The Husband School Read online

  He didn’t know why that thought rankled him so much.

  He sure as heck didn’t intend to dwell on that time, on the shock of losing his father and everything he’d thought would always be there.

  A broken heart had been the least of it that year.

  * * *

  “OH, MY GOODNESS, that is one handsome man.”

  “Who?” As Meg turned to look in the same direction as Lucia, she had a sinking feeling she knew exactly who her friend had described. And yes, there he was making his way along the edge of the crowd by the far wall of the community center. He paused, shook hands with Pete Lyons and unzipped his waterproof jacket. A white button-down shirt was tucked neatly into his jeans, of course, because a MacGregor took pride in his or her appearance. Still, Meg thought he needed a haircut.

  “Owen MacGregor.”

  “That’s him, huh? Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this close up before. He’s really tall.”

  “Yes, he is. What, are you interested?”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Uh, no. No. And no. But feel free to introduce yourself. I see Iris and Patsy heading over to him now. I hope they don’t trip on their tongues.”

  “He looks immune,” Lucia said. “Aloof.” Almost as an afterthought she muttered, “I can’t believe that after three kids I can still remember the word aloof.”

  “It was probably on Davey’s spelling test.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  From their seats near the far end of the third row, they watched as members of the town council chatted with other attendees. The meeting was taking place at the center instead of the café or the clinic’s meeting room because of the crowd Jerry expected. Meg deliberately studied the arrangement of autumn leaves and gourds that decorated the folding table set up in the front of the room. She certainly wasn’t interested in whom Owen spoke to or whether Patsy Parrish flirted with him. Patsy flirted with everyone, and had since Meg had met her in eleventh grade.

  “My, my,” Lucia murmured again. “The handsome rancher is attracting quite a crowd. You know him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, from a long time ago.”

  “Didn’t you work at the ranch?” Lucia shrugged off her denim jacket and folded it in her lap. She wore one of her signature multicolored skirts, its wide ruffles grazing the calves of her suede boots. A black sweater, a cluster of silver necklaces and beaded earrings completed an outfit that made her look like a fashion model.

  “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?” She smoothed her black hair behind her ears.

  “Look so gorgeous.” Meg wished she’d worn something less practical than jeans, hiking boots and a four-year-old black turtleneck. At least she’d remembered to slap on some makeup and lipstick before going out. Loralee had ingrained in her the importance of mascara.

  “Thrift shop in Billings,” she replied. “This skirt was on the two-dollar rack. So, back to the question, Aunt Miggy,” she said, using her sons’ pet name for her friend. “You knew him, right?”

  “Yes. When I was a kid.” She’d been seventeen. Then eighteen. He’d brought her flowers. She’d thought she was all grown up and knew it all. “He was in college.”

  “I wonder what he’s doing here. I heard he hasn’t been seen in town five times in the past fifteen years or so. Mama and Aurora think he wants to be on television.”

  “No, that wouldn’t be it.” I’d rather sit naked in a pit of rattlesnakes, he’d told the mayor. Leave it to Owen to say exactly what he was thinking.

  “Are you sure?” She craned her neck for another peek at him. “He looks like every woman’s fantasy of the Western male.”

  “He already said no.” At Lucia’s questioning look, she added, “Monday. At the meeting. Besides, I’m sure he gets all the women he wants without having to go on television.”

  “I sense some animosity on your part. See? Another big word. I’m so proud of myself.”

  Meg riffled through her purse to find a pen. “You go, girl.”

  “A-n-i-m-o-s-i-t-y.”

  “Now you’re just showing off.” She wished the meeting would begin. It was already ten minutes past seven.

  “Don’t look now, but he’s staring at you.”

  “What is this, fifth grade?”

  “Sorry, just teasing.” Lucia chuckled. “Hey, I’m happy to be out of the house and away from the boys for an hour or so. We’re going to the Dahl after this, right?”

  “Right. You can torture Joe Peckham with your beauty. He wants to get you a dog, by the way.”

