A New Attitude

“There goes Sam Brewer digging in his mother’s flower bed again,” she’d tell her husband, who kept his own nose buried in a newspaper. “No telling what that old bat has gone and buried this time.” There were times Sam wished his mother would bury Mrs. Bodine in the flower bed. “And just look at him,” Edna-Lee would say. “Why, he looks like a derelict. No telling when he last shaved or combed his hair.”

Sam knew he looked like hell, but how was he supposed to groom himself when almost everything he owned was buried? His mother had set out to make a point, and she’d done just that. After all, her great-great-grandmother had buried the family silver to protect it from the Yankees during the Civil War; Nell Brewer had decided it was up to her to protect their belongings from “Nurse Ratched,” as she referred to her latest caretaker, whom she claimed was stealing. Sam had to admit the retired nurse had the personality of a troll, but his mother had managed to run off several of her “companions” over the past six months. This latest one had stormed off the minute she caught wind of the accusations against her, just as his mother knew she would.

Now he was saddled with the chore of finding someone new, despite claims from his mother that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. That hadn’t been the case six months ago, when she’d insisted she was going blind and losing her mind and needed him there. He’d sold his construction company in Atlanta and moved home to Chickpea so he could personally look after her. Truth was, he’d been looking to leave the rat race behind and find a simpler life anyway. Now he was building single-family dwellings with an old high-school buddy, and Sam rather liked it that way.

Except that his mother was driving him crazy.

Why did women have to be so difficult?

That reminded him of what a royal pain in the butt his ex-wife was. It didn’t matter that they’d been divorced five years now. Shelly still called him for every little thing and was constantly borrowing money, despite the healthy alimony check he sent every month.

Seemed there was no way to win, especially where the opposite sex was involved.

With a muttered oath, Sam searched for a fresh mound of dirt that might produce his electric shaver and the iron he needed to press his shirt before he met with an architect in an hour. He drove the shovel into the soft ground and struck something solid. He pulled a plastic bag from the dirt. Ah-ha! He’d found his electric shaver, perfectly intact. At least his mother was thoughtful enough to wrap everything before sticking it into a hole in the ground. Nevertheless, it had to stop. Yesterday it had been his combs and toothbrush, which was why he looked like the world’s biggest slob.

He stabbed the dirt once more, just as a piercing scream ripped through the late-morning air, jolting his already strained nerves. Dropping the shovel, he lunged toward his house before he realized the sound had come from the Browns’ next door. He stopped, shook himself and turned in the opposite direction.

Sam jumped the hedges separating the properties and raced across the lawn like a marathon runner, skirting bushes and a large cast-iron pot that had gone to rust. He’d assumed the house was vacant. At least, he hadn’t noticed anyone coming or going. But it was of little concern to him as he took the front steps in one leap. He crossed the porch and knocked. No answer. The door was locked.

The scream still echoing in his mind, he knew he had no choice but to break down the door. He braced himself and rammed it hard. Pain ripped through his shoulder, radiated down his arm and arched across his back, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. He slammed against the door once more, and the sound of splintering wood told him he’d succeeded.

Stepping inside, Sam crossed a small foyer and stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the sight before him.

The woman on the floor appeared dead. Sam stumbled toward her prostrate body, stepping over Sheetrock as he went, his mind uncertain of what he was actually seeing. He noted the noose around her neck, made of what appeared to be a dozen multicolored tassels. The woman’s face and clothes were dusted in white, as though someone had just dumped a sack of flour on her head. He glanced up and saw that a portion of what was obviously a fake beam had been torn away. Had she hanged herself? Sure as hell looked like it.

Without wasting another second, Sam dropped to his knees, loosened the noose and performed CPR. He felt her stir and raised his head, inhaling deeply as he prepared to blow more air into her lungs.

MARILEE OPENED HER EYES, TAKING in the man before her, and her heart sank. From the looks of his unshaved jaw and wild black hair, she could only assume she’d died and landed in hell. She suspected angels took better care of themselves.

She tried to speak, but her throat hurt. “Excuse me,” she managed in a hoarse whisper. “Are you the devil?”

