T. R. McClure - Wanted - The Perfect Mom

“More like five hours.” Carolyn groaned. “You need a mat at the cash register. My feet are killing me.” She threw her legs over the arm of the chair and leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Loosening the clip holding her hair, she ran her fingers through curly locks and sighed.

“Well, you’re no spring chicken, honey.” Carolyn’s husband and Holly’s oldest brother walked in. In each of his big hands Sonny carried three Wildflower mugs. “Your cups are all over the front porch. How are you keeping track?” He set the cups on the counter with a clang and then sat heavily on the arm of Holly’s chair and threw his arm along the back. At six foot two and 250 pounds he sat pretty much wherever he wanted to.

“Any chance of getting a cup of coffee?” He grinned. Three pairs of eyes glared.

“Get your own coffee,” Holly said. She leaned back and brushed her bangs from her face. Despite the air-conditioning, a bead of sweat rolled down her cheek.

“You opened a coffee shop. You better get used to serving customers on demand or you’ll be out of business and living on the street in no time.” He tugged a hank of her hair.

“Stop it.” Holly slapped at his hand. “At least the orders will be from paying customers. Besides, we’re beat.”

Sonny pulled her ear. “Welcome to the real world, little sister. Need I remind you of our deal?”

Holly frowned at her brother. Despite his teasing, he’d always supported her. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” She sat up and fixed her gaze on Carolyn and Louise. “Any of you. Thank you for your help.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rose Hoffman said. “We’re family. Of course we’ll help.” Holly’s mother came out of the back room and dropped a clipboard on the counter with a clatter. “I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. Would you like regular or decaf?”

“The strongest she’s got, Mom. What’s the point in drinking coffee if you can’t get a buzz?”

“Mom, sit down,” Carolyn said. “You’ve been working all morning. He’s got two legs. He can figure out how to get coffee.” Carolyn glared at her husband and whispered, “She’s sixty-two years old, Sonny.”

Rose’s voice drifted over the counter. “I may be sixty-two but I’m not deaf, dear, and I think I can manage a cup of coffee. Haven’t you heard? Sixty-two is the new forty-two.” She set the large mug down on the table and put her arms around her oldest son’s neck, squeezing tightly.

“You need a haircut. Your hair’s longer than mine.” Rose ran her fingers through her son’s unruly black hair—the same shade as her own, though hers was threaded with strands of silver. “Why don’t you stop over and I’ll give you a cut later?”

Holly smiled at the pained expression on Sonny’s face. “Good idea. Why don’t you let Mom cut your hair, bro?”

“Mom, stop, you’re choking me.” Sonny gagged as he pulled away but only succeeded in losing his balance and sliding down on top of Holly.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she said, “you’re smashing me.” Holly slid out of the chair and landed on the floor. Pain radiated from her hip. A bruise for sure. Her brother sat comfortably in the chair that had been hers just moments before. She threw a scowl his direction.

“Thanks, sis.” He reached for the mug his mother had set on the table and slurped. “Your coffee’s good and strong, just how I like it.” He shot a sideways glance at his wife. “That’s how I like my women, too.”

Carolyn aimed a kick but missed as he jerked his leg away. “Don’t you have some work to do?”

“It’s not strong...” Teeth clenched, Holly pulled herself up from the floor. “It’s bold.” Limping to the front window, she rubbed the stinging spot on her behind.

Resting his head on the back of the chair, Sonny wrinkled his brow. “I smell—” he sniffed “—gerbils and cedar chips.” He shot Holly a look of concern. “Are you sure the pet store got everything when they cleared out of here? I think I just saw something run under the couch.”

Holly crossed her arms. “This place was spotless before I moved the furniture in. And you know it.”

Laughing, Sonny reached in his pocket as his phone trilled. Further discussion of the previous tenants was forgotten as he launched into a description of materials for a project on the other side of town.

Holly caught Carolyn’s eye. “How can you think when he’s on the phone? He’s so loud.”

Carolyn shrugged. “Welcome to my world. Now I know why your family didn’t mind that we married right out of high school. They wanted him out of the house so they could hold a conversation without shouting.”

Holly chuckled. She had to admit, when her father, whom everybody called Fritz, and older brothers, Sonny, Thomas and Chris, were in a room, the noise level quadrupled. As the youngest, she had to fight for the slightest attention.

If she leaned against the window and looked down the street, she could just see the Victorian house her parents had bought two years before. The tiny window in the attic belonged to Holly.

The sound of boots thumping on wooden planks drew her attention and, pressing her cheek against the window, she chilled at what she saw. With a cowboy swagger, minus the accompanying jingle of spurs, Mac McAndrews strolled in the direction of Holly’s shop.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes. What was he doing here?

The thumping of the boots came closer.

Mac McAndrews. She hadn’t seen him since high school graduation...his high school graduation, which just happened to coincide with Chris’s graduation. Otherwise Holly wouldn’t have been within a mile of the high school.

Jump, Frog, jump. The second half of eighth grade, when every cookie she ate went to her expanding middle. Schedules changed and a tenth-grade boys’ class shared the gym with Holly’s eighth-grade girls’ class. Holly had stayed away from the trampoline after that.

She’d been back in town for six months and she hadn’t seen him until this very minute. She didn’t care if she never saw him again, if they somehow coexisted without ever crossing paths. So why did he have to show up on opening day?

Holly retreated behind the counter and placed the china mugs her mother had washed on top of the espresso machine to keep them warm.

The bell jingled over the door.

Sonny raised his arm. “Mac. Hey, buddy.”

Holly peered around the edge of the espresso machine.

John “Mac” McAndrews, all six foot two of masculine authority, stood in the doorway of her coffee shop.

“Sonny.” His voice was deeper than she remembered, more gravelly.

Sonny strode over to Mac and clasped his hand. “Have you come to check out little sister’s foray into the business world?” He shot Holly an evil grin. “She’s still trying to keep up with her big brother.”

Mac’s gaze swiveled in the direction of the counter. “Holly.”

Still partially hidden by the espresso machine, Holly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. They were kids then. Surely he had changed. Or maybe not.

When Holly opened her eyes she found herself staring at a pair of dark glasses. Mac stood waiting just on the other side of the counter.

He’d been tall and lanky in high school, but he had filled out nicely. Holly’s eyes traveled up the black uniform pants to the heavy black belt with a holster carrying a Smith & Wesson .38. A trim waist expanded to broad shoulders. She continued past the collar brass to a chiseled jaw. The unruly light brown hair streaked blond by summer sun was gone, rendered nondescript by a buzz cut. Figures.

The old anger stirred deep in her belly, boiling, growing.