The Man She Married

“Gotcha. Don’t worry about a thing.”

MAIZIE PULLED INTO THE Piggly Wiggly parking lot. She was hoping to run in and out quickly but the chances of that happening in Magnolia Bluffs—where everyone knew everyone else’s business and loved to discuss it—were slim.

Before Maizie could make it to the cash register, Laverne Hightower, the town’s rumor maven, had managed to share a play-by-play of her gallbladder attack. Not to be outdone, Shirley Smith had launched into a full rundown on her daughter’s wedding preparations. And everyone wanted to talk about the commotion at the Boudoir. The next time Maizie needed food she’d go to the big box store out on the bypass.

By the time the groceries were bought, the errands were run and the day was over, she was ready to pull her hair out. No doubt about it—today had been one of those days.

Maizie breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled up to the detached garage behind her rambling white turn-of-the-century bungalow. Her home was typically Southern with green shutters, a wraparound veranda and a trellis of honeysuckle.

When things got too hectic, Maizie loved to sit on the porch swing with a frosty glass of sweet tea and watch the world go by. It was her way of sweeping out the mental cobwebs. However that was an indulgence for another day.

“Clay!” Maizie called as she dropped her purse and a bag of canned goods on the kitchen table. “I need some help.”

The television was blaring in the family room, and hubby dear was missing in action.

“Clay, where are you?” Maizie was perfectly capable of carrying in the rest of the food, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Clayton!”

That apparently got his attention. “What do you need, Babes?” he answered, not bothering to move away from the television.

“I want some help with the groceries.”

“Can you wait a minute? I’m watching something.”

Maizie stomped into the family room to see what was so important. Bass fishing? Clay wasn’t waiting for a touchdown to be scored or a home run to be hit. No—he was sitting in his favorite leather chair with his feet propped on the ottoman, watching some guy in an expensive boat troll for fish.

Maizie was normally even-tempered—except when she was in a snit, and she didn’t really count that—but she grabbed the remote, hit the Off button and marched out. Making a grand exit was a talent she’d learned at her mama’s knee, and she happened to be darned good at it.

CRAP. CLAY KNEW HE was in a mess of trouble, again. What had he done this time? All he’d wanted to do was see if Skeeter Jackson would win the tournament and the hundred-thousand-dollar prize. He could have used that kind of cash himself. It would go a long way toward solving at least one of his problems.

But immersing himself in that pipe dream had only irritated his sweetie, so clearly Clay had to make amends. Should he go with the “I’m so sorry, I’m an insensitive jerk” defense? That usually worked, especially if he followed up with some heavy necking—and a promise to do the dishes, take out the trash, clean the bathroom, yada, yada, yada.

“I’m sorry.” Clay was honestly remorseful. He hated upsetting Maizie.

“Why don’t you sit down and let me get you a Coke,” he suggested. Without waiting for an answer he retrieved a soft drink and handed it to her.

Clay was about to give himself a big pat on the back. Then he saw his wife’s face. Something was drastically wrong, and it had nothing to do with bringing in the groceries.

“Clay.” Maizie sat at the pine trestle table, rubbing the cold can against her face. “Is this all we have to look forward to?”

That question scared Clay silly. When your wife got philosophical, all hell was about to break loose.

Chapter Three

It was a beautiful October Saturday, the leaves had changed, the air was crisp, and the University of Georgia was in the hunt for a national football title. Everyone in town was infected by gridiron fever and the Walkers were usually no exception. Back in the dark ages, Maizie had been a UGA cheerleader and Clay had been a star linebacker on the team. Needless to say, they were huge fans.

Regardless of the hoopla, Maizie was having a hard time getting into the “rah rah” mood. In fact, she was in more of a “kick ’em in the knee” frame of mind. On that depressing thought she answered the annoying ring of the phone, hoping it was a telemarketer, not someone she’d actually have to talk to.

“What’s wrong?” Only her twin would pick up on trouble from a simple hello.

“Nothing. I’m just feeling out of sorts.” Maizie normally shared everything with her sister, but this situation felt different.

“Is Hannah okay?”

Maizie chuckled, thinking about her flower child. “She’s fine, but her dad almost flipped when she told him she was considering majoring in pottery.”

Maizie was inclined to be a bit zany. Liza, on the other hand, was a lawyer and practical to the max, so she probably didn’t understand the pottery thing, either.

“Well, uh.” Liza paused. “I didn’t know they offered that major at Emory.”

“It was news to me, too,” Maizie said. “That’s why I decided to worry about it later. Next week she’ll have changed her mind again.”

A fan of Gone With the Wind, Maizie had long ago adopted Scarlett’s fiddle-dee-dee attitude, and so far it had worked perfectly. “What time are you guys coming over?” She could segue at the drop of a hat.

“The game starts at six, so how does five or five-thirty sound?”

“That works. Kenni and Win won’t be here until around seven. He has to meet with a client.”

“The only thing they’ll miss is the pregame hype. What do you want me to bring?” Liza asked.

A casual observer might assume Liza had forgotten about her sister’s funk, but Maizie knew better.

“See you soon,” Liza said. “Oh, by the way, don’t get smug. We’re going to have a little chat when I get there.”

Darn, that girl was like a dog with a juicy bone. No wonder she was an attorney.

THE GUYS WERE BONDING over the pregame show and pigging out on chips and salsa. That allowed Liza carte blanche to start the inquisition. Before she pulled out the thumb screws, though, she grabbed two bottles of Heineken from the fridge and a couple of frosty mugs from the freezer.

“Sit.” Liza handed Maizie a beer as a peace offering. “Now spill your guts.”

Maizie was a smart girl so she could tell when it was time to surrender. Liza might be no bigger than gnat’s eyelash, but she could be real mean. Well, maybe determined would be a better description, but whatever—Liza almost always got her way.

Mama said their stubborn streak was the only thing the twins shared. Liza was petite and dark while Maizie looked more like a Viking goddess. They were so different it was sometimes hard to believe they’d actually shared a womb.

Maizie reluctantly sat down. “I honestly don’t know what my problem is, I wish I did. At first I thought it was empty-nest syndrome, but lately I’ve been wondering if it’s the twenty-two-year itch.” She shrugged. “All I know is that I’m feelin’ a bit blue.” Maizie didn’t mention her stale love life. Even for a twin that was too much information.

“Oh, honey. You need something to cheer you up. You’re simply having a hormonal crisis.” Liza raised a finger in her favorite “aha” signal. “I have an idea. We’ll talk Kenni into going with us to Lennox Square for a girls’ day out. We can rummage through Nordstrom’s shoe section and then indulge in some decadent chocolate. Think about it, imported chocolate and sexy sandals. What more could you want?”

Maizie couldn’t resist a grin. “Are we talking fattening and expensive?”

“Absolutely.” Liza held up her hand for a high five.

Although Maizie wasn’t sure a spending spree would do the trick, she was willing to try. Pessimism was new and rather unwelcome territory.

The party was a smashing success, partially because of the company, but equally because UGA won the Southeastern Conference championship. The next step was to wait for the football bowl selections to see if UGA would be fighting to be number one in the nation. For die-hard college football fans that was a huge deal.

The kitchen was clean, the family room had been tidied and the company had gone. Clay was on a football high and Maizie was feeling, well, to put it delicately, a bit amorous. Or to be blunt, she was ready to fool around.