Nobody was happy. Before Haley Kittle set off for her freshman year at U.T., she sent out a mass e-mail with a detailed account of what she’d seen the day she’d come on Spencer Skipjack threatening Meg Koranda at the swimming hole behind the old Lutheran church. Once everybody knew the truth about what had taken place, they couldn’t in good conscience blame Ted for punching Spence. Sure, they wished it hadn’t happened, but Ted could hardly turn his back on the insults Spence was throwing out. One person after another tried to explain that to him on the few occasions he returned to town only to have him nod politely and hop on a plane the next day.

The Roustabout finally reopened, but even when Ted was around, he didn’t show up. Instead, a couple of people saw him hanging out at Cracker John’s, a shabby bar near the county line.

“He’s divorced us,” Kayla moaned to Zoey. “He’s divorced the whole town.”

“It’s our own damned fault,” Torie said. “We expected too much from him.”

Word had spread from various well-placed sources that Spence and Sunny had gone back to Indianapolis, where Sunny had buried herself in work and where Spence got shingles. Much to everyone’s shock, Spence had broken off negotiations with San Antonio. Word was, after being courted so vigorously by the people of Wynette, he’d lost interest in being a small fish in a big pond, and he’d given up his plans to build a golf resort anywhere.

With all the upheaval, people had almost forgotten about the Win a Weekend with Ted Beaudine contest until the library rebuilding committee reminded everybody the bidding closed at midnight on September 30.. That night, the committee gathered in Kayla’s first-floor home office to commemorate the occasion, as well as to show Kayla their appreciation for the way she’d continued to run the online contest even after her father cut off her bidding.

“We couldn’t have done this without you,” Zoey said, from the Hepplewhite settee opposite Kayla’s desk. “If we ever get the library reopened, we’re putting up a plaque in your honor.”

Kayla had recently redecorated the office with Liberty print fabric walls and neoclassic furniture, but Torie elected to sit on the floor. “Zoey wanted to hang the plaque in the children’s section,” she said, “but we voted to put it by the fashion shelves. We figured that’s where you’ll be spending most of your time.”

The others shot her a dirty look for reminding Kayla she’d be reading about fashion instead of setting trends at the boutique she’d always dreamed of owning. Torie hadn’t meant to be tactless, so she got up to refill Kayla’s mojito and admire the way her skin looked since her chemical peel.

“One minute to midnight,” Shelby chirped with false enthusiasm.

The real suspense had ended a month earlier when Sunny Skipjack had stopped bidding. For the past two weeks, the top bidder, at fourteen thousand five hundred dollars, was a TV reality star only the teenagers had ever heard of. The committee made Lady Emma break the news to Ted that it looked as though he’d be spending a weekend in San Francisco with a former stripper who’d specialized in turning over tarot cards with her butt cheeks. Ted had merely nodded and said she must have excellent muscle control, but Lady Emma said his eyes were empty, and she’d never seen him look so sad.

“Let’s count it down, just like New Year’s Eve,” Zoey said brightly.

And so they did. Watching the computer screen. Counting backward. At exactly midnight, Kayla hit the refresh button, and they all started to call out the name of the winner, only to fall silent as they saw that it wasn’t the butt-talented stripper at all, but . . .

“Meg Koranda?” A collective gasp went up, and then they all started talking at once.

“Meg won the contest?”

“Hit the button again, Kayla. That can’t be right.”

“Meg? How could it be Meg?”

But it was Meg, all right, and they couldn’t have been more shocked.

They talked for an hour, trying to figure it out. Every one of them missed her. Shelby had always admired the way Meg could anticipate what each of the women golfers might want to drink on any particular day. Kayla missed the profit Meg’s jewelry had brought in, along with Meg’s quirky fashion sense and the fact that nobody else would touch Torie’s castoffs. Zoey missed Meg’s sense of humor as well as the gossip she generated. Torie and Lady Emma simply missed her.

Despite the trouble she’d caused, they all agreed Meg had fit perfectly into the town. It was Birdie Kittle, however, who’d turned into Meg’s most outspoken advocate. “She could have had Haley arrested the way Ted wanted, but she stood up for her. Nobody else would have done that.”

Haley had told her mother and Birdie’s friends everything. “I’m going to keep seeing a counselor at school,” she’d said. “I want to learn how to respect myself better so nothing like that ever happens again.”

