This coming from a woman with copper-colored streaks in her hair.
Frowning, she lifted a pot and set it on the worktable. It was white—she decided to
start easy. She pulled the shimmery purple foil from its roll, not exactly sure how much she needed, and ripped it off along the serrated edge above the roll. Laying it flat on the table, foil-side down, she set the pot in the center and immediately deduced she’d
hacked off way too much material.
Crap.
She made some mental measurements and reached for the scissors. By the time she
was done and was trying to neatly wrap the foil around the plastic pot as Jess had so expertly done, she realized she’d trimmed off too much paper.
With a grimace, she tossed aside the worthless foil and tried again. Who knew this
could be so complicated? Several sheets later, she had a workable square and used it as a template to measure another twelve sheets.
Neatly wrapping the decorative paper around the pots was another story
altogether. Liza tried to make tight creases as Jess had done with her demo and tuck a little into the soil so that the remainder of the foil framed the stalks of the flowers. But hers lacked the elegant flair Jess had captured.
Factoring a satin bow into the equation was no easy feat. She tied the first one four different times before swearing up a blue streak. It took her nearly an hour just to get the orchids ready. Then she rooted through the coolers until she found the centerpieces designated for the luncheon. An uneasy feeling mingled with a hint of panic as she
realized how late she was running. She loaded the flowers into the van and climbed
into the driver’s seat. She inserted the key in the ignition and started the vehicle… Only to realize she had absolutely no idea where the hell she was going. Reaching for her
purse, she searched for her cell phone.
“Oh holy fuck!” She stared heavenward as she rolled her eyes. She hadn’t returned
her phone to her purse the morning Reverend Bain had interrupted her and Jack.
Doing everything she could to keep the sexy cowboy from her mind—along with
visions of more things she wanted him to do to her before the confirmed bachelor
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moved on—she climbed out of the van and went back into the flower shop. She found
the Yellow Pages and located the Elks Lodge, but still needed to map it out. Her gaze landed on Jess’ computer, but it wasn’t booted up. And she didn’t think she had the
time to wait for it or navigate whatever operating system Jess used in her attempt to get to Google Maps.
She considered calling Jack, but didn’t want to bother him with her trivial mishap.
So she called the Lodge and luckily got someone on the line willing to give her detailed directions.
Back in the van, she assumed she was heading west, hoping like hell she didn’t get
lost. Because there wasn’t a building or a car in sight to save her sorry ass if she did.
Nothing but unmarked back roads in Hill Country.
Sure enough, trying to find Pine Bluff was a little like navigating Blind Man’s Bluff in a thick patch of fog and rain—and it wasn’t even raining.
Her nerves were a bit jangled as she took a series of turns and ended up on a
desolate road, not even certain she was going the right way. She glanced up at the sky, looking for the sun to see in which direction it was still rising. But the tops of the enormous pine trees surrounding the narrow dirt road she was on made it impossible
to see the sun while it was still at an angle.
Come noon, she might get a good sense of which way was east and which was
west. But by then, it’d be too damn late.
Her gaze fell to the clock on the console, only to find that it was already ten-thirty.
That gave her just an hour and a half to transform an Elks Lodge meeting room into an elegant forum for the Junior League. That’s if she wasn’t horrifically lost in Hill
Country.
And without a cell phone, damn it.
But just as her panic started to mount—because she was terrified she’d mess up the
assignment and leave Jess in a worse pickle—the pine trees opened to a large clearing that housed a very simple building with peeling beige paint and faded dark-brown
trim. The small sign in the yard read “Elks Lodge”.
Ah. She’d arrived.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Liza parked by what looked to be the service entrance and started unloading the van.
“Hey,” a young kid of maybe nineteen said as he stepped outside.
“Hey,” she shot back.
He was about to light up a cigarette, but changed his mind and stuck the unlit stick
in his shirt pocket. “You must be the lady who called earlier for directions. You’re new in town.”
“Uh-huh.”
He came around to the back of the van and eyed the way she’d carefully packed the
arrangements so they wouldn’t fall over. “Need some help?”
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Calista Fox
“I’d appreciate it. I’m running a little late.”
He hefted a box containing seven of the thirteen orchids. Liza lifted the other one
and followed the kid into the back of the Lodge. He was dressed in jeans and a black
bowling shirt, with worn tennis shoes and what she guessed to be cutting-edge,
teenaged hair because the brown strands were styled with such obvious, painstaking
effort. The short, wispy spikes stood straight up on top of his head, like neatly trimmed grass. And didn’t move.
“The Junior League meets in here,” he said as they entered a depressingly bleak
room with grayish-colored, faux-wood-paneled walls and stained dark blue carpet.
Must be the ladies got the room for free for their meetings. Liza certainly couldn’t
see the Manhattan Junior League meeting in a place like this. But then again…
This is Oz, Dorothy.
She set her box at the end of the long, heavy-duty plastic table and went back for
the linen. She was going to need it.
When she returned, the kid said, “I’m Sean. I manage the kitchen. The caterer has
already been by. The food is staying warm in the oven—do you want to check it out?”
“Sure. I’m Liza, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you.” He gave her a quick once-over, then said, “Cool hair.”
She fought the grimace those words evoked, having totally forgotten about this
morning’s nightmare. “Thanks,” she said. “I was thinking the same about you.”
He grinned, then turned and led the way to the industrial-looking kitchen. A
medium-size room with old appliances, maybe dating back to the Alamo. He opened
the oven door and the greasy aroma of fried chicken permeated the air. Making her