  “I wish he’d crush on someone his own age,” Lucia said. “Mind you, I’d rather have a dog than a boyfriend any day.”

  “Amen, sister.” Meg took the edge of her pen and scraped some hardened frosting off her jeans. She’d never told her best friend about her first love. Oh, she’d implied she’d had her tender little teenage heart broken—hadn’t everyone?—but she’d never given the name of the person who’d caused the pain. She’d never told anyone the whole story, how she’d almost married the son of the richest man in the county.

  Now he’d walked back into her life. She’d thought his appearance Monday morning was a fluke and had assumed she wouldn’t see him again for another five or six or ten years. In fact, when she’d thought about seeing him again, she’d deliberately put it out of her mind. Self-preservation was a wonderful thing.

  Owen had appeared so relieved to escape the café Monday. He’d seemed to have little sympathy for Shelly, who had been surprisingly cooperative on Tuesday after a good night’s sleep and a list of dos and don’ts from Dr. Jenks. The girl already looked healthier, and Al hadn’t minded the extra help in the kitchen. Shelly had stubbornly insisted on paying her own way by working at the restaurant a few hours a day. Owen would be surprised to learn she hadn’t run off with the bank deposits.

  What was he doing here? She hadn’t thought he was that impressed with the mayor’s new project. Meg had assumed he’d been amusing himself over breakfast. Or bored. Then again, Jerry would have hounded him unmercifully.

  Meg glanced past Lucia to see if Owen still stood near the wall. He would be the center of attention anywhere he went, of course, but this time she didn’t see him. She supposed he’d be hovering near the back so he could make his escape without being noticed. Maybe he was here to object to the whole thing.

  That didn’t seem fair. Why would he deny other people a chance to make a living? A chance to make some money in the otherwise bleak months before tourist season returned? And why would he care what went on around here? Sure, she’d heard he was doing some work on the old ranch, but he had a life back east. Ran some kind of successful agriculture business, was taking time off to get the homestead ready to sell. Was engaged to a woman from Dallas and had leased the ranch to an artist, a conglomerate and the government.

  Rumors were clearly running rampant, especially in the café, where there seemed to be plenty of time and people to spread them.

  “Attention, attention!” Jerry climbed to the podium and banged his gavel three times. “Would everyone please find a seat so we can start the meeting?”

  No one paid the least attention. The noisy crowd continued to talk as if not one of them had seen other human beings in years. Jerry banged his gavel again, but those standing around the perimeter of the room didn’t stop talking and didn’t sit down.

  “That man’s a born leader,” Meg said, which made Lucia laugh and shush her. They watched as Hip connected a cable to a sound system and handed Jerry a microphone.

  “Welcome,” he said as an earsplitting shriek emanated from the speaker. Those still standing stopped talking and hustled to find seats.

  “While you’re all getting settled, I’ll remind you...uh...” Jerry studied the piece of paper he held. “The Banner
County Quilters quilt show is being held here from nine to five on Saturday and noon to four on Sunday. There will be door prizes,” he read, “as well as coffee and assorted cakes and cookies for sale, plus an auction to raise money for the Thanksgiving food drive. There is also a quilt raffle, so please buy tickets and support the food drive.”

  Several people applauded.

  “Oh, and raffle tickets can be purchased at the café, the Dahl and Thompson’s market until mid-November. The quilt will be on display here during the show, and there will be posters of it around town, so you can see the amount of work and time put into this by the talented women in this community.”

  “Excuse me,” Meg heard a deep male voice murmur behind her. A familiar male voice. “Is this seat taken?”

  “Help yourself,” someone said, and metal chairs scraped the floor.

  “Thanks.” Something brushed against her hair. Familiar aftershave and the scent of leather hinted that the deep male voice belonged to the man she’d hoped to avoid. Not that she had any reason to, she reassured herself. She made her shoulders relax as Lucia turned to see who took the empty seat behind Meg, then thankfully pretended she had no interest. Her attention returned to the mayor, who called the special meeting to order and unnecessarily introduced the six members of the town council scattered among the crowd.

