The True Love Quilting Club Read online

  “What do I look for in a woman?” Feeling put on the spot, Sam stared into the camera.

  After promising his aunt he’d let her put him on the dating circuit, he’d dragged his feet for a week. Honestly, he didn’t see how his dating was going to help Charlie stop drawing disturbing pictures and start talking again. But then Belinda got his mother in on the act and she started nagging him as well, calling from their campsite in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Finally he’d thrown in the towel and set up an appointment. And now here he was sitting on a stool, with the background scene of Lake Twilight behind him, his hair freshly trimmed, wearing new Levi’s and a red shirt. Belinda had picked out the shirt because she said the color made his eyes pop. To Sam’s way of thinking, that wasn’t a good thing. He felt like a giant dumbass.

  Aunt Belinda stood behind the cameraman holding up the cue cards with the questions she wanted him to answer written on them. She had a big smile on her face and flashed him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. How he hated being the center of attention. He’d rather visit the dentist.

  He paused, considering the question. Should he say what he really wanted? Or should he say what he thought women wanted to hear? Should he even consider his desires at all? Or should he be looking for the kind of woman best suited to be Charlie’s new mother? What did he want in a woman?

  Belinda gave him an exaggerated look that said, Say something.

  “Um…well…I want someone who is traditional.”

  Belinda shook her head.

  Sam frowned. “I want someone untraditional?”

  “Cut!” Belinda exclaimed and bustled over to Sam.

  “What?”

  “Traditional isn’t a good descriptor. With that you’ll get women who tend to be rooted in their opinions.”

  “So what should I say?”

  “What does traditional mean to you?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. Like Valerie I guess.”

  “Okay, then mention Valerie’s appealing qualities.”

  “All right.”

  Belinda dodged out of the way of the camera. “Let’s try it again. Let’s take it from the top. And sit up straighter.”

  Forcing himself not to roll his eyes, Sam sat up straighter. “What am I looking for in a woman?” For some reason Trixie Lynn Parks popped into his head—captivating, artistic, soulful, dramatic, outrageous, intrepid, audacious, resilient, profound. A woman like that would be a lot to keep up with. “I’m looking for a woman who is calm and practical, with a lived-in look.”

  “Cut!”

  “What now?”

  “Lived-in look?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “You’ll get unkempt women who’ve let themselves go.”

  “I mean that I don’t want someone who is fussy about their appearance. None of those girly-girlies who act like the world has come to an end because they broke a nail.”

  “Let’s change questions,” Belinda said. “Tell us what you value most.” She nodded at the cameraman, who started recording again.

  “What do I value most?” Sam smiled. That was easy enough. “Being a father and a veterinarian. My family means a lot to me. I love animals, and I live in the greatest town on earth.”

  Belinda held up a new cue card.

  “My hobbies include running my dog, Patches, in sheepherding trials, and gardening. I’m down-to-earth. With me, what you see is what you get. Except not this red shirt.” He plucked at the shirt. “My aunt picked it out because she said it looks good on camera and makes my eyes pop, whatever that means. But the color is too showy for me.”

  He signaled for the cameraman to stop filming and stood up. “This is dumb.”

  “No it’s not, you were doing great.”

  He raised his hands. “I’m done. No offense to what you do for a living, Aunt Belinda, but this just isn’t the way I want to meet a potential wife.”

  “Why not?”

  “It feels forced, artificial.”

  Belinda tapped her cameraman on the shoulder, shook her head, waved him out of the room. When the door had closed behind him, she turned back to Sam. “Matchmaking might feel a little forced, Sam, but you haven’t been doing so well on your own. You need help moving on.”

  “That’s because I haven’t been looking.”

  “It’s because you haven’t let go of Valerie yet. All her clothes are still in your closet.”

  He winced. Aunt Belinda was right, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to throw her clothes away. The thought of it knotted his gut to the size of black charcoal. “She’s only been gone thirteen months.”

  “Valerie’s not coming back.”

  “I know that.”

  “I’ll come over and clear her things for you if it would make it easier.”

  That would be the easy way out. Sam shook his head. “It’s my chore. I’ll do it in my own time.”

  “Just like Charlie will start talking in his own time?”

  He glared at her. Aunt Belinda was round, sweet, and romantic, but she had a steely inner core that could move mountains. She met his glare with a chiding expression that made him feel like an ornery old goat. He knew what she was getting at. How could he expect Charlie to start talking if he couldn’t move forward enough to give away Valerie’s things?

  “She’d want you to move on and you know it.”

  Belinda was right on that score. More than once, Valerie had told him, “If anything happens to me, I want you to marry again. Build a new family for Charlie. I trust you to take care of him. I trust you to make the right decisions.”

  “I’ll handle it,” he said gruffly.

  “All right then.” Belinda’s eyes softened. “But if you need me, you know where to find me.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Quilters sew the past to the future.

  —Belinda Murphey, matchmaker and member of the True Love Quilting Club

  The only thing that kept Emma from completely cracking up was her ability to detach from reality and slip inside the fantasy world of make-believe. All the time she was being stripped of her belt and her shoelaces, and relieved of the contents of her purse, she kept telling herself she was preparing for the role of a lifetime. As her fingerprints were pressed onto the ink pad and she looked hangdog for the camera, she pretended this was nothing more than extensive research.

