Sweet Tibby Mack

Justine’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Tibby, don’t look now, but there’s a small horse following you.”

Tibby laughed. “Meet Exterminator. He’s one reason I went to town.” She spread a car robe behind the counter, then filled a bowl with water for the thirsty dog.

“Exterminator?” Grabbing her purse, Justine ducked out the other side. But the dog was too busy lapping up water to pay her any heed. When he lifted his head, water dribbling from his muzzle, he did look ferocious.

Tibby started to explain that he was really a pussycat. Suddenly she changed her mind. After all, what good was a guard dog if everyone knew he was a phony?

“Thanks, Justine. Drop by tomorrow. I’ll cut and color your hair for free. I know your time is worth more, but it’s something I can do in exchange for your watching the store, since you won’t let me pay you.”

“I like doing it. This gives me a break from painting and lets my creative juices flow again. ’Sides, I’ll never turn down a free haircut.” They both laughed as the door opened.

Through it burst a man carrying a huge bouquet of roses. “Tibby Mack?” he inquired, helpless to see around the greenery.

Tibby cast a stunned glance at Justine, who avoided her eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” Justine mumbled. “Check to see who sent them.”

Tibby continued to stare at the flowers. “There must be some mistake,” she said weakly.

“No mistake.” The man plunked the vase on the counter. “Sign here, please. It’s a long drive out from Brawley.”

Hands shaking, Tibby scribbled her name on the line he’d indicated. “But I don’t know anyone anywhere who’d send me flowers,” she insisted.

“Whoever sent ’em paid a mint for delivery,” said the driver as he tucked the pencil behind his ear and headed for the door. “We soak ’em for mileage.”

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Justine admonished when he’d gone. “Honestly, Tibby, I’d have that envelope shredded by now.”

Tibby touched one of the dark red buds. Then she leaned over and sniffed. “They’re gorgeous. No one’s ever sent me flowers, Justine. I can’t believe they’re for me. Let me appreciate them a minute, in case it’s all a horrible mistake.”

“Tibby, you’re too much. Florists aren’t in the business of making mistakes.”

“I suppose.” Almost reluctantly Tibby plucked the white envelope from its forked stake. Even then, she turned it over several times and patted her dog’s head before she finally slipped a fingernail under the flap and pried it open, never noticing that Justine had apparently lost interest.

Tibby frowned after reading the message. “They’re from Cole.” She tossed the card on the counter. “He says, ‘Sorry for everything. Forgive me, Cole.’ Ha! More than likely he had to run into Brawley for some piddling spice he forgot and realized how inconvenient it is.”

“Now, dear, he probably feels guilty about shouting at you earlier. Men have a tendency to speak first and think later. Why not enjoy the roses and let bygones be?”

“They are lovely, aren’t they?” Tibby’s features softened.

Smiling, Justine angled toward the door. Before she reached it, the bell over the top tinkled again. A pretty woman, pale-skinned with shoulder-length blond hair, poked her head tentatively into the store. “Excuse me,” she murmured in a smoky voice, “I’m hunting for Cole O’Donnell’s country home. I must have taken a wrong turn. Could someone direct me?”

Tibby and Justine exchanged glances, Justine’s one of surprise, Tibby merely rolling her eyes as if to say, Country home, oh, brother!

“You can see his house through that window.” Tibby pointed. She shushed Exterminator when he loped to the end of the counter and barked. “Driving there is trickier. If you’d like, I’ll show you on an area map.”

“Would you? And do you have any cold mineral water? It’s so hot out.”

“Hot? It’s barely eighty-seven. But yes, I have mineral water, juice and iced herb tea.” Tibby directed the newcomer toward the cooler.

The woman pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and stepped fully into view. “Thank goodness you seem civilized. I was afraid to stop in any of the dingy little towns I passed through.” She shrugged a delicate shoulder while inspecting the case.

Tibby took the opportunity to study the woman. She had wide violet eyes enhanced by liner and mauve eye shadow, and she wore a filmy little purple top and a fluttery short skirt that would have stopped a train on a dime. Good thing she’d driven straight through. Those poor farmworkers would’ve died of shock.

Silver hoop earrings and matching bracelets jingled when she reached into the case. If it’d been a man checking out those long bare legs, Tibby thought peevishly, he’d probably have swallowed his teeth.

“You known Cole long?” Tibby asked as she dug through a cluttered drawer in search of the map. She hated the hint of jealousy in her tone.

“A couple of years. I’m Cicely Brock, by the way. If you get an L.A. paper and read the entertainment section, you may have seen me. I’m in a new TV series.”

“Winnie gets the LA. Times,” Justine said. “I’ll mention it to her on my way home. How long will you be in Yaqui Springs, Ms., uh, Brock? In case Winnie would like your autograph.”

Cicely broke into a smile. “I’m only going to be at Cole’s till tomorrow afternoon. But I’d be happy to sign something. I don’t expect to be back. He’s usually on the continent working for classy resorts. I can’t imagine why he’s designing something out here in the boonies.” The woman took a dainty sip of her mineral water, then fanned herself, which set her bracelets dancing. “Are you sure it’s not closer to a hundred degrees? I can’t afford to get sunburned. My agent would have fits.” She gazed at Tibby as if seeing her sun-streaked hair and evenly tanned skin for the first time. “My goodness, don’t you worry you’ll wrinkleT’

Justine made a strangled noise in her throat, which she quickly turned into a goodbye thrown at Tibby.

