A Marriage Between Friends by Melinda Curtis Page B

their wedding vows. Vince had never offered his heart to another, but that didn’t mean he lived like a monk. Lots of women visiting Vegas were looking for a man like Vince, a man who enjoyed a bit of fun but wasn’t interested in anything more than a night or two of meaningless sex. But Jill had honored their vows even though she’d left him. If this was a real marriage, Vince would be on his knees, groveling for her forgiveness.
    “I’m sorry,” Vince mumbled, surprising himself. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been with a woman in over a year. The hurt in Jill’s eyes was humbling.
    The phone rang. It was an antique, cream-colored, with a circular dial and an authentic ring. In fact, the entire office was out of Mayberry R.F.D. —old, warped aerial photographs of the valley hung on one wall, while pictures of past mayors lined the wall behind a dented metal desk that sat on scuffed black-and-white-checked linoleum. Only the computer looked as if it came from this century.
    “Hello, Arnie,” Jill answered, avoiding Vince’s eyes. “Yes, he’s here with me. I showed him the property under consideration. He got out and got his feet wet.” Jill gave Vince’s wrecked shoes a significant glance, her mouth curling up on one side. “Will do.”
    She hung up. “Arnie saw us drive by. He wants to see you.”
    Vince gazed down at his clothes, struck by a memory of his father tossing him against the wall when he’d been unable to knot his tie properly. He must have been six or seven, his mother too drunk on the couch to protest. His father took any sign of imperfection as an excuse to punish Vince.
    It was important to coddle Arnie, Vince’s biggest supporter, but also to present himself as a dignified, capable leader. It would take twenty minutes to drive to Jill’s, ten minutes or so to clean up and change and another twenty to get back.
    “Arnie can wait.”
    “Arnie’s not used to waiting,” Jill said, forehead wrinkling as if she, too, knew he should be sucking up to the tribal leader.
    “I can’t go anywhere like this,” he said, hating that he sounded like a pouting prima donna.
    She laughed, giving him the once-over. “Appearances don’t mean—”
    “Appearances are everything and you know it, but obviously you’ve forgotten.” Annoyance drove Vince to his feet. If he showed up looking like this, Arnie would realize Vince couldn’t handle his business. Arnie would be backpedaling instantly.
    Mechanically, Vince opened the door, barely hearing the jangle of the bell above him. From his search to find the meeting yesterday, he had a basic understanding of the layout of Main Street and knew where Arnie’s business was. He should just go and let things fall apart naturally. It would be one more checkmark on his long list of failures.
    Vince opened his mouth to command Jill to come along, but then he saw his reflection in the glass.
     
    S O MUCH FOR V INCE promising to include Jill in all his meetings.
    Thirty-five minutes after Vince left, Jill had dusted the place, created some flyers informing residents of the importance of the issues being discussed at the city council meeting the following week, stuck them on windshields up and down Main Street, and finished reading an e-mail sent by a neighboring town’s mayor expressing his support for a casino in Railroad Stop.
    Sure. As long as it isn’t in his backyard.
    Vince and Arnie were probably finalizing the deal while she posted a date and time for the next meeting in the office window. Any moment she expected a phone call from Arnie announcing the need for a special town vote.
    Maybe Jill should have told Vince that she was the mayor, but during most of their arguments she’d been too flustered by his presence and his effect on her to work it into the conversation. Besides, being mayor of Railroad Stop was more of a figurehead position than a legislative one. Her most important job was coordinating elections and special voting events,