Held.
“Then good night, Sandi.”
“Good night, Bryce.”
She tightened her grip on her keys and moved away, uncertain as to how to deal with seeing Bryce in a different light. With acknowledging his loss. With not yet knowing how much he knew of her last encounter with her husband.
What he thought of her. Really.
And why what he thought should matter so much to her anyway.
Chapter Nine
“I thought for sure by now you’d have Bryce Harding wrapped around your little finger. Would have wooed him with your feminine charms to call off the rent increase.”
Heat flooded Sandi’s face at Cate Landreth’s loud remark—made in front of a Saturday-afternoon gathering of a dozen historical society members. Crowded around the museum’s kitchen table, they all turned to her with renewed interest. Thank goodness Bryce’s grandma rarely attended the meetings and didn’t hear any of this. But she couldn’t help but imagine her friend Meg would find it funny—suitable revenge for when Sandi had joined in with Cate last fall in mercilessly teasing Meg about Joe Diaz only a few days after she’d met him.
“Very funny, Cate.” She managed a fairly normal-sounding laugh as she met the roomful of curious gazes. Just what she needed. Half the town watching her every move and speculating on her love life—with Bryce of all people.
“Let’s deal with reality here, folks. As I said, I got a personal call early this morning from Councilman Jake Talford that the city is indeed severing our support. He assures me that when there’s strong economic recovery, the council will revisit the issue. But for the time being…”
She stood, popped the lid off a red dry-erase marker andturned to the glossy whiteboard on the easel behind her. Drawing a small circle in the middle, she labeled it “museum future,” then drew a dozen or so lines radiating from it.
“What’s that?” an elderly man in overalls and a cowboy hat demanded. “I ain’t got no time for art lessons.”
“Not art lessons, Earl. We’re going to brainstorm. Put our heads together and see what we can come up with to generate more income. We need to determine where we can best focus our talents and energy.”
He scoffed. “I vote for you focusing your talents and energy on that Harding fellow. Less work for the rest of us.”
Everyone laughed, and again a wave of warmth washed through her. She forced a laugh. “Not an option, Earl.”
“Party pooper.”
“Okay now, let’s get started so I can keep my promise to get you out of here in an hour. So Cate, you’ve helped with fundraisers for years. What are a few you’d recommend?”
Basking in the spotlight, Cate sashayed around the table and took the marker from Sandi’s hand. “Bake sale. Car wash. Selling candles and chocolate bars. Oh, and can’t forget the popcorn. That caramel-and-peanut kind goes over big.”
She printed her suggestions at the end of half a dozen spokes on the board, then sat down.
A hand raised. “At Christmas the PTA sells homemade tamales. Maybe we could make enchiladas. Have people preorder them. Or have a taco bar at the softball games.”
“Navajo tacos would be even better,” another chimed in, and Sandi’s inner eye flew to the puffy, plate-size dough traditionally prepared over an open flame and topped with a variety of mouthwatering options. “We could do the honey-with-powdered-sugar ones. Or the beef-and-beans kind.”
Sandi nodded and wrote down the ideas, relieved that the focus was off her love life. More hands shot up.
“Pancake breakfast.”
“Fun run. Fish fry.”
“Fajita cook-off.”
“Horseshoe tournament,” Earl threw in, getting into the spirit of things.
She drew more lines radiating from the circle and wrote as fast as she could. “These are great ideas, keep them coming.”
Twenty minutes later the whiteboard was overflowing, words cramped into tiny print and squashed sideways into the margins. She stepped back and viewed
“Then good night, Sandi.”
“Good night, Bryce.”
She tightened her grip on her keys and moved away, uncertain as to how to deal with seeing Bryce in a different light. With acknowledging his loss. With not yet knowing how much he knew of her last encounter with her husband.
What he thought of her. Really.
And why what he thought should matter so much to her anyway.
Chapter Nine
“I thought for sure by now you’d have Bryce Harding wrapped around your little finger. Would have wooed him with your feminine charms to call off the rent increase.”
Heat flooded Sandi’s face at Cate Landreth’s loud remark—made in front of a Saturday-afternoon gathering of a dozen historical society members. Crowded around the museum’s kitchen table, they all turned to her with renewed interest. Thank goodness Bryce’s grandma rarely attended the meetings and didn’t hear any of this. But she couldn’t help but imagine her friend Meg would find it funny—suitable revenge for when Sandi had joined in with Cate last fall in mercilessly teasing Meg about Joe Diaz only a few days after she’d met him.
“Very funny, Cate.” She managed a fairly normal-sounding laugh as she met the roomful of curious gazes. Just what she needed. Half the town watching her every move and speculating on her love life—with Bryce of all people.
“Let’s deal with reality here, folks. As I said, I got a personal call early this morning from Councilman Jake Talford that the city is indeed severing our support. He assures me that when there’s strong economic recovery, the council will revisit the issue. But for the time being…”
She stood, popped the lid off a red dry-erase marker andturned to the glossy whiteboard on the easel behind her. Drawing a small circle in the middle, she labeled it “museum future,” then drew a dozen or so lines radiating from it.
“What’s that?” an elderly man in overalls and a cowboy hat demanded. “I ain’t got no time for art lessons.”
“Not art lessons, Earl. We’re going to brainstorm. Put our heads together and see what we can come up with to generate more income. We need to determine where we can best focus our talents and energy.”
He scoffed. “I vote for you focusing your talents and energy on that Harding fellow. Less work for the rest of us.”
Everyone laughed, and again a wave of warmth washed through her. She forced a laugh. “Not an option, Earl.”
“Party pooper.”
“Okay now, let’s get started so I can keep my promise to get you out of here in an hour. So Cate, you’ve helped with fundraisers for years. What are a few you’d recommend?”
Basking in the spotlight, Cate sashayed around the table and took the marker from Sandi’s hand. “Bake sale. Car wash. Selling candles and chocolate bars. Oh, and can’t forget the popcorn. That caramel-and-peanut kind goes over big.”
She printed her suggestions at the end of half a dozen spokes on the board, then sat down.
A hand raised. “At Christmas the PTA sells homemade tamales. Maybe we could make enchiladas. Have people preorder them. Or have a taco bar at the softball games.”
“Navajo tacos would be even better,” another chimed in, and Sandi’s inner eye flew to the puffy, plate-size dough traditionally prepared over an open flame and topped with a variety of mouthwatering options. “We could do the honey-with-powdered-sugar ones. Or the beef-and-beans kind.”
Sandi nodded and wrote down the ideas, relieved that the focus was off her love life. More hands shot up.
“Pancake breakfast.”
“Fun run. Fish fry.”
“Fajita cook-off.”
“Horseshoe tournament,” Earl threw in, getting into the spirit of things.
She drew more lines radiating from the circle and wrote as fast as she could. “These are great ideas, keep them coming.”
Twenty minutes later the whiteboard was overflowing, words cramped into tiny print and squashed sideways into the margins. She stepped back and viewed