Sam stared at the woman for a full minute, trying to make sense of what she’d said. She was obviously delirious. Her face was pale. No telling how long that noose had been around her neck. Could very well have blocked desperately needed oxygen to her brain. “Where’s your phone?” he asked hurriedly. “I need to call an ambulance.”

Marilee’s eyes widened. Phone? Ambulance? She was alive! Relief flooded her, and she wondered again why she’d ever considered ending her life in the first place. To think she’d almost succeeded! Wasn’t that just her luck? Just when she’d found the strength to go on living, she’d come close to killing herself by accident.

She bolted upright, trying to disentangle herself from the cords and tassels. “Please don’t call anyone,” she said, too embarrassed to look at the stranger, even as she wondered how he happened to be there. “You have no idea what I’ve already been through.”

“You need medical attention, lady.” And a damn good psychiatrist, he thought. This woman made his mother’s antics seem normal.

“I’m fine, really.” Marilee scrambled to her feet but swayed, no doubt from the two head injuries she’d received. He caught her up before her legs, which felt as if they were made of mashed sweet potatoes, folded beneath her. The noose, still around her neck although no longer constricted, was an annoyance, but she was more concerned with the sudden pain in her ankle as she tried to steady herself. “I think I twisted my ankle,” she said. “I must’ve landed on it wrong. Other than that, I’m okay.” Well, not really, she thought. Her head throbbed. It felt as though the state of Texas was sitting on top of her skull.

All at once, Marilee realized the man was still holding her in his arms. The way Grady had held her when he’d carried her over the threshold on their wedding night. Oh, this was all wrong, she thought. It was simply not done. Why, it reeked of impropriety, and Marilee Abernathy had been raised a lady. Her poor mother was probably rolling over in her grave at this very moment.

“Please put me down, sir,” she said in her best well-bred voice.

He eased her to the floor. “Can you stand?”

“Why, I certainly can.” She pulled free of him and drew herself up primly, dusting off her clothes and taking care not to put all her weight on her sore ankle. “My, I must look a mess. You’ll have to excuse my appearance.”

Sam looked on in disbelief as she hobbled about, holding her head as though afraid it would fall off and trying to walk out the soreness in her foot. The still-attached noose dragged a piece of the ceiling beam after her. “It would probably be easier for you to get around if you removed that noose from your neck,” he said, sarcasm creeping into his voice. His initial fear had waned, now that he knew she wasn’t going to be carried out in a body bag, and he suddenly felt like shaking her.

Marilee regarded him as she fumbled with the tassels. “There is no cause for rudeness. I’m obviously ill-prepared to receive guests at this time, so perhaps we can meet again under more favorable circumstances.” Yes, that’s what she’d do. She’d whip up her special chicken salad and cucumber sandwiches and invite him to a little housewarming gala once she managed to get the place in shape. But she could not worry about that right now. She had more important business to take care of.

Sam gazed back in pure astonishment as realization hit him. “Marilee Brown,” he said, wondering why he hadn’t recognized her the minute he’d laid eyes on her. She was still as pretty as she’d been in high school. Her hair, the color of ripened wheat, was shorter, barely touching her shoulders and turning under slightly at the ends. Her eyes were the same sparkling blue, and she hadn’t lost the figure that had looked so good in a cheerleader’s skirt and the gown she’d worn when she’d been crowned homecoming queen.

“And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop looking at me as though I’m crazy,” she went on. “I’m perfectly sane, and I wouldn’t be in such a predicament had I not been pushed to the brink. The absolute brink,” she added, waving her arms dramatically as she almost shouted the words. She paused abruptly. He knew her maiden name. “Have we met?”

He wasn’t surprised that she didn’t remember him. “I grew up next door. We went to the same high school.” His mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “We didn’t exactly run with the same crowd.”

“You’re Nell Brewer’s son,” Marilee said at last. “Sam.”

“So you remember.” He wondered just how much she remembered.

