The Husband School Page 3

  “There will be when the TV cameras show up,” the annoyingly cheerful mayor assured him. “They’ll probably want to see a working cattle ranch. You know, for atmosphere.”

  “TV cameras?” Owen picked up a slice of bacon and bit into it. Hot and crispy, it smelled and tasted great. Everything, from the buttered toast to the fried potatoes, smelled great. “What exactly is it that you have going on, Mayor?”

  “We’ve just voted to bring some new business into Willing,” Jerry told him proudly. “It definitely has possibilities for population growth and prosperity.”

  “He’s bringing women into town,” one of the younger ones said. The bull rider, Owen thought. “For us.”

  “Beautiful women,” another interjected.

  Jerry correctly interpreted the look on Owen’s face and hurried to interject. “For a TV show. A friend of mine from L.A. is looking for a remote Western location with lots of local color.”

  “Local color,” Owen repeated, picking up another slice of bacon. “I assume that’s all of you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “About you bringing in a TV show?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why bother? Don’t you still get your fair share of tourists in the summer?”

  “For two months, maybe three,” Jerry said. “It’s not enough.”

  “Our hyperactive and ambitious mayor has come up with a way to increase the year-round population of Willing and save the town,” Gary explained. “It’s a bold plan. I’ll give him credit for that.”

  “Save the town from what?” Owen hid a smile behind his coffee mug. “Plague? Pestilence? Space aliens?”

  Jerry wasn’t amused. “From certain death. Literally. I have a study, with future growth projections and analyses of trends. According to the experts, Willing is going downhill.”

  Owen thought about that for a long moment. He glanced out the window and didn’t see much going on. The main road into town was empty, but October was a quiet month. And winter was a quiet season. He couldn’t blame folks for worrying about the future, but Willing had never seemed to change much, let alone go downhill. It occurred to him how little time he spent here, how little he knew or cared what went on. His life was elsewhere, and had been for many years.

  “What kind of trends?” Mike wanted to know. “I like to keep track of advertising prospects,” he explained.

  “I have copies of the report for each one of you,” Jerry said. “As I said earlier, if we don’t start attracting businesses and families, there’s not going to be any reason to support a school. Or the money to do it. And once we have no school, we’re finished.” Jerry was obviously getting revved up.

  “And the solution is a television show?”

  “The solution is publicity, and lots of it.”

  “And women,” Jack interjected. “Don’t forget the TV show is about women.”

  “We could make this town come alive,” Jerry said. “Unless you’re willing to stand by and see your heritage evaporate, Mr. MacGregor, Willing will be a ghost town one of these days.”

  Owen wasn’t sure he wanted the town to “come alive,” whatever that meant. What should have been a quick stop on the way home had turned into the possible annihilation of his descendants. “What’s wrong with things staying the way they are? And how does not having a school mean the demise of Willing?”

  Jerry slid a sheaf of papers across the table. “Take a look at these and see if you think things can stay the same. As I’ve explained to the council, we need to become proactive.”

  “I’ll look at them. While I eat.” Owen turned back to his meal. Because he’d said he would—and because he knew the town council would watch—he studied the report. Sure enough, doom and gloom were on the horizon, but it didn’t spoil his appetite. He methodically worked his way through his meal—and the pages of information—until all three plates were empty. Meg left him alone, as did everyone else. The illustrious members of the town council quietly discussed the weather, the price of cattle, football and the new season of Survivor.

  When he was finished eating the best breakfast he’d had in years, Owen pushed the plates aside and moved his coffee closer. Across the room, Meg worked the cash register while two elderly men took turns handing her money and getting change. She looked the same as she had in high school, except her hair was shorter. She had the same warm smile he remembered being directed at him when he’d spent a lot of time hanging out in the summer kitchen, flirting with the shy girl with the big brown eyes.

  “All right,” he said, turning around again to face the council. “I see your point.”

  Jerry nodded. “I thought you would.”

  “But I guess I can’t imagine your friends in California would be interested. We’re not exactly Bozeman.”

  “That’s the hook. We’re small-town guys.” He waved his arm toward the rest of the men. “The fantasy is moving to small-town America.”

  “Whose fantasy?”

  “Well, people who don’t live in small towns, of course.” Jerry picked up his notepad and leafed through the pages until he found the one he wanted. “Let’s move on to preparation. We’re going to need to form some committees. Owen, can I put you down for locations? You know more about this county than anyone, and Tracy—the producer of this thing—will be looking for local color.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Meg!” Jerry called as she approached to clear Owen’s table of dishes.

  She wiped her hands on her apron. “I am not going to answer any more ridiculous—”

  “This is about catering.” Jerry flipped to another page. “Tracy will need a price list for the crew. That is, if we get the gig. Can you put something together? Meal ideas? Costs? They’re going to need to use as much local help as possible, which is good for you, since you’re the only game in town aside from Chili Dawgs, and who can eat chili dogs every night?”

  Pete raised his hand. “I can.”

  “I can put a menu together,” she said slowly. “What’s going on? And who’s Tracy?”