Saying nothing, Tibby bent to find the elusive map. Triumphant at last, she turned with it clutched in her hand, only to find Cicely eyeing the card that had come with the roses. Tossing two dollars atop the card, Cole’s visitor stormed out of the store, not waiting either for change or for directions to his lane.

Tibby felt her stomach lurch. Until that very moment, she’d been unwilling to admit that, in spite of their latest battle, she longed for more than an adversarial relationship with Cole O’Donnell. Even when he’d gone away to college, she’d known there’d be women. But they’d remained nameless faceless women. Easy to dismiss. It was pretty hard to disregard Ms. May Centerfold.

Tibby knew it wasn’t very nice, but she hoped Cole burned the pasta or that the wine he’d selected had been on the shelf long enough to turn to vinegar.

She sneaked a peek out the window to see if Cicely had reached Cole’s house yet. If she stood on tiptoe she could tell. “Uh-oh.” Justine still stood in the parking lot, in a cluster of Moped Mavericks. The way Justine waved her arms, Tibby knew the ladies were getting a blow-by-blow account—of everything from the roses to Cole’s girlfriend. It certainly wouldn’t do to let that bunch see her spying. Jerking back, Tibby fussed with the shelves. Darn, she was tempted to take Exterminator out to explore. Stoically she resisted. Besides, her friends would see right through the flimsy ploy.

COLE RACED HOME after leaving the heavy-equipment contractor and the county inspector in charge of issuing permits. Since he owned the land, the inspector saw no problem with starting to clear it. The permits themselves would take a few weeks. Technically, county planners had to approve the drawings. Cole was confident his would pass muster; after all, it was how he made his living.

But he’d been a lot later winding things down than he’d planned. He hadn’t showered, let alone started the pasta sauce. By his calculations Cicely should be rolling in soon. Cole’s intent had been to have everything done except tossing the salad, so they could sit out on the patio and share a relaxing glass of wine without intrusion.

Stripping, he stepped into a cool shower. There was still one potential oil slick to mar his smooth sailing. Tibby Mack’s blasted post office. He hadn’t mentioned that little snafu to the inspector. Jockeying the location of his clubhouse entailed redrawing the entire plan and resubmitting it. Plus, he’d planned on using her traffic light. It was the only one in Yaqui Springs. As this wasn’t technically a town, he didn’t relish the thought of talking the county into installing another. He could just imagine it—weeks of costly traffic studies that would end with him paying some outrageous price for putting in a light. If the powersthat-be deemed a light was necessary.

Cole washed his hair, rinsed off, then blindly grabbed for a towel. He regretted having lost his temper with Tibby earlier. Unfortunately Tibby Mack had a way of setting him off like no other woman he’d ever met. He owed her an apology for this morning. And he’d have delivered it, except she’d been gone all afternoon. Where to? he wondered. Not that what she did was any of his business.

Irritated by his turn of thought, Cole took care laying out his clothes. Cicely liked a man’s slacks pressed and his shoes shined. She was big on people wearing the right weight for the right season, too, he recalled as he quickly discarded one shirt and selected another.

Heading for the kitchen, he strapped on his watch. Once there, he uncorked the wine to let it breathe, then decided to set the table on the patio while it was still light. He’d bought a candle in a shallow dish for a centerpiece. Nothing he hated more than breaking his neck trying to see the person seated across from him.

Was he nervous? Probably. It’d been nearly five months since he’d seen her. Cole didn’t kid himself that Cicely had sworn off dating while he was in Europe. They’d had no real commitment then. If things were to change, it was imperative that Cicely like Yaqui Springs, dinky or not.

Straightening, Cole gazed out through a ruff of pine trees toward the Mack place. Tibby seemed acclimated to the slower pace. Even when she was busy, she didn’t give the appearance of rushing. Her braid sort of floated lazily out behind her when she walked, the honey gold strands catching fire in the sun.

But why was he dreaming about Tibby’s hair when Cicely was due any moment? In fact—he cocked his head—was that someone at his front door? It sure sounded like it. Damn, now he’d be cooking, instead of relaxing. But maybe she’d like to shower and rest after the drive. Cicely had a tendency to be high-strung.

Cole skirted the couch on his way through the living room. When he reached the entry, he flung open the door, prepared to greet and be greeted with a lingering kiss.

Instead, Cicely exploded through the door, tromping on his new Italian loafers. Her spine carefully rigid, she paced the room in circles.

“Wake me at midnight, beg me to come for a romantic interlude—or at least that’s what I thought your call implied, Cole. Did you think I wouldn’t find out you’ve got another woman stashed in the wings? I guess you did, since it was quite by accident I found out.” She flung a hand dramatically toward the south wall. Silver bracelets skittered up and down her slender arm.

“Cicely, hold it right there. I have no idea what you’re raving about.”