Bluegrass Courtship

Well, thought Janet, you knew they’d get to the God part sometime.

As Janet sat down, Annie reached up into a cabinet that was top-to-bottom chocolate chip cookie boxes. And not just any chocolate chip cookie, either. Delicious Dave’s Chocolate Chip Cookies—pretty much the finest stuff on the planet.

She’d forgotten that Missionnovation had Dave’s as one of their sponsors. Every show ended with a parting shot of the whole design team sitting down to milk and cookies with whatever congregation they’d just saved. It was the kind of heavily wholesome scene that made Janet dislike the show, even though her mother watched it every Thursday night she happened to be over for dinner.

“I hope you know your hardware as well as you know your cookies,” Annie said as she placed an opened Dave’s box on the table and flipped open a thick file of lists. “Drew can come up with some pretty unusual requests.” She pulled her glasses out of her hair and put them back on. “Do you want us to just purchase whatever stock you’ve got, or do you want us to place our special orders through you, too?”

Janet froze with the cookie halfway to her mouth. “You’re going to buy your supplies through me?”

Annie looked surprised. “You don’t want us to?”

“I’m…” Janet hid her astonishment behind a mouthful of cookie. “I just figured you guys got your stuff through HomeBase.” The hardware megastore chain was one of Missionnovation’s major sponsors.

“Well, we do loads of business with them, that’s true, but we also try to do as much local business as we can.”

Annie popped up off her chair and filled a mug from the coffeemaker behind her. Janet noticed a bank of electronic equipment—walkie-talkies, headphones, video-cameras and several machines she couldn’t recognize—on a shelf over Annie’s head. The woman hoisted her cup Janet’s way in a “want some?” gesture, but Janet shook her head. She had never really been the coffeemaker after-breakfast type. “And, in answer to your question, yes,” Annie said as she turned back toward the counter to add a big swig of creamer to her cup. “He really is like that.”

“Like what?” Janet hadn’t asked a question. Out loud, that is.

“Like what you see on TV. The thing nobody seems able to figure out is that Missionnovation is exactly what it looks like. There’s no hype or gimmick. Drew and Charlie—that’d be Charlie Buchanan, our producer—just hit on one of those great ideas where everybody wins.” Annie sat back down, and Janet wanted to gulp. Had her suspicions been that apparent? “This is a first-class, faith-filled, high-integrity operation, Janet. If you have any problems, even the tiniest one, you come straight to Drew or me, okay?”

I don’t know the first thing about you except what I see on TV—that hardly seems enough to go on. Janet stared at the long lists in Annie’s hands. The first page alone had more orders on it than Janet had seen all month. The first file—and there were six—probably doubled all the sales ledgers sitting in her office. If what this Annie said was true, then Bishop Hardware might not have a “slow season” this fall. And that would make a world of difference. Slowly, Janet nodded. “I’d be a fool not to take you up on it.”

“Good. I’m glad we got that out of the way. We’re the real deal, Janet.” Annie dunked a cookie into her coffee. “And you can take that to the bank. We’ll try never to give you a reason to worry.”

They were just going over the third file when a noise rose up outside the bus and the doors pushed open.

“Annie,” came Drew Downing’s voice over the crowd, “we got our octopus!”

Chapter Three

“Octopus?” Janet glanced between them.

“Drew, this is Janet Bishop.”

“Hi, there.” Downing sounded as if he had run the whole way back from the church. “Howard Epson is going to be a handful. Serious octopus.”

“The guy who has to have his hand in everything,” explained Annie with a wry grin.

“Oh.” Janet couldn’t suppress a smile. She had an amusing vision of Mayor Howard Epson’s ever-present blue cardigan sweater suddenly sprouting six extra sleeves. “Yeah, that sounds like Howard.”

Drew used one foot to tug over a stool while he reached into the bus fridge for a bottle of water. “I know he’s probably a good guy, but we’ve got to find something safe—lots of safe somethings—for Mayor Epson to do. I won’t get a thing done if he’s all over this the way he wants to be.”

Annie sighed. “There’s an octopus on every project. And it usually is the one who sent in the application. It’s great that they feel such a sense of ownership, but…”

“Howard is a bit of an attention and control freak,” Janet offered.

“Being elected for three straight terms as Mayor of Middleburg does not qualify you to run a bulldozer.” Drew gulped down some water before continuing. “He can’t be the guy to knock down the gym. You need certification to do that sort of thing. Try and talk to him again, will you, Annie?”

“And that,” said Annie, gathering up a clipboard, “is the other part of my job. Shenanigan Prevention and Octopus Wrangler. Put that on a business card.”

“Shenanigan?” Drew looked at Janet.