Haley was so honest about what she’d done and so ashamed of her actions that none of them had been able to stay angry with her for long.

Shelby, who’d switched from mojitos to Diet Pepsi, slipped out of her new pewter flats. “It took guts to face down everybody at the Roustabout the way Meg did. Even if nobody believed a word she said.”

Torie snorted. “If we hadn’t all been so depressed, we’d have fallen off our chairs laughing when she talked about how she controlled Ted, then dumped him, like she was some big man-eater.”

“Meg has honor, and she has heart,” Birdie said. “That’s a rare combination. She was also the hardest-working maid I ever had.”

“And the worst paid,” Torie pointed out.

Birdie immediately got defensive. “You know I’m trying to make up for that. I sent a check in care of her parents, but I haven’t heard a word.”

Lady Emma looked worried. “None of us have. She should at least have kept her phone number so we could call her. I don’t like the way she’s disappeared.”

Kayla gestured toward the computer screen. “She picked a heck of a way to resurface. This is a desperation move on her part. A last attempt to get Ted back.”

Shelby tugged on the waistband of her too-tight jeans. “She must have borrowed the money from her parents.”

Torie wasn’t buying it. “Meg’s too proud to do that. And she’s not the kind of woman who’ll chase after a man who won’t commit.”

“I don’t believe Meg placed that bid,” Zoey said. “I think her parents did it.”

They pondered the idea. “You might be right,” Birdie finally said. “What parents wouldn’t want their daughter to end up with Ted?”

But Lady Emma’s quick brain had taken a different path. “You’re all wrong,” she said firmly. “Meg didn’t place that bid, and neither did her parents.” She exchanged a long look with Torie.

“What?” Kayla said. “Tell us.”

Torie set aside her third mojito. “Ted placed the bid in Meg’s name. He wants her back, and this is how he’s going to get her.”


They all wanted to see his reaction, so the committee members spent the next half hour arguing about who would inform Ted that Meg had won the contest. Would he pretend shock or come clean about his ruse? Eventually Lady Emma pulled rank on them and announced that she would do it herself.

Ted returned to Wynette on a Sunday, and Lady Emma showed up at his house early Monday morning. She wasn’t altogether surprised when he didn’t answer the door, but it wasn’t in her nature to be put off, so she parked her SUV, pulled a lavishly illustrated biography of Beatrix Potter from her tote, and prepared to wait him out.

Less than half an hour later, the garage door opened. He took in the way she’d blocked both his truck and his Benz, then approached her car. He was wearing a business suit and aviator sunglasses, and carrying a laptop in a black leather case. He leaned down to address her through the open window. “Move.”

She snapped her book closed. “I’m here on official business. Something I would have told you if you’d answered the door.”

“I’m not the mayor any longer. I have no official business.”

“You’re the mayor in absentia. We’ve all decided. And it’s not that kind of business.”

He straightened. “Are you going to move your car or am I going to do it for you?”

“Kenny would not approve of you manhandling me.”

“Kenny would cheer me on.” He pulled off his sunglasses. His eyes looked tired. “What do you want, Emma?”

The fact that he didn’t address her as “Lady Emma” alarmed her as much as his pallor, but she concealed how worried she was. “The contest is over,” she said, “and we have a winner.”

“I’m thrilled,” he drawled.

“It’s Meg.”

“Meg?”

She nodded and waited for his reaction. Would she see satisfaction? Shock? Was her theory right?

He slipped on his sunglasses and told her she had thirty seconds to move her damn car.


Francesca’s vast, walk-in closet was one of Dallie’s favorite places, maybe because it reflected so many of his wife’s contradictions. The closet was both luxurious and homey, chaotic and well organized. It smelled of sweet spice. It testified to overindulgence and rock solid practicality. What the closet didn’t show was her grit, her generosity, or her loyalty to the people she loved.

“It’s never going to work, Francie,” he said as he stood in the doorway watching her pull a particularly fetching lace bra from one of the closet’s built-in drawers.

“Rubbish. Of course it will.” She shoved the bra back in the drawer as if it had personally offended her. That was all right with him because it left her standing in front of him in nothing but a pair of low-cut purplish lace panties. Whoever said a woman in her fifties couldn’t be sexy hadn’t seen Francesca Serritella Day Beaudine naked. Which he had. Many times. Including not half an hour ago when they’d been tangled up in their unmade bed.