In the end it turned out that Moonwalker was a huge help, showing him how to set up the new stove and helping him dismantle Old Blue. Moonwalker even carted off the parts, saying that they were bound to come in handy in his metal works and craft shop. Ryder didn’t mind. It was one less thing to worry about.
The first evening without Blake went smoothly and he was darned proud of himself. He’d been able to tend the bar and had even served sandwiches. There were only a few patrons that evening and he was glad. Word must have gotten out that Blake was away so most of her regulars, Ted included, did not show up.
By the second night the customers had dwindled to a measly three and, as stupid as it was, Ryder couldn’t help it that his ego took a blow from the rapid decline in business. It was a given that Blake was a whole lot easier on the eyes but was he such a turn-off that even the regulars refused to show up?
It was kind of depressing and by day three he felt even further down in the dumps. He was missing Blake like hell. All right, so he was being a downright fool for feeling that way but ever since he’d arrived in Pequoia it was Blake who had made the biggest impression on him. It was Blake, and only Blake, who made him feel he could actually live in a godforsaken place like this.
And now that she was gone he was totally out of sorts. It was no wonder then, that when Peggy Thatcher showed up that afternoon he felt happy to see her, even though he would be at risk of having her chat his ears off.
“Last week I was telling the ladies in my sewing circle about you,” she said. “They’re all dying to meet you. Throw some clothes on and I’ll take you over to Beth’s. We’re meeting at her house in half an hour.”
Ryder raised his eyebrows and then he frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Go put some clothes on,” Ms. Thatcher said, waving her hand at him. “There are only decent ladies in our group. How do you think it would look if I brought a man wearing nothing but a wife-beater?”
Apparently, she’d totally missed the point of his question. The day had been so hot that he’d been lounging on the bench by the side of the building, enjoying the shade cast there, wearing nothing but his jeans and undershirt. He hadn’t been expecting visitors so he hadn’t worried about dressing up. But that wasn’t the problem. If he’d heard her right it sounded like Ms. Thatcher was planning to drag him off to her sewing meeting. There was no way that was going to happen. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know a thing about sewing,” he began.
“Silly boy,” she said, cutting him off,“I’m not taking you there to sew anything. I’m just going to show you off.” Then she gave him a sly look and a smile. “It’s not every day I get the chance to make the girls jealous. Now, come on. Hurry up. I know you’re not doing a thing. I spread the word that Blake’s away and I told everybody to wait till further notice before they come over. I know Blake would want that.”
So that was it. Miss Busybody was the cause of the sudden disappearance of his customer base. Ms. Thatcher certainly had no qualms in meddling in other people’s business.
Ryder wasn’t in the mood to hang out with a bunch of ladies, especially if they were all chatterboxes like this one. She’d ignored his objection to going but he decided to try again. “I’m terrible at conversation,” he told her. “I’ll be the death of your party.”
“No such thing.” The woman shook her head vigorously. “You’re the talk of the town and I promised the girls you’d be there today. I wouldn’t think of letting them down.”
“You could have thought of asking me first.”
His dry comment was met with a wave of the hand. “I know you’re not trying to play shy with me. Now hurry up or else you’re going to make me late.” This was followed by an annoyed click of the tongue that told Ryder he might as well give up. The woman was determined that he should be today’s guest of honor. It looked like he’d be fighting a losing battle so he wouldn’t even bother to try.
After he was dressed to suit Peggy Thatcher’s standards Ryder climbed into the good lady’s Chevrolet sedan and played meek and humble, like a lamb to the slaughter. Sure, he could have insisted he wasn’t going but what the heck. It didn’t take anything off him to go through the trouble of humoring the lady. And, like she’d said, it wasn’t like there was anything going on at Beaumont’s, anyway.
Beth’s house ended up being pretty close by. It took Ms. Thatcher less than five minutes to get there. In fact, it looked like they were early. Hers was the only car in Beth’s driveway.
Ryder hopped out immediately and went around to the driver’s side to help the lady out.
“Thank you, young man.” She took his hand and pulled herself up and out of the seat. As she stood she stumbled and he had to grip both her arms to steady her. “You’re a strong one,” she said as she straightened up. “Nice and fit, which means you take care of yourself. I like that.”
Ryder raised his eyebrows but he didn’t bother to respond. He didn’t think he’d ever met a lady so quick to speak her mind. She would definitely take some getting used to.
As they headed for the front porch he gave her his arm and she smiled, seeming pleased with the attention, when another car pulled up just as they got to the steps. She turned but she did not let go of his arm.
The woman behind the wheel was sporting a wide yellow sun hat with a red flower in the band. The smile on her face was just as sunny as her headgear. “Woohoo, Peggy. Don’t lay claim to the goods before I get there.” With an agility that belied her age she threw the car door open and hopped out then hurried toward them, her high-heel sandals clicking on the flagstones with each step she took.
“Barbara Bonner, you just slow down before you hurt yourself in your haste to get to Ryder. Should I remind you that your son is older than he is?” The words were waspish but the grin on Ms. Thatcher’s face made it obvious that she was amused and more than a little pleased with her friend’s reaction.
“Oh, please,” Barbara said, brushing her off with a wave of her hand. “I can appreciate a handsome man when I see him, no matter what his age.”
Ms. Thatcher wrinkled her nose. “It’s not his age I’m worried about, it’s yours. Your blood pressure spikes so easily, with the way you’re carrying on you’re liable to have a stroke within the hour.”