  For the next twenty minutes, Meg listened to a more formal version of Monday morning’s meeting, complete with financial information and future forecasts. Jerry explained what attracting a television show could mean to the town’s bottom line and why the town council had voted to pursue it.

  “We have a producer and small crew arriving in a couple of weeks. We’ll be showing them around, giving them a chance to meet you, scouting the area for places to shoot and things to do. We’re going to need your support, ideas and cooperation. And you single men out there?” Jerry paused long enough for the burst of conversation to die down. “We need you on the show.”

  “This,” Lucia whispered, “is nothing short of bizarre.”

  “I know, but bizarre or not, I get to cater it,” Meg reminded her. “Meaning we both make money. Bizarre amounts of money.”

  “What if the Californians don’t eat pie? Or cinnamon rolls? Or sugar cookies?”

  “Who doesn’t eat pie?”

  “Women on diets,” Lucia said. “And they’ll all be on diets.”

  “Could you be more optimistic, please?”

  Lucia laughed.

  When Jerry opened the meeting for questions, Meg twisted in her seat to see that at least ten pairs of hands had flown into the air. And all of those hands belonged to women.

  “Where are these folks going to stay? I can take eight, max, but even that’s a stretch,” Iris, who owned the town’s only B and B, wanted to know. “I’d hate to see Lewistown or Great Falls or Billings get our business just because we don’t have enough beds.”

  “I’m working on that,” the mayor assured her. “I have a couple of empty buildings I might be able to turn into temporary living quarters. Meg Ripley has the cabins.”

  “Uh-oh. They haven’t been rented in years,” Meg said, but Jerry was too far away to hear. “I’d love to rent them, but—”

  “I’ll help,” Lucia whispered. “A little paint—”

  “A lot of plumbing,” Meg pointed out. Renovating the four empty cabins had been a pipe dream. Until now. “It can be done,” she added, hoping as her excitement grew that she’d be able to sleep tonight.

  Jerry was still talking. “I’d even considered the Triple M—”

  “The MacGregor place?” someone asked. “No kidding!”

  Meg heard Owen swear softly, heard his seat creak as he shifted. It was actually a great idea, considering the beauty of the old ranch house. She desperately wanted to turn around and see the expression on his face, but she restrained herself.

  “Every idea is welcome,” Jerry said. “But first we have to show Tracy—the producer—what a great town we have, and what the possibilities are if she chooses Willing for the show.”

  The questions continued from the female residents of the town. As did the jokes. While the town’s single men fidgeted in their seats and looked longingly at the door, there was no doubt that the idea was being met with enthusiasm. Just about everyone stood to benefit from an influx of out-of-state dollars and an increase in population—temporary or otherwise—not to mention the excitement of seeing new faces in town. The volume of chatter increased, but now Jerry kept his hand off the gavel. He was obviously thrilled with the response of the voters.

  “Now,” he said, his voice booming into the microphone, “we need bachelors! Les, Pete, Jack? Stand up! Even the town council members are getting involved. Let’s give them a round of applause.”

  The crowd cheered. Meg applauded and Lucia did a fist pump.

  Meg heard Owen chuckle, then call, “Way to go!”

  “This is for a good cause, after all. And it should be a lot of fun, too. Who knows? You might get to go to Hollywood, get your picture in People magazine. At the very least, you’ll meet some nice ladies and show the rest of the country what living in Montana is like. So who else wants to join in the fun?”

  No one moved. There was a rustle of clothing, low murmurs, nervous laughter. Jerry waited for a moment, then continued on as if everything was going to be just fine.

  “It’s come to my attention that some of us need a refresher course on dating,” the mayor stated with a great deal of diplomacy.

  “Understatement,” Lucia muttered. “Giant understatement.”

