“Psst, over here!” Chloe LaRue’s hoarse whisper was barely audible over the din of clinking silverware and several other conversations going on inside the Mudbucket, but EV Torrence spotted her friend the instant she passed through the door. Considering Chloe was the only one in the room wearing a head scarf and dark-rimmed sunglasses, she was hard to miss.
“Why, hello, Miss Monroe, fancy meeting you here.” EV teased as she settled into a brightly painted chair across from Chloe. The eye roll behind Chloe’s sunglasses was nearly audible to EV—and she had expected no less. Chloe tossed her shoulder-length blond hair and scrunched her slightly upturned button nose in EV’s direction.
“You keep it up and your face will get stuck like that. You’ll have to spend the rest of your life looking at the insides of your eyelids.”
“Ha ha. You’re hilarious.” Chloe slid the glasses up on her head, thought better of a second eye roll, and trained her wide chocolate-colored eyes on EV’s face with effort. Sable hair hung in layers around EV’s high, flushed cheekbones, and framed bright, sparkling green eyes. It was easy to see why people never believed EV was in her ‘50’s; she exemplified how clean eating and regular exercise could slow the ravages of age.
EV grinned. “It’s all right, I felt like I had to sneak around to get here, too. I took a seriously roundabout route through the woods and the east field. The fairy garden is not a peaceful place when you’re snowshoeing through it. Killed two birds with one stone, though, and got in my workout for the day!”
Now that Nate Harper was shacking up at Chloe’s house, and EV had claimed half of Dalton Burnsoll’s dresser drawers, the two best friends’ nightly wanderings through the backyard path between their houses had decreased to infrequent at best. Both men would have understood the need for them to make time for each other, but it was much more fun to meet up like this—away from prying eyes and ears.
Sure, the clandestine nature of their time together may have been noticed by other residents of Ponderosa Pines, but it wasn’t something Chloe would be commenting on in her column, ‘Babble & Spin’. Nobody in town—save for EV and, of course, Nate—knew the identity of the mystery author, and this was one of those times Chloe would stoop to use the anonymity to her advantage. Reporting on her own relationships always made Chloe uncomfortable, but sometimes there was no way around it; no mention of herself or her close friends would arouse suspicion in the long run.
A town like Ponderosa Pines—boasting just over 500 residents, many of whom were descendants of the original 60’s commune from which the hamlet had risen—thrived on gossip of any kind. EV’s unofficial position as matriarch allowed her access to a bevy of information, and caused a contingent of townspeople to wonder whether she was responsible for the installment of snark printed in The Pine Cone each week. Not that she didn’t contribute; but passing tidbits to Chloe for follow-up was as big a part as she wanted to play.
“So how is Nate adjusting to life in your itty bitty house?” EV asked with interest. Before Chloe could answer, an ever-expanding Rhonda Erickson waddled over to their table and barked, uncharacteristically, “What’ll it be?” at the back of EV’s head.
Spinning around in her chair, EV surveyed the pregnant woman and immediately rose to offer her aching feet a break. “Sit, now.” She commanded before marching around the curved counter to make her own mocha cappuccino.
“I’m sorry, EV. Didn’t mean to bite your head off. This baby is going to be fifteen pounds if he keeps growing like this. David’s out picking up some supplies to finish the nursery, and the last hour has felt like five, at least.” She rolled her neck back and forth, pinching the bridge of her nose as if to stave off an oncoming headache.
“No problem, I still remember how to steam milk. Did I ever tell you I helped Dalton out a few times when he owned the place? Marlene felt about like you do right before she had Carrie, so I pulled a few shifts while they looked for someone to replace her.”
“Well, thanks for giving me a minute to catch my breath. That mocha is on me; Chloe’s too. I’m sure I’ll see you ladies in here tomorrow for another private chat.” A quick wink let EV know that Rhonda had noticed their seemingly-innocent increase in caffeine cravings, but wouldn’t share their secret with anyone else.
“You call me when you have that baby; I’m volunteering to lend a hand. All it will cost you is a few baby cuddles.” With no children of her own, EV’s only chance at sniffing baby heads came vicariously. With Chloe and Nate all snugged up, she was hoping for a pink or blue bundle to come along soon. Auntie EV had a nice ring to it, and was the only tolerable option. Calling EV by her given name of Emmalina was a big no-no, and being referred to as Auntie Em was simply out of the question.
Rhonda smiled ruefully and patted her stomach. “If he ever decides to come out, I’ll let you know.”
“Do you have any family coming in for the happy event?” Rhonda wasn’t one to talk about her family, which sparked Chloe’s innate curiosity. “Both Inns are probably booked up by now, but I bet EV would be happy to bunk with Dalton and give up her place if a bed is needed.” Chloe raised her voice so EV, who bustled around clearing tables and serving coffee, could hear her.
“Happy to.” EV assured.
“Our folks all live up in the county—four, maybe five-hour drive depending on road conditions. Doc Talbot says first babies always take a while, so we figured they’d all have time to get here once things start to roll. Mom says she’s been going to bed fully dressed in case the call comes in the middle of the night.” Rhonda grinned at the mental picture. “They’d have all been here and underfoot for the past week if I’d given the word. I’m already hormonal, I don’t need a house full of well-meaning parents at the moment. But I think I’ll take you up on that offer when the time comes if you’re serious, EV.”
“Just say the word.” EV settled back in her seat. “So, Mata Hari, where’s that seed catalog you promised to bring? Nothing like picking out flowers when it’s threatening to snow.”