“Long story,” Janet answered dryly.

“You two finish going over that list. I’ll go deal with His Honor.” Annie snagged her coffee mug—a green mug with the white Missionnovation logo on both sides—and headed out the door.

“I’m Drew,” Downing said as he extended a hand. She thought it was funny that he introduced himself—everyone knew who he was. Janet noticed his watch was a combination of a snazzy face and a rugged leather band. “And you’ve met Annie. You got any trouble—any concerns at all—you bring ’em to one of us. We aim to do right around here.”

“So I keep hearing,” Janet replied.

“Well,” Drew said, shucking off his coat and tossing it on the couch behind him, “if you don’t mind my saying so, you looked a bit skeptical back there in the store.” He took another swig of water and pulled Annie’s file of lists over in front of him. “So you’re the Bishop in Bishop’s Hardware?”

“That’d be me.”

He cocked his head to one side and eyed her. He had brown hair, shot through with a smattering of very hip-looking blond streaks. He sported an expensive brand of athletic shoes, but they’d definitely seen a lot of wear. His jeans were one of those expensive brands, too, but they had rips in both knees and a streak of paint down one side. Still the kind of man better suited for some slick California café than a Kentucky diner. There was no arguing he had a face worthy of television—tawny complexion, strong jaw, killer dimples. The color of his eyes wasn’t that noteworthy—it was mostly the gigawatt intensity that made Janet look twice. “You don’t see too many female owners in the hardware business,” he offered. “Especially in small towns. How’d you get into it?”

Janet was well aware of her uniqueness. Even though she’d been around the store for years, contractors all over the county gave her a hard time when she first took over, testing to see if she really knew her stuff. And she did. Janet knew the name of every type of screwdriver by the time she was three. She was mixing paint by the time she was ten, and could recommend the proper pipe fitting by the time she could drive. “Genetically,” she replied. “My dad owned the store.”

“My dad was a plumber,” Drew said as he dug his hand into the box of cookies and pulled out two. Janet could see the memory overtake him, diffuse the light in his eyes. “He wouldn’t know what to make of what I do now.”

“Was?” She just knew by the way he said it.

“He died four years ago, just before we signed the deal for Missionnovation. Your dad like how you run the store?”

“He’s been gone for a couple of years now. I like to think he’d be fine with how it’s going.”

Drew raised an eyebrow. “You’re old enough to have been running a hardware store for five years? Don’t they have child labor laws in Kentucky?”

Janet crossed her arms and tried to look every one of her twenty-eight years. “They teach you that in Hollywood charm school?”

“Okay, so maybe we skip the charming small talk and you tell me what’s really on your mind. I like it better that way, anyway.”

Janet decided to take him at his word. “Look, I’m glad the preschool’s getting an overhaul. We needed it, even before the oak tree went through the roof. And I know the school and church’ll get all kinds of bells and whistles that they’d never get any other way. And this,” she tapped the files between them on the table, “is a whole lot of business for me, that’s true. But all that doesn’t change the fact that Middleburg’s problem is about to become prime-time entertainment.”

“Because you don’t trust us to get the job done right. You’re afraid we’ll manufacture drama. Exploit your hardship.” He pushed up the sleeves of his green Missionnovation sweatshirt.

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Well, Janet.” He leaned forward in his seat. “I’ll make you a deal. You won’t have to trust me. I’m giving you full access. Inspect any of the construction at any time of the day or night.” He stood up and went over to a little office built next to where all the electronics stood. “Here are the direct lines to our production staff and our accountants. Call anyone you like to confirm anything you hear from me.” He handed her a paper while he pulled open a cabinet revealing a safe. Opening it, he pulled out a fat checkbook.

“I, however,” he sat back down again, “am going to trust you from this very moment.” He pointed to the file. “There’s a list of what we’ll need so far. That’s only the beginning, of course, but it should keep you busy while we set about finishing the job that oak tree started.” He pulled a check from the checkbook and wrote it out to Bishop Hardware, signed it, but left the amount blank. “And this here’s a blank check made out to your store. We want satisfied customers. This check is for you to make any repairs or modifications you find you need after we’re gone. If the plaster cracks, fix it. If the pipes leak, call a plumber. We’ll cover your costs for anything you need to fix that you think was our doing. I don’t want you to feel we’ve taken advantage of you or Middleburg in any way.”

Janet stared at the check, filled—except for the “in the amount of” line—with Downing’s large, flamboyant handwriting. He’d signed his name so large it overshot the signature line on either side.

“I was raised to be a man of my word. I believe in what I do. I’m the real deal, Janet Bishop, and I mean to prove it to you.” He extended his hand with something near fire in his eyes. “Will you let me?”

Chapter Four