onto Ludington Avenue without using his blinker. His driving wasn’t exactly instilling any more confidence. Unfortunately, he was the only lawyer within one hundred miles of Timber Bay willing to take her case. Gillian suspected his appointment book wasn’t exactly jammed.
Tires squealed as Philo changed lanes and Gillian decided to spend the rest of the trip with her eyes closed. Luckily, the courthouse was only about a mile down Ludington Avenue—right across the street from the hospital Lukas had taken her to—and they managed to arrive alive and unscathed.
Ever the gentleman, Philo came around and opened the door for her, offered his arm, and escorted her up the long walk that led to the courthouse.
“Quite a day, isn’t it, Miss Spain?”
Gillian opened her mouth to correct him, but decided to merely agree. “Yes, Mr. Hernshaw. It’s a beautiful day.”
The morning was sunny with a gentle breeze that stirred the gold-and-red leaves on the trees that dotted the grounds of the lovely little redbrick courthouse. The building was done in the federalist style, complete with an American flag flying from the top of its petite white rotunda.
It was all so bucolic. So undisturbed looking. Gillian felt a twinge in her belly that had nothing to do with those half-dozen sweet buns and everything to do with the fact that she was about to disturb this bucolic scene—big-time.
Philo held the door for her and she walked into the cool, dim marble foyer. There was a small group of people at the other end. Despite the fact that her eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dimness, Gillian immediately recognized Lukas by height and breadth alone. He was grinning at a short middle-aged woman with a pretty face and neat dark hair who was reaching up and trying to push back those loose curls that fell over his forehead. His mother, no doubt. The man standing next to her, a graying, slightly shorter version of Lukas, had to be his father. Molly was there, too, smiling and teasing her brother about their mother’s ministrations.
Gillian felt an unexpected pang of loneliness at the sight of McCoy’s family gathered around him. They all looked so nice. They reminded her of her own family. Well, minus the four brothers she had and plus the sister she’d always wanted.
As they approached, something made Lukas look up and the smile on his face, the one that deepened his dimples enough for a girl to get lost in them, totally disappeared.
Gillian sighed. “You are now entering the no-smile zone,” she said under her breath.
“Did you say something, Miss Flame?” Philo asked.
Gillian winced. She was about to go up against one of the town’s favorite sons and she had a lawyer who couldn’t even get her name straight. Despite the fact that Gillian firmly believed she was right in what she was doing, she didn’t feel real terrific about it at the moment.
Luckily, just as Gillian’s heart was warming to the McCoys—just as she started to wonder if she should just call the whole thing off—she heard the muffled sound of fabric rending as the back seam on the fitted bodice of her dress gave. And that made her remember the sweet-bun sabotage. Which made her remember the ruined pants and the damaged boot and her sprained arm. So when Molly came forward and started to introduce her parents, Gillian held up her good arm and yelled, “Stop!”
“Stop?” Molly inquired with a puzzled frown on her face.
“Please—just don’t come any closer. Every encounter I’ve had with a McCoy since I came back to town has turned out badly. So please—just stay right where you are until I’m safely inside the courtro—”
Gillian didn’t get to finish. There was a commotion behind the courtroom doors and then they burst open and an elderly man in a black robe came running out.
“Bees!” he yelled.
“What?” squawked Gillian.
“Bees!” the court reporter, hot on the heels of the judge and gripping her little machine in her hands, yelled.
“Close the doors!” someone shouted, but it was too late. The foyer was already buzzing.
“Oh, my—I’m allergic,” Philo said quite calmly just as a huge bumblebee landed on his nose. “Oh, my,” he merely said again as he went cross-eyed looking at it. “I’m allergic, you know,” he repeated politely.
The bee sat there quivering slightly as if it was trying to choose a pore to plunge its stinger into and Philo just stood there looking cross-eyed, so Gillian did the only thing she could think of. She swatted at the bee on Philo’s nose.
As it turned out, swatted might have been too mild a term because Philo went down like a felled tree with the squished remains of the bee hanging off of his nose.
Lukas rushed over and crouched next to Philo’s inert form. “Did the bee get him?”
“I don’t know! I’m not sure!” Gillian cried, feeling perfectly awful as she peered at her lawyer over McCoy’s hulking shoulder.
Lukas shook him but Philo remained stubbornly inert.
“Do you think he’s in shock from bee venom?” Lukas’s mother asked.
“I think it’s more likely the princess punched his lights out,” Lukas answered. “But just in case, we better get him to the hospital.”
“Somebody call 911!” Gillian shouted, but Lukas was already picking the lawyer up off the floor.
“The hospital is right across the street. I’ll take him.”
“I’ll come along,” Molly said.
Gillian stood there with her mouth hanging open as Lukas carried her lawyer out the door, cradling him in his arms like he was no more than a child.
“Swell,” Gillian said. “There goes my lawyer and the defendant. Talk about odd couples.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the judge said. “No courtroom, anyway. There was a whole damn nest of bees under the bench.”
Gillian panicked. The hearing couldn’t be postponed! Because if it was, it would mean that she was going to fail in business once again.
She grabbed ahold of the judge’s robe. “But Judge, you don’t understand! We have to have this hearing today! I could lose my business if we don’t.”