  But when the iron doors clanged behind her and she saw the other women eyeing her with unfriendly intent, caught the stench of unwashed bodies, her self-delusion wavered a bit. How had this happened? All she’d done was defend herself, and now she was behind bars. How fair was that?

  They treated her to a bologna sandwich on white bread and a cup of rotgut coffee in a Styrofoam cup, no sugar, no cream. She didn’t have a lawyer, and when she got her one phone call, the only person she knew to call was Myron.

  “Anna,” Myron wheezed, “this isn’t all bad. You’ve been all over the evening news.”

  “Emma,” she corrected. “I’m in jail charged with a sex crime and I’ve alienated one of the most powerful men on Broadway. How is being on the evening news going to benefit me?”

  “Ya never know what twists and turns life will take, doll face,” he said.

  She almost asked him if “doll face” was considered a compliment or an insult, but the fact that the guard standing beside her was tapping the face of his watch told her it was time to wrap up the conversation. “Can you look into getting me out of here?”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Hurry please, it’s not a day at the spa.”

  “All grist for the mill.”

  “What?”

  “Experience it. Channel it. Adversity will make you a better actor.”

  “Gee, thanks for that advice.”

  “Dontcha worry, doll face. I’m working on getting you sprung.”

  “Time’s up,” said the guard, and took the phone away from her.

  Back in the cell, she curled up on a metal bench to sleep, but didn�
�t dare close her eyes.

  Then early the next morning, a miracle happened. The guard called her name. She leaped to her feet. He let her out of the cell.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “You’re free to go.”

  She blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “The charges have been dropped.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  She wasn’t about to argue with him. She collected her belongings from the police desk and turned to go just as Myron came rushing into the station house. Well, as much as he could rush with his arthritic knees and respiratory condition.

  “Doll face, you’re free,” he greeted her amid the ocean of blue uniforms coming and going.

  “Yes, I don’t know what you did to get the charges dropped, but thank you, thank you, thank—”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “No?”

  His withered old head rotated left and right.

  “Then what happened?”

  “Miller dropped the charges.”

  “All on his own?”

  Myron shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. Probably because he didn’t have a case. Just don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  He had a point.

  “But I’m here for another reason entirely,” Myron said.

  Emma cocked her head. Myron was almost as vertically challenged as she was. “What’s that?”

  “Job offer.”

  “Seriously?” She scarcely dared hope this could be something good.

  “Yep. I told you being on the evening news was a good thing.”

  “I don’t have to audition for this job?”

  “No. It’s yours.”

  She moistened her lips and her pulse quickened. Maybe it was true what they said. Maybe it really was always darkest before the dawn. “What is it?”

  “Now don’t get all excited. It’s not a big deal. Not nearly as lucrative as a commercial spot. Still…after that mess with Miller, a job offer is a job offer.”

  She balled her hands into fists. “What is it?”

  “You’re gonna hafta travel out of town.”

  “That’s fine.” Right now escaping the city seemed like the perfect solution.

  “The venue is small, but the pay’s ten grand for two months’ work and they’re putting you up in a local B&B.”

  “Is it a movie role?” she asked hopefully.

  Myron snorted a laugh.

  Hey, was it so unbelievable that someone would offer her a movie role?

  “It’s regional theater. You’ll be playing the lead role of one of the town founders.”

  “Sounds interesting. Where’s it at?”

  “Some dinky little town in Texas. Let me see.” Myron pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and lowered the reading glasses that sat perched on the top of his head. “Here we go. The place is called Twilight.”

  “Twilight?” she repeated, unable to believe it.

  “You know the place?”

  “I do.”

  In all the fifteen towns and cities where she’d lived, it was the only one that had ever felt like home. A blast from the past raised goose bumps over her arms as emotions peppered her. She thought about the kindly older ladies who’d often brought casseroles over to the house because they knew she didn’t get decent home-cooked meals. She recalled Lake Twilight and how beautiful it looked at dusk with the setting sun slanting orange rays over a purple sky. But most of all, she remembered Sam Cheek. The only boy she’d ever loved.

  “The woman who runs this theater, Nina Blakley, she used to be a big star back in the day. Won a Tony in the late sixties. She was part of the original cast of Firelight and one of the first stage actors to have it in her contract that she makes money every time the play’s performed. She’s gotten rich off those residuals. Anyway, now she runs this small regional theater that’s got a pretty good rep. The best news is that she has a lot of connections in the business. Doing well for her could get you in with the right people.”

  She knew of Nina Blakley. Emma had been a kid when she lived in Twilight so she hadn’t paid much attention to older people, but she was aware that Nina ran the Twilight Playhouse. Her heart jumped to think she’d be going back to Twilight. Part of her was eager, hopeful, but another part was filled with shame. Back when she was Trixie Lynn, she’d bragged how she was going to make it big as an actress, how she was cut out for better things. Now, she’d be returning with her tail between her legs. Suddenly, she realized that this was a pity offer, just like those casseroles had been. The town matriarchs had seen the news, read the tabloids, cruised some blogs, heard about what happened between her and Scott Miller. Nina was throwing her a life preserver all the way from Texas.

