It Had to Be Him(5)

Her dad would most likely start the dreaded family meeting with his usual discourse, pointing out her chronic lack of discipline. Admittedly, being a single mother and now jobless on top of it hadn’t been in her mission statement, but it was her life, and she refused to be told how to live it.

Well, right after she painted Grandma’s fence.

Grandma and Casey were the only ones she didn’t mind bossing her around. Much. They were the ones always there for her. Her father was a different story. It seemed as if he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with her. She’d never been sure why.

After Casey had returned Haley, Meg found the pretty pale-yellow paint and brushes, then settled her daughter in a spot where she could watch her. Swatting away the curious dragonflies dive-bombing her, Meg channeled her inner Tom Sawyer and dove in.

Periodically, she glanced over to be sure Haley was still where she was supposed to be. She sat nearby in the shade of a tall pine tree, contently coloring beside Grandma, who’d pulled up a chair to supervise and had promptly fallen fast asleep.

“You doing okay, kiddo?”

Haley held up her masterpiece. “See? Purple cow!” Her shout startled Grandma awake.

And the cow was red. Another thing they’d work on.

Meg was just about to compliment her when Zeke’s rusty old voice croaked out. “Never seen me a purple cow before. That’s pretty darned special.” He smiled at Grandma. “Hiya, Ruth.” Zeke, the town handyman who reminded Meg of the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz, wasn’t only certified to work on their family’s helicopters; he could fix any car, boat, Jet Ski, or beloved toy she’d ever owned as a child. He was more of a father to her than her own.

Grandma scowled at him. “Hello and goodbye. I have somewhere else to be.”

Zeke chuckled. “You’re about the busiest woman I’ve ever met, Ruth. When I’m around, anyway.” After Grandma left, he leaned down to inspect the picture Haley had colored. “Yep. You got some real talent there, little lady.”

Haley beamed with pride, then shoved the picture at him. “For you!”

“Why, thank you.” Zeke was nice enough to clutch it to his chest like it was a rare Picasso.

Meg pressed the top back on the paint can, grateful for a break. “Hey, Zeke. Nice to see you.”

“Welcome back again, Shorty. Reporting for Haley-sitting duty as requested.” He walked over and checked out her handiwork on the fence. “I’ve been offering to do this for Ruth for over a year, but she wouldn’t let me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just special, I guess.”

“Or in trouble with her again, I suspect.” Zeke cracked a smile. “You know, I could rig you up a compressor, get this done a lot faster.”

“That’d be awesome!”

“Why don’t you run along to your meeting and me and Haley will go back to my shop and get it all set up? There may be some ice cream involved too, if that’s okay?”

She kissed Zeke’s wrinkled, stubbly cheek. “My hero.”

After making sure Haley was all settled in Zeke’s shop—and warned not to touch anything without asking—Meg jogged to the main drag. Hopefully Amber would be busy with her fake do-gooder act somewhere else at the moment because Meg really wasn’t in the mood for two confrontations in one day.

Running late, she didn’t have time to clean up. Her hands were covered with yellow polka dots and her shirt looked like the canvas for a modern impressionist splatter painting. One more thing that’d irritate her dad. What was one more fail for the day? Her father should probably start a tab.

Finally reaching the stone steps of Town Hall, she took them two at a time, then yanked the heavy door open and slowed her pace as she headed toward her father’s office. Her jaw clenched when she spotted the long table set up just inside the door. There sat the Three Amigos, who had always felt poor, motherless Megan needed their guidance.

Bless their hearts.

The octogenarian trio headed up the church council and were peddling their newest craft thing that no one wanted but bought to be polite. Luckily, they were busy chatting among themselves, so maybe they wouldn’t notice her.

“Megan? Is that you?”

No such luck.

Sucking a deep breath for patience, she changed directions. “Hello, ladies. How are you?”

Mrs. Jenkins, a retired principal, said, “We heard you were back. Pregnant again, dear?”

Wow. Really?

“Nope. Just going to a family meeting. Nice to see you all. Gotta run. You know how my dad hates tardiness.”

All three bobbed their gray heads at that, so she was off the proverbial hook. But their pursed lips confirmed they all still thought she was going straight to hell.