The judge sized her up, his lined face scrunching and his eyes squinting. “You prepared to act as your own lawyer?”
“Lukas is acting as his own lawyer,” Mr. McCoy said. Mrs. McCoy nodded in agreement.
Gillian, who’d gotten hooked on the courtroom show that gave her the idea to sue McCoy in the first place, figured if Lukas McCoy could be his own lawyer, so could she. “Yes!” she answered, bobbing her head up and down enthusiastically.
“Then find me a courtroom, girlie, and we’re in business.”
Gillian was ecstatic and didn’t wonder until much later at the wisdom of wanting to go before a judge who called her girlie.
She was pacing, trying to come up with an idea for an alternative courtroom when the doors to the main entrance burst open and a group of women came bustling in, each of them carrying a weird-looking plant in their hands.
“We were over in the church basement, Judge,” a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman said, “for our weekly quilting club, when we heard you had an insect problem.”
“Bees, Kate,” the judge said. “Damn courtroom hasn’t been used in so long that a bunch of ’em built a nest right up there under the bench.”
“Oh, dear. I don’t know if my carnivores like bees. But I haven’t had a chance to feed them yet today so I know they’re hungry.”
“Feed them?” Gillian asked.
“Dead flies, dear,” Kate said sweetly. “My babies love them.”
Gillian didn’t quite know what to say to the woman with the chomping plant. Luckily Lukas came back and she went rushing up to him for a report on Philo.
“Is he all right?”
“Yup. Molly is staying with him until they finish in the emergency room. You knocked him out cold. His nose is turning purple already. I guess I should be glad you’re taking me to court and not beating the hell out of me, huh, princess?”
Gillian’s mouth dropped open. “You know it was an accident, McCoy. Besides, I might have saved his life. For all you know that bee was getting ready to plunge his stinger into poor addled Mr. Hernshaw.”
“Next time, princess, try just swatting it away.”
There was a twinkle in his eye and for a moment Gillian thought he was going to smile at her. She found herself waiting for it, hoping for it, like she’d waited as a kid to see what a neighbor was going to drop into her sack on Halloween.
Apparently, she was still in the no-smile zone because it didn’t come. Instead he turned to the quilting ladies. “You ladies aren’t going in there with all those bees loose. If anyone is taking those things into that courtroom, it’s gonna be me.”
Gillian glared at him. Whittler to the rescue, again—and making a good impression on the judge at the same time.
Gillian stepped in front of Lukas and stopped him with the flat of her hand on his chest. Oh, my. And a very hard chest it was, too. She pulled her hand off of it before she forgot what she was going to say.
“You’re not going in there, either, McCoy. You’re not disappearing on any more rescue missions until I get my day in court.”
“You’re forgetting, princess, we don’t have a courtroom unless we get rid of the bees.”
“Or find a temporary substitute,” the judge added.
“What about the church basement?” Kate Walker suggested.
LUKAS SAT on a little chair meant for a Sunday-school student in the basement of the Church of the Holy Flock and wondered whose side Kate Walker was on. She was the mother of his best friend and partner. Why was she so all-fired eager to get him sued? Lukas wouldn’t have minded putting the whole thing off for another month when the judge came around again. And he sure as heck would not have minded having a full-size chair to sit on. But with the Church of the Holy Flock quilting club running overtime due to their thwarted carnivores to the rescue attempt and the choir refusing to postpone their practice and the Christmas bazaar committee meeting also taking place, there was a shortage of chairs. The judge got the last full-size folding chair in the place. Lukas’s lucky father got to lean on the wall and his mother had joined the rest of the quilters at the back of the room—no doubt tickled that she didn’t have to miss a club meeting, after all, just because her son was being sued.
Lukas shifted slightly in his seat, trying to keep his butt from going to sleep, and hoped to heck the dinky wooden chair didn’t break beneath him. All he needed was to appear the fool again in front of the big-city princess who, at that very moment, was standing there in that pretty red dress with her arm in a sling and a wounded look in those big eyes, telling her story to the judge. Lukas figured it was a shoo-in that he was gonna lose this case.
Maybe his mom had been right when she’d scolded him about the accident. Even though he was paying Gillian’s doctor bills, his mom thought that he should have gone over to the dress shop and offered his services until her arm healed. He hadn’t wanted to point out that he didn’t do so well around Gillian, so he’d just scoffed at the idea.
“Your turn, McCoy,” the judge said.
“Huh?” Lukas asked.
“Let’s hear your side, boy.”
“Oh.”
Lukas tried to rise from the desk without much luck. He decided the best thing to do was to slide to the floor and stand up from there. When he did, the quilters erupted into giggles. He flashed a look at them in time to see his ma try to wipe the smile off her face. Swell. He expected to be laughed at by the likes of Ina Belway, who ran Belway’s Burgers and Brews, or Clara, who ran the lunch counter down at Ludington Drugs. But his mom?
“The court is waiting,” the judge said.
Yeah, he felt like saying, and so is the quilting club.
“What she says is true, Judge. I did come up out of that manhole without any warning, but it’s not real bright to stand on one in the first place, is it?”
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