  Pride had her wanting to tell him no way, but honestly, she couldn’t afford pride. She had nowhere else to go. Besides, she couldn’t help thinking about Sam. She knew he still lived there. Sam would never leave Twilight.

  Don’t be ridiculous. He’s probably married with a herd of kids. Stop being pathetic and dreaming of a love that never stood a chance.

  “They want you there by Monday.”

  Emma hitched in her breath. Pity offer or not, she had no choice but to accept it. “Myron,” she said, “can I borrow money for bus fare?”

  The bus arrived in Twilight on Sunday afternoon. Emma couldn’t believe how little the town had changed in sixteen years. Yes, new businesses had sprung up out on Highway 377 sprawling toward Fort Worth—a fourteen-theater cineplex, a miniature golf course adjacent to a water park, a bowling alley and a Super Wal-Mart. Around the lake, new condos and hotels had cropped up.

  But the town square was exactly the same. Sure, some of the old businesses were gone and new ones had taken their place, but the architecture remained the same. From the looks of it, one of the buildings on the square had recently burned down, but the rest were renovated structures from the 1870s. Glancing around the square at the old white stone buildings and wooden sidewalks, she half expected to see Jesse James sauntering down the street, six-guns strapped to his hip.

  Both a U.S. flag and a Texas flag flew proudly over the neatly manicured courthouse lawn. A clot of people clustered outside the Funny Farm restaurant.

  On the south corner sat the Twilight Playhouse, the framed posters advertising an event that had already come and gone. As a gangly teenager she’d gotten her first kiss in that very theater. She smiled. In a shop window, she saw an intricately designed, peach and navy blue quilt displayed. Looking at it made her feel…What did she feel? Emma’s stomach gave a happy little squeeze, and one word branded red-hot inside her head.

  Home.

  That was crazy. How could she feel such a flash of warmth for a place where she’d lived for little more than a year? The same place where she’d found out that her father wasn’t really her father, that she had no anchor, belonged nowhere, to no one.

  The bus rumbled on through the square to the makeshift bus depot several blocks away. She was the only one who got off. The driver unloaded her suitcase and left her standing beside a sheltered bench next to a convenience store that, according to the prominent signs, sold wine, beer, condoms, and lottery tickets, along with bus passes. Ah, the shadier side of small-town life.

  Okay, she had directions to the B&B tucked inside her pocket. It was supposed to be on Topaz Street. If memory served, that was only a couple of blocks north.

  She bent down to tug up the handle on her suitcase and that was when she saw him, staring coolly at her with icy blue eyes. She inhaled sharply and took a step backward. He came straight toward her, moving slowly, deliberately.

  Panic struck her heart. Oh no!

  Her knees trembled. All the air left her body in one hard gasp. She froze, unable to move. She was deathly afraid of dogs, and this one was looking at her like he wanted to eat her for dinner.

  He dropped down low on his haunches, ears laid back against his head, his eyes neve
r leaving her. He wasn’t a huge dog, but neither was he small, and she had a feeling if he stood on his hind legs he’d be as tall as she. He was lean and wiry and looked like he’d move very fast. She couldn’t decide if his coloring was white with black patches or black with white patches. Closer he crept, stalking her like prey.

  Emma let out a little squeak of terror, and abandoning her suitcase in the parking lot, she started toward the convenience store, but the second she made a move, he was there, coming between her and the building, cutting her off.

  She took a step backward.

  He moved forward.

  She tried to holler for help, but dread constricted her throat and she couldn’t push out even a whimper.

  Her fear of dogs had developed when in one of her many appearances as Annie, the producer had insisted on using a real dog instead of the prop variety. The mutt had taken an instant dislike to Emma and bit her every chance he got. While the nips were minor (he never broke the skin, but damn, it still hurt) the attacks were so sudden that she cringed whenever she got near the dog. The more she cringed, the more the ornery little beast lunged at her. She tried complaining to the director, but it was his pet. He told her to suck it up or he’d be happy to replace her. She’d needed the money, so she’d stayed in the play, but from that time on whenever she got near a dog, her old fear response kicked in.

  The dog kept coming.

  She took two more steps backward. She didn’t dare turn her back on him. If she turned her back, she just knew he’d jump on her, knock her down, and rip her throat out. If he was going to attack, she wanted to see it coming.

  Blood strummed through her ears, pounding loud and fast. All she could think about was his sharp white teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her ankle.

  The dog never lost focus. His gaze never strayed. He herded her from the parking lot of the convenience store, maneuvering her onto a quiet side street lined with large oak trees and Craftsman-style houses with acre lots. For the most part, he maintained a five-to six-foot distance, and as long as she was walking straight down the street, he stayed in front of her. But when she tried to angle off to one side or the other, he’d move around her, forcing her back to the center of the street. She prayed someone would drive by, but no one did.