Debbi Rawlins - The Swinging R Ranch

“Well, yeah, but that’s Boston.”

“And you think Bingo is inferior, so why would anyone stay?”

He winced at the way she made it sound. “Guilty.”

“At least you’re honest.” Her smile was wry. “And at times I may even agree, but if we all, the townspeople here, felt that way, the town would just shrivel up and die.”

Max didn’t see what would be so bad about that but he decided to keep that gem of honesty to himself.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said without censure. “But Bingo isn’t a bad place to grow up. In fact, it’s a pretty damn good place to raise kids. And if anyone feels the need for bright lights and partying until dawn, Las Vegas is less than two and a half hours away.”

“But Estelle feels differently?” he asked, not sure how this information all fit together.

“No, of course not. She just wants someone else other than her granddaughter to carry the banner.”

“Or be the town martyr.”

Abby’s lips thinned. Anger glittered in her eyes. “No one is twisting my arm. I chose to come back of my own free will. Bingo needs me, so does my grandmother.”

Max mentally cringed. That would be good enough reason for him to get the hell out of town. He looked into Abby’s earnest eyes. Not her. She seized responsibility with eager arms. It finally hit him. Only twenty-six and she wanted to be mayor.

He took an uneven breath. Estelle was probably right. Abby needed to get a little selfish, go out and have fun, trudge through a couple of hangovers, get a life.

“Now,” she said with a weary sigh, as if she’d just spilled her guts, which to some degree she had. “Do you understand why I want my wonderful but misguided grandmother to come home? Why she needs to come home?”

Max rubbed the back of his cramped neck. He did not intend on getting in the middle of the women’s personal squabble. Nor could he kick the older woman out against her will. Which meant Abby was about to hate him forever.

ABBY WAITED until the waiter removed her plate of uneaten roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and buttered corn before she excused herself from the head table and made tracks for the bathroom.

Just like every other candidate in Bingo’s history, Abby and her volunteers held her fund-raising dinner at the community center, a modest room which her two campaign volunteers had crowded with tables and chairs, and a podium under which three tacky orange balloons floated. Behind that was the “Vote for Abby for Mayor” banner.

If you squinted you could see the crease in the fabric after Abby where Cunningham had been cut out and the banner had been taped back together. Someone had misspelled Cunningham. When one of the volunteers said it didn’t matter because everyone knew who Abby was, Abby didn’t miss the irony.

As she neared the bathroom, she swept her gaze over the room one last time in hopes of seeing her grandmother. She prayed she was here. Abby thought she had seen her briefly while dinner was being served, but she couldn’t figure out where Gramms was sitting, or why she hadn’t taken her place next to Abby at the head table.

Then again, maybe her mind was playing tricks on her and she hadn’t seen Gramms at all. Having gotten only three hours sleep last night was doing strange things to Abby’s concentration.

“Well, Abigail, don’t you look…” Mrs. Bacon took Abby’s hand, then stepped back to size her up “…different.”

Abby patted her hair and smiled at her boss, the middle school principal. “I thought the French twist would make me look older.”

Mrs. Bacon’s critical eye roamed Abby’s face. “You’re wearing more makeup, too. Don’t start looking too sophisticated or folks will think you’re clearing out just like every other young person who graduated from Bingo High in the past ten years.”

Abby frowned. She hadn’t thought of that when she’d decided to go for the more mature look. In truth, she hadn’t thought of much more than her grandmother and Max Bennett, the new thorn in her backside.

“I think most people know me better than that, Mrs. Bacon. I did come back to teach seventh grade just like I said I would.”

“That you did,” the older woman said, nodding her head, her gray, wiry hair barely contained in her customary bun. “And we’re all the better for it.”

Pride swelled in Abby’s chest. Mrs. Bacon’s compliments were few and far between. But more than that, such affirmations reassured Abby that coming back had been the right decision. Not that she ever doubted it, not really. Today had been an exception, a low time. It was one of the reasons she’d put her hair up, and worn makeup—to remind herself she was a grown-up. She hadn’t felt much like one today. All she’d wanted to do was curl into a ball and hide under the covers.

She missed Gramms.

Max Bennett, she wanted to tar and feather.

“By the way, where’s Estelle?” Mrs. Bacon peered around the room. “I thought she’d be sitting at the head table with you.”

“Abby! You have to speak in five minutes!” Trish, one of the volunteers, headed toward them, weaving in and out of the mob of tables and chairs.

“Please excuse me, Mrs. Bacon. If I don’t hurry to the rest room, it’s going to seem like an awfully long speech.” Abby smiled her apology and took off before she had to answer Mrs. Bacon’s question.

Trish hurried after her. “Have you seen your grandmother yet?”

Geez, Louise. Abby sighed. “What is this? Does everyone think she’s gone missing?

“Of course not. She’s here.”

Abby put on the brakes, and turned to Trish. The tall blonde stopped a hair short of running into her. “You saw Gramms?”

“Well, yeah.” Trish blessedly quit chomping her gum for a second. “That’s why I asked if you’d seen her yet. I want to know who the hunk is with her.”

Abby nearly choked. “Max is here?”

“You know him?” Trish’s eyes widened and she started to chomp her gum with a vengeance.

It had to be Max. He was the type of guy women reacted to like this—the bugged eyes, hair patting, lip-licking. Not her, of course. Disgusted, she turned away from Trish and pushed through the rest room door.

“Uh, I think that’s the wrong—”

Trish didn’t have to finish. The exact instant Abby realized she was entering the men’s room, she ran into Max Bennett on his way out.

Surprise flickered across his face, but he recovered quickly, and grabbed her upper arms when she stumbled backward. “Looking for me?” he asked, flashing a megawatt smile.

“Not even for an emergency lifeline.” She shook away from him, glaring fiercely to counteract her boneless legs.

Trish popped her gum loudly. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw the younger woman’s mouth drop open, prompting Abby to glance around to see if anyone else had overheard. They were in a remote corner, and fortunately, no one else was in sight.

Abby quickly stepped out of the men’s room doorway. “Trish, why don’t you go make sure everything is ready for my speech.”

Trish nodded, backing away, her gaze shooting from Abby to Max—especially Max.

“You look terrific,” he said, before Trish was out of earshot, and he lifted a hand to touch a stray tendril of hair at Abby’s temple.

She ducked away from him. He looked better than terrific in a perfectly fitted dark blue suit. Clean shaven, tanned, disgustingly even white teeth. And those beautiful green eyes…It would be a miracle if any of the women paid one second of attention to her speech. “What have you done with my grandmother?”

“What have I done with her?” One eyebrow lifted in amusement. “You give me way too much credit. Estelle has a mind of her own. Must run in the family.”