Marilee had a sudden image of a good-looking adolescent with dark hair and what mothers had called bedroom eyes in those days. Those brown eyes, heavily lidded with thick, dark lashes, gave him a lazy, come-hither look that had lured more than one high-school girl into the back seat of his car. “Stay away from that boy,” her own mother had warned. “You so much as walk on the same side of the street with him, and you can kiss your reputation goodbye. And you can’t blame his parents. They’re decent, God-fearing Christians.”

His father had died in Sam’s senior year, and the teenager had quit school in order to support his mother. Marilee vaguely remembered he’d worked construction. Somehow, though, he’d still managed to get into one scrape after another. Then, like a bad wind, he was suddenly gone. The town of Chickpea assumed he’d been sent to prison.

“Yes, I remember,” Marilee replied, thankful she had packed her mother’s silver and put it in a safe place long ago. “It’s, uh, nice seeing you again, Sam. As you must have surmised by now, my life has taken a turn for the worse since I last saw you. Nothing I can’t handle, of course, but thanks for stopping by just the same.”

He was being dismissed. Was she crazy? She had just attempted to hang herself, and now she acted as though it was an everyday occurrence and he was in the way. Sam raked his fingers through his hair, wondering what he should say or do. The situation felt unreal, as though he’d just landed in a scene in one of his mother’s favorite soaps.

“Look, Marilee, I don’t know what your problem is, but I think you need to talk to someone. Nothing is worth ending your life over.”

“I realize that now,” she said with disdain, still trying to free herself from the noose.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Sam offered. He struggled with the tassels. She obviously knew her way around knots. Finally, he pulled it free and tossed the makeshift rope aside. He leaned closer and sniffed. “Do I smell gasoline?” he asked. “Please don’t tell me you were planning to set yourself on fire.”

“Do I look deranged?”

He arched one dark eyebrow but decided not to answer. The noose had chafed the tender skin at her neck. She brushed plaster dust from her face, and he couldn’t help noticing her complexion was still youthful and unblemished, as if she belonged in one of those skin-care commercials. It unnerved him to think just how close she’d come to dying.

Marilee noticed he was staring. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a red welt on your neck.”

“Trust me, it’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me in the past few days. I’ll deal with it, okay? Just…please go.” She was near tears, and the last person she wanted to see her cry was Sam Brewer, who didn’t seem to like her very much in the first place.

“You’re lucky to be alive, you know. If that beam hadn’t collapsed, you’d be dangling like a puppet right now with your eyes bulging out of their sockets.”

“What?” Marilee drewback. The mere thought horrified her.

“You obviously don’t know what a hanging victim looks like.”

“Well, no.”

“They mess their pants, and their tongue hangs out and turns purple.” Sam wondered what had made him go and say something like that, but he was annoyed with her. Pissed off, actually, now that the initial shock of finding her had worn off. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Marilee shuddered at the mental picture he’d drawn for her, and she was doubly glad to be alive. “I wasn’t really going to go through with it.”

“Sure you weren’t.”

She glared at him. Did he think she did this sort of thing on a regular basis? Could he not see that she was coming apart at the seams? He had no right to pass judgment on her. “Look, you’ve done your good deed for the day, so why don’t you run along now. I can pay you for your trouble if you like.”

She had a mouth on her, and that surprised him. She’d always seemed so prim and proper, always doing and saying the right thing. “What do you suppose your life is worth, Miss Brown?”

“At this moment? About ten cents. And my name is not Miss Brown. It’s Mrs. Abernathy.”

“Ah, yes, you married that Grady fellow. He was into sports, right?”

She gave a rueful smile. “He is still something of a sportsman.”

“A football player, if I remember correctly.” He remembered well. The Golden Boy, they’d called him. Folks in Chickpea could speak of nothing else his senior year. “Wasn’t he offered a full scholarship to Duke University?”

“Yes, but he went into the seminary instead.”

“I see.”

“He’s quite popular with some members of his flock,” Marilee said, offering him a tight-lipped smile. “You might say he takes a hands-on approach to those who are most troubled.” Sam nodded as she spoke, as though trying to make sense of the situation. But how could he possibly understand? “Uh, look, Sam, I’d really appreciate it if you’d keep this little matter between us. You know how it is, small town and all.”

“I wouldn’t think of embarrassing you. But how do I know you won’t stick your face in the oven the minute I walk out the door?”