  “Fortunately for us guys, Meg Ripley, from the Willing Café, has volunteered to help with that. I’ve asked her what women expect from a man, how to treat a lady and, ultimately, what makes a good husband.” He grinned at the crowd. “And I’m sure you ladies out there have suggestions of your own, so talk to Meg and she’ll set up some workshops before Tracy—the producer—arrives.”

  There was more applause and a lot of female cheering.

  Someone yelled, “Get ’em all married, Meg!”

  “I didn’t volunteer,” she sputtered, but no one was listening except Lucia, who looked hurt.

  “Seriously?” Lucia asked. “And you didn’t tell me? I could have come up with a list.”

  “I didn’t volunteer,” she repeated, much louder than the first time. She waved her hand in the air. “Jerry! Mistake here!”

  The mayor ignored her, because he had brains and a strong sense of self-preservation, Meg figured.

  “I want to help,” Lucia said. “I can’t believe you didn’t ask me to help.”

  She felt a tap on her shoulder and reluctantly turned around. Sure enough, Owen MacGregor was leaning toward her. He looked amused. “What?”

  “Congratulations,” he said. “I didn’t know you were an expert on marriage.”

  She glared at him. “I’m not,” she said. “And you know it.”

  He shrugged. “A woman who’s been proposed to eighteen times—”

  “Nineteen, actually,” she said, daring him to remember.

  “Nineteen times,” he amended smoothly. “A woman who’s been proposed to nineteen times must know a lot about men.”

  Meg pretended to think about that for a moment. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “It’s a gift.”

  She ignored Lucia’s snort of laughter and kept her gaze on Owen. She liked the little age lines around his eyes and the way they crinkled—oh, for heaven’s sake. She needed to get a grip, so she attempted a serious expression. “And what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You’re single. Are you planning to try to get a date while you’re here? Or are you on your way back to—where have you been all these years?” Meg deliberately furrowed her brow.

  “Washington, D
.C. But I’m here, at least for a while,” he said, as if the past fifteen years didn’t matter, as if she hadn’t cried into her battered ladybug pillow for three months after he’d been sent back to college in Bozeman.

  “For a while,” she repeated. “That’s too bad. We could use your help.”

  She turned back around in her seat and pretended to be enthralled with the sight of Jerry writing down names and handing out information sheets.

  And then Owen MacGregor cleared his throat and stood. His hand brushed Meg’s shoulder, but she was too old for shivers. Although it was cold in here. October. Montana. Goose bumps were expected until July.

  “Jerry,” he called. “I’ll take one of those, if you don’t mind.”

  The mayor’s face lit up. “Really? Cool!”

  “Yeah,” she heard Owen reply. “Why not?”

  More hands went up and good-natured ribbing followed as Jerry passed out information sheets to those who volunteered. From Meg’s point of view, it looked as if every single man in the county was now anxious to go on a date.

  “I don’t believe this,” Meg whispered to Lucia. “Some of these guys are at least seventy.”

  “Use it or lose it,” her friend replied. “And it looks like your rancher friend saved the day.”

  * * *

  IDEAS WERE ALL she had. And when a person had nothing—no money or home or family—then ideas could grow bigger and bigger. Or at least seem like really good ideas, even when they’re not.

  Tonight was one of those ideas gone wrong. Shelly stood on a patch of sandy dirt at the end of the sidewalk in front of the community center and watched the last of the people leave the building. She shivered, but more from disappointment than cold. She’d borrowed Meg’s mother’s coat, an ivory fake fur that had seen better days. It fell to just above her ankles and hung off her shoulders, but it was so cozy and warm that Shelly could have used it as a blanket if she was still on the bus.

  She hadn’t wanted to borrow the fancy black leather blazer or the down ski jacket. No, something old was just fine with her. She didn’t think her boss would mind, but Meg wouldn’t approve of her standing alone in the dark watching people head to their parked cars or across the street to the bar. In fact, now that the mayor—he’d said to call him Jerry—was locking the front door to the center, the bar was the only storefront with lights on.