“I just hope he leaves town soon. There’s a lot of drinking and foot-stomping that goes on in Dundee, but we don’t have a huge social scene. Most people work hard, go to bed early and get up early. Surely he’ll get bored and head back to San Francisco.”
In one smooth movement, Booker stood and settled the baby in her lap. “Maybe I’ll suggest he do that.”
“Booker, no,” Katie said. “You already have court-mandated anger management classes. Don’t ask for more trouble.”
His hand rasped over the stubble on his chin. “Get some sleep. I’m going home so I can shower.”
“You don’t have any suggestions for the baby’s name?”
“I think you should call him Troy.”
“Why?”
“Troy’s cool.”
The half smile on his face made Katie suspicious. “Troy wouldn’t be the “T” in Booker T., would it?” she asked.
He grinned. “Maybe it is. But I did deliver him. And you asked me what I thought.”
“Troy Rogers,” she said, trying it on for size. “I like it. What about a middle name?”
“Troy’s my best shot.”
He started to leave but she called him back. “Thanks for last night,” she said.
With a nod, he was gone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BOOKER SLEPT most of the day. When he woke at dinnertime, he took Delbert and Bruiser to the shop, because Delbert was going stir-crazy being cooped up in the house all day and Booker wanted to help Chase close up. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened in his absence—except that the mayor had dropped off his Lincoln Continental so Booker could fix the knocking in the engine. Rebecca’s father typically took his vehicles to the next town for service. That he’d brought his car to Lionel & Sons gave Booker the town’s official seal of approval—at last. But Booker had never vied for Rebecca’s father’s good opinion and certainly hadn’t been holding his breath.
“Good job today,” Booker told Chase, clapping the nineteen-year-old on the back as Chase prepared to leave. “What time did you tell Mayor Wells we’d have an estimate on his—”
A feminine hem hem interrupted.
Booker looked up to see Mary Thornton standing just outside the open door to his office. Dressed in a red suit and spiky heels that matched her flashy little sports car, which was parked at the edge of the lot, she smiled sweetly. “Sorry to interrupt. I was hoping you might have a minute to speak to me, Booker.”
“Is something wrong with your BMW?” he asked. Mary also typically took her car to the next town for service. She hadn’t cared for Booker since the day they met. When he was fifteen, he used to sit in the bleachers during cheerleading practice and make fun of her and the other cheerleaders. She’d told him way back then that he’d never amount to anything, and liked to treat him as though she hadn’t changed her mind, although he was beginning to notice that, as his business prospects improved, so did her opinion of him. She’d begun to wave or smile whenever she saw him.
He hoped the fact that he never responded with much enthusiasm would keep the waving and smiling to a minimum. He didn’t find himself as eager to be friends with Mary Thornton as she seemed to think he should be.
“No, nothing’s wrong with the Beemer,” she said, dimpling. “Although it could probably use a good oil change if you—”
“We’re pretty busy around here this time of year,” Booker said. “You might want to see whoever’s been doing it in the past.”
Chase coughed into his hand at Booker’s response, and Mary blinked as if she found it surprising he’d turn away a whole $29.95. “Well…can we talk at least?” She glanced at Chase. “Privately?”
“I was just leaving,” Chase said. “See you tomorrow, Booker.”
As soon as Chase scooted past Mary, he turned and waggled his eyebrows at Booker.
Booker waved him away. “What can I do for you, Mary?”
Her bottom lip came out in a calculated pout. “I don’t know how you feel, but I think we’re long overdue to resolve some of the issues between us.”
“What issues?”
She cleared her throat. “Well…the resentment, for one. I mean, we’re close to the same age, live in the same town, know the same people, go to the same places. And yet I’ve never felt comfortable around you. Surely after fifteen years, we can put our differences behind us.”
Delbert came out of the garage carrying the CV joint he’d removed from Bill Wytrop’s minivan. “Booker, can you—” His words fell off the moment he spotted Mary. “Hi, Mary. You look beautiful today.” He hurried closer, always eager for company. “Are you going out? Are you going somewhere special? Huh, Mary?”
She slid to her right, as if she thought Delbert might infect her with a contagious disease. But she didn’t seem any happier to encounter Bruiser, who’d followed Delbert out of the garage and circled around to sniff her on the other side. “I’m just on my way home from work,” she said.
As usual, Delbert didn’t pick up on her negative response, which made Booker willing to overlook it. Mary certainly wasn’t the first person to snub Delbert. As long as whoever was doing the snubbing didn’t take it too far—like the Smalls—Booker let it go.
“You look nice,” Delbert repeated.
“Thank you.” She attempted a smile, but it was almost pained. “Anyway,” she went on, immediately turning her attention back to Booker, “I was wondering if you could meet me for a drink at the Honky Tonk later on.”
“I was up late last night. I don’t think I’ll be coming in to town tonight. But if I do, I’ll look for you.” He hoped a noncommittal approach would get him off the hook without damaging her pride. It wasn’t as if he disliked Mary with any real intensity. He’d never been impressed by her shallowness or, more specifically, her need to pretend she was more than she was. But he realized she was lonely and embarrassed that her life hadn’t turned out to be the success story she’d expected. Caring so much about other people’s opinions had to be a terrible burden.
“Okay, sure.” Her smile faltered for a moment, but then a more purposeful gleam entered her eyes. “I’ll hang out there and hope you stop by. Now that Mike and Katie are seeing each other, the two of us should stick together, don’t you think?”