Chloe plopped said catalog onto the table, fully a quarter of the page corners were turned down indicating they held items she was interested in planting. Alongside the catalog, she unfolded a sheet of graph paper with detailed outlines of what she planned for the year. By the time all her final choices had been penciled in, the threat of snow had become a reality.
“A chocolate chip cookie? A chicken head? A needle threader?” EV shouted excitedly, a loud beeping noise cutting off the last guess.
“It was the Millennium Falcon!” Dalton cried over the sound of exuberant laughter filling Chloe’s tiny living room. Curly dark hair with only a touch of gray at the temples framed eyes that grew laugh lines every time Dalton flashed the smile that took him from cute to handsome. Tall and rangy with not even an ounce of pretension, he was EV’s perfect match even if it had taken her half a lifetime to realize it.
As Chloe picked up a scrap of paper containing the next clue, she surveyed the room full of loved ones and felt her heart swell with happiness. Game night was becoming a Friday evening tradition, with all of her favorite people gathered in one place. Tonight’s edition they dubbed the ‘Almost Blizzard Bowl’ since the predicted heavy snowfall had not yet materialized. What was coming down now might have been considered excessive in other parts of the country, but here it was just par for the course.
Veronica, whose voluptuous figure barely evidenced the five children she had birthed, leaned against her husband, Franklin, her face radiating contentment as she absently stroked his arm. Cornflower blue eyes looked up through thick, lowered lashes as her ruby lips stretched into a beguiling smile. Veronica’s wild days were behind her—and she had been adventurous to the extreme—and now it was rare to catch her without at least a couple of children clamoring for her attention, or without Mindy, the fourth woman of the group.
Mindy’s petite, sylphlike frame belied the yoga and kickboxing-gleaned strength that lay underneath, as did the mischievous smile that she nearly always wore. Mindy, a typical redhead, could go from zero to sixty in about 2.2 seconds. She cast occasional glances at her longtime boyfriend, Jace, who was deep in conversation with Nate across the room.
“V, you’re up after me.” Chloe tossed the comment over her shoulder and proceeded to draw a bird-like shape and what appeared to be a pile of spaghetti, and watched recognition pass over Nate’s face before he correctly guessed ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’ to her delight. None of the dozens of jobs Chloe had held throughout her thirty-three years had, thankfully, required any level of measurable artistic talent beyond an eye for shape and color.
EV and Dalton, with twenty more years of experience than the rest of the group, were the clear front-runners for the win. It didn’t hurt that, save for knitting, EV excelled at just about everything, or that Franklin’s tendency toward making questionable guesses thwarted Veronica’s superior artistic skills. When, with an economy of line, she rendered a spot-on image of George Washington, Franklin swore it was Indiana Jones.
“And this is for the win,” EV took a look at the yellow block on her card and her face flushed a dull red. With swift strokes, she sketched out a series of stacked shapes.
“Blocks? A pyramid?” Dalton called out. EV shook her head. On the top, she roughed out a very hastily drawn stick couple. “Wedding cake?” She added a dress and veil then an arrow pointing toward the male half. “Groom? Husband?” Dalton nailed it half a second before time ran out. He accepted EV’s elated high five, then quietly tore the sheet of paper from the oversize tablet, folded it into a bulky square, and stashed it in his pocket.
“I think they think they’re getting away with something, sneaking out to the shed for cigars and man time.” Mindy commented with a smirk once the men had vacated and the women were ensconced in the kitchen, sipping wine and laughing like teenagers.
“Let them keep thinking so.” EV replied. “Never underestimate the value of the upper hand. Though, to be fair, I’m probably not the authority on how to treat husbands or boyfriends, seeing as I haven’t been in a long-term relationship for quite some time. By the way, what is a woman in her fifties supposed to call a man anyway? Boyfriend sounds so juvenile…”
“Stud Muffin?” Chloe piped up from her cross-legged position on the kitchen island. When the laughter died down, she continued, “Don’t ask me; one of the first thoughts I had after Nate proposed was thank goodness, I can call him my fiancé now. Min, what about you—what do you call Jace?”
“I hate to say it, but boyfriend is the best option. You use ‘partner’, and you have people wondering if you’re talking about business, or assuming you’re in a same sex relationship. Personally, I don’t care what people think, but what I can’t stand is the eyebrows that remain raised—either literally or implied—until you clarify with a gender-specific pronoun.”
“Companion conjures images of old British ladies for some ungodly reason.” Veronica mused. “Beau would be better, but it’s so uncommon in the north—and in this decade, for that matter.”
“Just don’t call him your boo.” Chloe teased lightly, trying to imagine the word ‘boo’ passing EV’s lips. “Or your bae. Which, according to social media, is short for ‘baby’ because apparently that last syllable is too much.” She rolled her eyes. “Pretty soon we’ll all be speaking in shorthand.”
Distaste shot EV’s eyebrows up at the word bae. Never. Not ever would that word pass her lips.
Veronica threw an arm around EV’s neck and leaned in conspiratorially. “Pretty soon you won’t have this problem anyway. Anyone can see where this is headed. According to Babble & Spin, you and Dalton ought to be making an announcement anytime now.”
Chloe’s eyes widened imperceptibly at the reference to her column; she wished she could share her identity with Veronica and Mindy. Chloe firmly believed that secrecy in any form was detrimental to otherwise meaningful relationships, and feared this particular withholding placed a metaphorical wedge in her friendship with the women.
“Believing everything you read in Babble & Spin is about the same as basing political opinions on Facebook memes.” A small snort escaped Chloe’s lips, which EV studiously ignored.