“I’m a grown woman, and I can take care of myself,” she replied stiffly. She paused to get a grip on her emotions. He had probably saved her life, and she should be grateful, but she needed time to gather her thoughts. The experience had been harrowing. She took a deep, shaky breath. “I promise not to hurt myself again.”

“I hope you’re sincere,” he said at last, offering his hand to seal the bargain. Marilee paused before taking it. It was big and warm, the palm toughened by the work he did. They shook. “We’ve got a deal,” he said. “I expect you to honor it.” He was surprised by the self-deprecating smile that touched her lips. She had always seemed so confidant, so self-assured. Who had hurt her so badly? he wondered, feeling oddly protective of her.

He released her hand. The last thing he needed to do was get involved in her troubles. She was a married woman, and he had his hands full trying to keep up with his mother and a new business. That reminded him of the architect who was supposed to drop by later. “I’d better go.” He made for the door, paused and turned. “Uh, Marilee?”

“Yes?” Her gaze locked with his, and for a moment she felt completely disoriented. She blinked, trying to make sense of the strange sensations sweeping through her. What was going on here? Had she killed off some brain cells when the noose tightened around her neck? Or perhaps she did have a concussion and didn’t know it. Either way, she was suddenly acutely aware of him as a man, the tall, athletic physique and broad shoulders. She couldn’t seem to stop staring at his eyes. They were observant. Was he aware that she was looking at him in that way? No wonder the girls at Chickpea High had followed him around like puppies. She cast her own eyes downward, certain that no decent woman would stare so blatantly at a man. And her married to boot!

“I know this is a bad time,” he said, “but do you happen to have an iron I could borrow?”

At first she thought she’d misunderstood. “An iron?”

He nodded. “I’ve misplaced mine. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”

She couldn’t imagine anyone making such a request at a time like this, but from the looks of his clothes an iron was exactly what he needed. Not to mention a hairbrush and razor. “Yes, of course. Just give me a second to find it.” Marilee hurried to the utility room, thankful for the reprieve. She had to gather her wits about her or the man would sure enough think she had lost her mind.

The iron was on a shelf next to the spray starch and laundry detergent. Marilee leaned her head against the shelf, feeling as though she needed to bang it hard and clear the muddle inside. In all her married life she had never once looked at another man. Well, not the way she was looking at Sam Brewer.

Lord help her.

Marilee took a deep breath, raised her head and reached for the iron. She dusted it off and retraced her steps to the living room. “It hasn’t been used in a while,” she said, her voice sounding stiff and unnatural. She had to get him out of there if it was the last thing she did. “I hope it still works.”

“I really appreciate this.”

He looked so grateful that Marilee wondered if there was a shortage of irons in Chickpea. “You’re welcome.”

“I’ll return it as soon as I’m finished.”

“Keep it as long as you like,” she said quickly, in no hurry to face him again after what had transpired.

Sam was reluctant to leave her, but he had no choice. “I’m, uh, just next door if you need something.”

“Thank you.” Marilee walked him to the door, noting the damaged trim. “Oh my.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “When I heard you scream I broke in. I can fix it. And the ceiling beam.”

“No, please, you’ve done enough.” In a matter of minutes he’d turned her upside down and inside out. That was more than enough after the kind of day she’d had.

“Well then, I’d better get going.” He started down the front walk, glancing over his shoulder for one last look. She stood at the door, watching him. He wondered if she remembered visiting when his father died. She and her mother had taken food over, offering their sincere condolences. They’d even attended the funeral. Both of them had been so kind to his mother, and Marilee had sought him out in the crowd and told him how sorry she was. She had done her best to console him when all he could think of was how angry he felt at losing his dad. He had never forgotten her caring nature.

Sam waved and crossed the yard to his own property.

Marilee closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief. If she didn’t get a grip on herself she was going to suffer a bad case of the vapors, just like her grandmother used to do when the worms ate her tomato plants. Here she was, ogling her sexy neighbor as if he was something out of a box of Godiva chocolates, when what she needed to be doing was deciding what to do with the rest of her life.