  Les leaned forward in his chair. He was a likable kid and Meg felt badly that the rodeo career hadn’t worked out for him. “Jerry’s friend. Hollywood’s coming,” he said, giving Meg a shy smile.

  “That’s the plan. Sit down and I’ll explain everything.” Jerry gestured toward the seat opposite him.

  “Okay. I have a few minutes,” she said, surprising Owen by sitting. “Before the lunch rush starts.”

  Owen watched Meg’s expression change from tolerant to skeptical as the eager mayor launched into his dying-town, we-need-women-and-families spiel. He wound up with, “What do you think? Can we make it work, get our single guys fixed up with some city women?”

  “Well.” Meg looked at the men gathered around the table. Except for Jerry, they were not a sophisticated group, but she clearly didn’t want to hurt their feelings. “I guess that’s up to, ah, Tracy.”

  She glanced at Owen.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m not going on a television show.”

  “Of course you’re not. I’m sure you have plenty of women already,” she agreed, which made it sound like an insult. Owen didn’t have “plenty of women,” but he wasn’t going to deny it. Let her think he slept with someone other than Boo. She didn’t need to know that he’d read War and Peace last summer and talked to his dog more than his friends.

  “You’re a fine example of the Western man,” Jerry said. “We’ll need your help.”

  Owen frowned at him. “I’m a what?”

  “Fine example of a Western man,” Meg repeated, obviously trying not to laugh. “That’s quite a compliment.”

  Owen opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again. Jerry Thompson was one strange character. Jerry scr
ibbled something on his pad. “Can I put you on the education committee, too?”

  “No.”

  Jerry acted as if he hadn’t heard Owen. “We’ll drive Tracy around and you can explain the history of the place and show her some picturesque spots for dates.”

  “Picturesque spots?” Meg chuckled. “Like watching bears at the dump?”

  Jerry bristled. “It’s a transfer station now. Very contained.”

  Gary grinned. “We conceived our oldest daughter, uh, ‘watching the bears.’ Had to get married three months after that.”

  “Too much information, Petersen,” the town treasurer said.

  “But romantic,” Jerry interjected.

  “Well, it was at the time.” Gary looked around the table. “I’ll bet I’m not the only one who went bear watching.”

  Jack blushed and hurried to his feet. “I have to get to work. I told the boss I’d be in before noon.”

  “I’ll walk out with you,” Hank said. “Got to put a new transmission into a Buick. Meeting adjourned?”

  Jerry reluctantly nodded. “I’ll email everyone with your committee assignments. And I have your approval for an emergency town meeting?”

  There was groaning, but Owen noticed no one actually protested. Jerry continued to make notes, Meg remained in her seat and the three youngest members of the town council sat back as if they had nothing more interesting to do this morning.

  “Well,” Meg said to Jerry, “you have your work cut out for you.”

  “I know.”

  “No offense,” she continued, glancing at the three younger men. “But when’s the last time any of you had a date?”

  Les raised his hand. “Last summer. She was backpacking—”

  Owen’s curiosity got the better of him. “Did you ask her out, put on a clean shirt and take her somewhere?”

  “Like where?” The poor guy actually looked confused.

  “To dinner,” Meg prompted. “Or to the movies.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “That doesn’t count as a date,” Owen said.

  Jack, one of the best-looking men in the county, leaned forward. “What about blind dates? Do they count?”

  “If you asked her out, put on a clean shirt and took her somewhere,” Owen repeated.

  “Nope.” Jack spread his hands out. “Got nothing.”

  “It’s not like there’s a lot to choose from,” Les said. “I mean, I live with my grandparents.”

  “Which helps them out a lot,” Meg assured him. “They’re always telling me what a blessing you are to them.”

  “Well, blessings don’t get dates. If it wasn’t for Mexican Train dominoes and satellite TV, I’d go crazy.”

  Owen felt his pain.

  “For heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “Iron your clothes and go out once in a while.”

  “Go where?”

  “The Dahl? Church? Billings?”

  “Yeah,” he grumbled. “With who?”

  “This brings me to my next issue,” Jerry interjected. “We all know there are very few single women in this town.” He held up his pad. “I’ve made a list.”

  Meg rolled her eyes. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  He looked down and read aloud. “In no particular order. Deb Walker, divorced. Lucia Swallow, widowed. Joanie Parker, divorced. I’m not counting anyone collecting Social Security or using a walker. For now I’d like to just concentrate on the under-forty age group.”

  “Under forty,” Meg repeated. “That leaves Deb out.”

  “I’ll cross her out, but she sure doesn’t look forty,” he said, studying his notes again. “Lucia, Joanie, Patsy Parrish, Aurora and—”

  “Joanie is with Cam,” Joey said.

  “Nope. Broke up. I checked.”

  Joey brightened. “Really?”

  “You’re an efficient guy.” Meg looked impressed. Owen wasn’t. He figured Jerry Thompson was too damn nosy. Despite the gloom-and-doom population study and the lack of social events, hosting a television show was just about the strangest idea he’d ever heard.

  Jerry looked up from his papers. “Cam drank himself into a stupor last night and Aurora had to take him home when she closed up.”

