Maggie Shayne - Colder Than Ice

“I like to run, Maude. It makes me strong.”

“And what does a thirty-five-year-old woman need with muscles, anyway?”

Beth grinned and trotted up the steps. “Thirty-six. And I need ’em to fight off all my suitors.”

Maude slapped her knee, chuckling to herself, and rose from the chair. “Tea is just off the burner. Still piping hot. You made good time this morning.” She leaned over the rickety tray table to pour from a china teapot into two matching cups. Antiques, white with pink rosebuds and gold edges. There was an old silver tray with a cover, and an empty hypodermic needle beside it.

“God, Maude, why don’t you get an insulin pump so you can stop sticking yourself three times a day like your body’s a pin cushion?”

Maude waved a hand at her. “I don’t trust machines. And if you could see what they charge for one of those gadgets…”

“You have insurance.”

“That’s no reason to throw good money away on nonsense. ‘The frivolous can waste more by the teaspoon than the frugal can bring home by the wheelbarrow.’”

“Is that one of your originals?”

She shrugged. “You’d have called the original sexist. So I put my own twist on it, just for you.”

“And I’ll bet you’ve been waiting for the opportunity to use it.”

Maude sent her a wink. Then she reached to the tray table and poured from a dewy pitcher into a tall glass. “Here’s a nice glass of cold water. Cool you down after all that ridiculous running.”

“Perfect.” Beth took the glass from the table and tipped it up, drinking half the refreshing, sweet water down before lowering herself into her customary seat, a second wicker chair that matched the first in age and wear, if not color or design.

“Cookie?” Maude offered.

“Chocolate chip?” Beth asked, leaning over the table to lift the tarnished silver lid from its platter.

“How did you know before you even looked?”

“I could smell them baking in my dreams last night.”

Maude chuckled, but then her smile died, and she shook her head. “A young woman ought to have something to dream about besides cookies.”

Taking a big bite, Beth said, “What else is there?”

But Maude didn’t join her in her teasing. “I’m serious, Beth. Life without friends is like pie without ice cream. You’ve lived in Blackberry for a year now, and yet you’ve barely made any friends at all.”

Beth tipped her head to one side, reminding herself that the old woman needed something to occupy her mind, and if worrying about her was the thing to do it, then fine. She would indulge her. Reaching across the table, she patted Maude’s hand. “I’ve made one friend, Maude. One very good friend.”

That got a smile out of Maude. She actually had to blink a little moisture from her eyes. “Oh, you. Now you’ve gone and made me misty.”

“Well, I mean it. I’m so glad you called me over here that first time.”

“Saw you walking by, then running by, day after day. Any fool could see you were lonely. Besides, I was curious to ask what it was you were running away from.” She took a sip of her tea. “Not that I’ve managed to get an answer to that question.”

“‘A woman without secrets has led far too boring a life,’” Beth said, repeating one of Maude’s own pearls of wisdom back to her.

“Score one for you.” Maude sighed, settling back in her chair. “You know, there are some nice people in Blackberry. You’re missing out on a lot by keeping so much to yourself.”

Here it comes, Beth thought.

“Take Jeffrey Manheim. Owns the coffee shop down on Main Street. Nicest unmarried man you could ever want to—”

She broke off there, looking up as a shiny white pickup truck pulled into her driveway. Beth shielded her eyes to try to make out who was inside, but already she was on guard. She didn’t recognize the man who got out of the truck and glanced their way. A younger man—maybe eighteen—got out from the passenger side and came around the truck to join him. Strangers. New in town.

This couldn’t be good.

Maude rose to her feet and stumbled a little as she started forward, so Beth got up as well, and grabbed hold of her forearm to steady her.

“Joshua?”

The man flashed a smile. “It’s me, Gram. It’s been way too long.” By the time he finished the sentence, he was mounting the steps, and then he swept Maude into his arms for a hug. Maude hesitated only slightly before returning it.

The man released her and stood back just a little to look her over. “You look wonderful, Gram. Just as pretty as ever.”

She smiled at him, and Beth could have sworn her cheeks went pink. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

“Bryan, get up here and say hello to your great-grandma.”

The boy joined them on the porch. It was obvious now he was the man’s son. He had the same milk-chocolate hair and the same jawline—as if it were etched in stone. But there was a brooding quality about him. He didn’t stand quite straight, didn’t meet his father’s eyes—or Maude’s, either, for that matter—and he didn’t look happy to be there. He kept slanting sideways glances at Beth.

She really should leave, she thought, as the boy took his hands from his jeans pockets long enough to give the old woman a halfhearted hug. “Hello, Grandma.”

“My, my,” Maude said. “What a fine young man you have here, Joshua.”

“He sure is,” Joshua said. “Gram, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

“Oh, of course. Where are my manners? Beth, this is my grandson, Joshua, and his boy Bryan. Boys, this is Beth Slocum. She’s a good, good friend to me. You be sure you treat her right.”

Joshua turned to face her fully for the first time, extending a hand to close it around hers. He met her eyes, and then something changed in his face. The smile seemed to freeze in place, and he looked into her eyes so intently it made her squirm. He looked stunned, shocked, and maybe there was a hint of recognition amid all the other things swimming in his eyes. It worried her.

Swallowing hard, she tugged her hand, but he didn’t let it go. “Um…It’s nice to meet you,” she said, wishing like hell that she could read his mind as she tugged her hand a little harder.

He blinked, glanced down at their hands, and let go quickly. “Sorry about that. You…remind me of someone.”

“Really? Who?”

His eyes were still dancing over her face. My God, she thought they might even be dampening. What the hell was with this guy? “Never mind,” he said. “It’s not important.” He tore his gaze from hers and looked at his son. “Bryan, say hello to Miss Slocum.”

Bryan looked at her. “Hi.” Then he turned to his father. “I’m going to get my MP3 player out of the truck.” He turned on his heel and marched back down the steps to the truck, where he took a few suitcases and duffels from the back.

“He’s not happy to be here,” Beth said.

“He’s had a tough year,” the stranger explained. “His mother and stepfather were killed over the summer. Plane crash. Then I had to uproot him from the West Coast and move him to Manhattan. He’s not dealing well.”

Those words wrapped themselves around Beth’s heart and squeezed. “His entire life has been stripped away from him,” she said, her throat tightening. “There’s no way to deal well with something like that.”

Josh was looking at her again. “Sounds like the voice of experience.”

She shrugged and lowered her eyes. His were too intense. Too filled with something she couldn’t name, and too intent on probing, on digging into her soul.

To change the subject, she said, “Maude, I always assumed you and Sam didn’t have any children.”