CHAPTER TWO

MARILEE HAD BEEN CLEANING nonstop for several hours when the doorbell rang. She hesitated before opening the door, afraid that it was Sam Brewer, returning the iron. She was a mess, having changed into old gray sweats and sneakers, and she smelled of disinfectant. Marilee would almost prefer giving Sam the dang iron, just to keep from facing him again. In fact, she was tempted not to answer the door at all, but after three rings she realized she had no choice. When she opened it, she found her best friends, Clara Goolesby and Ruby Led-better, standing on the other side.

“Marilee, you have a lot of explaining to do,” Clara said, frowning so hard her black eyebrows touched in the center, as though someone had drawn a straight line across her forehead with a black marker. Her short hair, dyed black as crow’s feathers to hide the gray, stood in tufts, a sure sign that she was upset, because she had a habit of plucking the ends when she was anxious about something. The town librarian, Clara was usually quiet and reserved, the exception being when she discovered food spills or dog-eared pages on her beloved books. Then she was a menace.

“Darn right she owes us an explanation,” Ruby echoed, crossing her arms over her breasts. She was a diminutive blonde, no bigger than a minute but a formidable opponent when riled. As owner of Classy Cuts Hair Salon, she was a shrewd businesswoman who tried to stay one step ahead of her competition, Martha Grimes, who ran The Hair Affair.

“What in heaven’s name were you thinking, Marilee?” Clara insisted. “How could you just disappear on us like that, without telling us where you were going? If it hadn’t been for my exceptional memory, we’d never have found you.”

Ruby looked at Clara. “Your exceptional memory? Hell’s bells, Clara, we searched for almost seventy-two hours before you thought of coming here.”

“That may be true, Ruby, but I’m the one who remembered how Marilee couldn’t bear to sell this place after her poor sweet mama died. And you don’t have to resort to foul language to get your point across.”

Marilee looked from one woman to the other. “Is something wrong?”

Both women gaped at her. Clara drew herself up and sniffed as though she smelled something foul. “Did you forget you were supposed to play the piano at the Grace Blessing Home benefit luncheon on Saturday?”

Marilee gasped. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes! We had more than two hundred women show up from six counties who paid twenty bucks to eat overdone roast beef and listen to you play Mozart on Richard Griffin’s baby grand piano.” She paused to catch her breath. “And after all we went through to get that piano inside the school auditorium and pay to have it tuned. Well,” she added in a huff, “Alma Jones ended up playing hymns, and the poor thing is so old she’s tone deaf. Marilee, how could you!”

“Yes, how could you!” Ruby seconded. “We had a devil of a time getting that piano back to Mr. Griffin. Not to mention having to pay for another tuning.”

Clara nodded. “And that’s not the half of it. We collected almost a thousand dollars selling raffle tickets, but guess who still has the pure silver antique candelabra in the trunk of her car?”

Marilee paled instantly. Not only had she forgotten about the benefit luncheon, she hadn’t remembered that she held the prize for the winning raffle ticket. She felt a wave of panic wash over her. And just when she’d decided to get her life in order and start afresh.

“You can just imagine how mad Esmerelda Cunningham was over the whole thing,” Ruby said. “Especially since she donated that dumb candelabra and claimed it’d been in her family since before Jesus was born.”

“Ruby!” Clara frowned and shook her head, then turned her attention back to Marilee. “Esmerelda said we had twenty-four hours to collect the candelabra or she was going to have you arrested.”

“Arrested!” Marilee cried. “Does she think I stole it?” Her heart began to beat faster. After all that had happened, the last thing she needed was to go to jail.

Clara shifted her gaze. “We didn’t know what to think. Especially with Grady getting fired from the church over some…well, you know.” Clara paused, as though trying to come up with the right word.

“Two-bit whore?” Ruby offered.

Clara cut her eyes at the woman. “Honestly, Ruby, the things you say.”

“Esmerelda said you probably hocked that candelabra and hightailed it out of town,” Ruby said. “Not that anybody’d really blame you, after all you’ve been through.”

Clara gave an embarrassed cough. “Perhaps we shouldn’t go into that right now, Ruby.”