  “If Cam stopped drinking, he might still have a girlfriend,” Meg declared. “The guy needs help.”

  “What’s in it for you?” Owen asked the mayor. “You must have known when you moved here there wasn’t much going on.”

  “Uh, yeah.” He flushed, fiddled with his pen and avoided making eye contact with Owen. “I thought it was a great real-estate opportunity.”

  “Uh-oh,” Meg said. “Broken heart?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Tracy—the producer. We, uh, had a thing. About five years ago. She wouldn’t leave Los Angeles and I was having a really bad asthma problem. Smog,” he added. “I thought, well, never mind what I thought. We still text.” He glanced toward Owen. “Hey, it’s a start.”

  He shrugged. “You do what you have to do.”

  “She’ll be here in three weeks,” he said. “She’s coming for the weekend, before Halloween. She’ll get a taste of our picturesque Western town, meet the guys, see the sights and check out the festivities.”

  “Festivities?” Owen remembered parties for the kids at the elementary school, teachers dressed as witches and decorations on a few houses, but he wouldn’t have described them as particularly festive.

  “Big party at the Dahl the Saturday night before Halloween,” Jerry said. “There’s a raffle to see who gets to decorate the bear.”

  “Your grandfather’s bear,” Les explained, in case Owen had forgotten. “It’s a big deal.”

  Owen tried to picture the massive stuffed grizzly in a costume but couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He wondered if that was another one of the mayor’s crazy ideas.

  “The base is cracked,” Jerry said. “We’re going to have to raise money to repair it soon.” He gave Owen a pointed look. “Unless you’d like to take care of that yourself.”

  “Back to the list,” Meg said. “Who else do you have?”

  “Maxine, rents a place out of town, has all those dogs. And then there’s you, of course.”

  “Keep me off your lists.” Meg frowned. “Wait a minute. Why is there a list?”

  “Because I needed to point out to the council—and to the preproduction team—that we have a lack of women to, uh, you know, get together with.”

  “Like we didn’t know?” Les, who might have been bucked off one too many bulls, looked confused.

  “They wanted to make sure we were legitimately short of women. To keep things accurate, I also have a list of all the single men in the county,” Jerry said, flipping through the notebook until he found the page he wanted. “I starred the ones who are between twenty-one and forty-five.”

  “This gets better and better.” Meg leaned forward to peer at the names. “How many?”

  “Forty-eight.” He glanced at Owen. “I didn’t put your name on here because, ah, it’s not like you really live here.”

  “True.”

  “But I can pencil you in,” he offered. “Have you ever wanted to be on television?”

  “About as much as I want to sit naked in a pit of rattlesnakes,” Owen replied.

  “Well,” said Meg, pushing back her chair, “that’s an appealing vision. I’m going to go back to work now and let you future reality stars work out the minor details.”

  “Leave me out of this,” Owen said, but Meg ignored him. Again. He watched her head toward the counter, where one lonely patron sat nursing his coffee and reading People magazine.

  “Damn.” Jerry closed his notebook and grimaced. “I wasn’t finished.”

  “She used to be shy,” Owen
said. “Quiet. Sweet.”

  “No way,” one of the kids said. “She’s tough.”

  “Hard-hearted,” another agreed. “Not like her mother. Loralee was always smiling and happy.”

  “And not the brightest light on the porch.” Owen assumed Loralee, who was something of an airhead in the marriage department, had a lot to do with her daughter’s lack of enthusiasm for the men around here. He dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and scooped up the Styrofoam container of bacon for Boo.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, settling his hat on his head. “It’s been a pleasure, but I’m heading home.”

  “I’ll be in touch when I get this thing going.” Jerry stood and shook Owen’s hand, as did the other three.

  “I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help.” Because I don’t want to be on television, I don’t want to help turn the town into a dating game and I think you’re all pretty much insane.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MEG STOOD BEHIND the counter and fiddled with the money in the cash register as if it was the most important thing she’d done all morning.

  She ignored the ringing phone, the clatter of dishes, the chatter between customers, and took a few moments to feel sorry for herself. There’d been times in her life when she wished she was drop-dead gorgeous, and this morning was one of them. She wished she’d been able to stun Owen MacGregor with her beauty, make him secretly regret their breakup, see him surprised and awed by the elegant Meg Ripley.

  But that would never happen. Meg slammed the register drawer shut and thought about cleaning the restrooms. No, that could wait. She would pour more coffee and take more breakfast orders and help Al prepare for the lunch rush.

  Wowing Owen, the “fine example of a Western man,” wasn’t going to happen. Meg was plain. She knew it. In fact, she’d been told as much from the age of four, when her pretty mother had no longer been able to hide her disappointment. Her daughter was, at best, nondescript. A shy child with brown eyes, brown hair, knobby knees and pink plastic eyeglasses, Meg wasn’t exactly a Miss Montana hopeful, though her mother had assured her that someday she would blossom into a lovely young woman. She had never blossomed. Not really. And certainly not to her mother’s expectations. She wore contacts now, but her eyes and hair remained a nondescript brown and she’d obviously inherited her decidedly nonvoluptuous body from her father’s side of the family.