Roz Fox - Sweet Tibby Mack

“Look, I pawed through most of Gramps’s files over the week. He has receipts of transactions dating back twenty years and not one shred of evidence that he gave you the land. Unless you show me proof, I plan to start clearing.”

They were nose to nose, shouting, when Justine Banks scurried in. “Sorry I’m late, Tibby. We met at Winnie’s for coffee this morning. You know how she is when she climbs on her soapbox. Is something wrong? You two having a quarrel?”

Tibby stuffed Cole’s groceries in a sack. “That’s putting it mildly. Instead of entertaining out-of-town visitors he should close up Yale’s house and return to Hollywood, where sneaky double-dealing is a way of life.”

“Resorting to slander now, I see. I do have a witness.” Cole turned to Justine, and the older woman sort of puddled at his feet.

Tibby shoved the sack into his arms. “I believe you were leaving?” she said with sarcastic sweetness.

“Gladly. And don’t hold your breath waiting for me to darken your door again. I’d sooner drive the extra miles to shop in Brawley.”

Justine’s head whipped from one to the other like a baby bird seeking a worm. “My,” she said as the door slammed on Cole’s heels, “it’s like Winnie said not five minutes ago. Our community cohesiveness is going to heck in a handbasket.”

“It goes to show that the person who said one bad apple spoils the barrel knew what he was talking about.” Tibby glared at the door through which Cole had departed. “But don’t worry, Justine.” She patted the older woman’s arm. “Maybe later today I’ll have news to mend this rift once and for all.”

Justine blinked owlishly behind her round glasses. “Yes, Winnie made that same comment. What time will you be back, dear?”

“I hope by four. Help yourself to lunch and try some of that new raspberry-and-rosemary tea I bagged today. I think you’ll find it calming. You’ll need to make sandwiches for the lunch crowd. There are still two loaves of seven-grain bread and one of sourdough. Tomorrow I’ll bake again.”

“You go run your errands. I’ll do fine, Tibby. Take some time and pamper yourself. You’re always doing for us, child. Do something for yourself for a change.”

“Like what?” Tibby balanced on the balls of her feet near the door.

“Oh, a manicure or a new hairdo. You’ve worn a braid since you were fifteen.”

“It’s easy-care and keeps the hair out of my face when I work in the gardens or stocking shelves. What’s wrong with my braid?”

“Nothing, child. But if you gussied yourself up a little, maybe the O’Donnell boy would be more amenable to putting his clubhouse somewhere else. According to Emily Post, a man can’t refuse a well-turned-out woman anything.”

“First, I’m not a child and Cole O’Donnell isn’t a boy. And nobody goes by that old bunk today. There’s equality between the sexes now. And I, for one, don’t want Cole to put his clubhouse anywhere in Yaqui Springs. I’d rather he did sell to truck farmers. End of discussion, Justine. If I don’t hurry, I won’t be back in time for you to start Pete’s dinner. I know you like to have it ready when he comes home.”

“Not tonight. I’m mad at him, too.” She flushed. “My waiting on him is part of that old bunk you mentioned. I think I’ll give him a taste of this equality thing.”

Frowning, Tibby marched back to the counter and collected her sunglasses and the drawing Cole had given her of his proposed golf course. “Isn’t that pretty rash, Justine? Pete isn’t exactly a nineties man.”

The woman smiled and patted her gray chignon. “Don’t fret, dear. After nearly forty years of marriage, I know exactly how to enlighten him.”

TIBBY COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d forgotten it was Saturday, and the land office was closed. Fortunately Gram’s attorney was in, but that visit proved nearly as fruitless; Lara had never mentioned the land transaction to him. However, the elderly Mr. Harcourt did provide Tibby with one ray of hope.

“I imagine there are strict rules and regulations concerning the relocation of a U.S. post office, Tibby. I’d be happy to file an injunction against O’Donnell to tie his hands until you get a ruling from the postmaster general’s office next week. However, it takes at least two working days to process an injunction. If I file Monday, it’d be Wednesday or so before the county served him.”

“Even that would help, Mr. Harcourt. He’s not at the digging stage, and I didn’t get the impression he’d rip out the building. He’s pressuring me to move it. But there’s no room on my property unless I stick it in the middle of my parking lot.”

“I’ll start the ball rolling, then. First thing Monday you get on the horn to Washington and see what they suggest. Meanwhile I’ll draft a letter telling O’Donnell of our intent to file the injunction. Sometimes that alone makes a person back off. If you’re going to be in town awhile, drop by later and pick it up.”

“I do have other things to take care of. I’ve decided to adopt a dog. The house is so quiet without Gram. I thought maybe a pet…Please point me in the direction of the shelter.”

“A pretty woman like you shouldn’t have to resort to canine companions. What’s wrong with the young men out there in Yaqui Springs?”

Tibby’s heart took a sinking dive as she thought of the only young man in Yaqui Springs. “It’s largely a retirement community, Mr. Harcourt. Not too many men my age retire.”

“Humph. Then if I were you, I’d sell Lara’s store and move. I recall her saying she wanted you to go away to college. Unfortunately, as we discussed after she passed away, she was badly advised financially and lost the bulk of her nest egg.”

“I love living in Yaqui Springs and I love running the store. I’d never sell it. I hope eventually to take some college correspondence courses. I’ve been checking into San Diego State. Now, about the animal shelter, Mr. Harcourt…”

“Yes…yes. But a dog hardly seems a fitting alternative to dating. Tell you what, my wife’s in charge of our church socials, and she teaches the young-adult Sundayschool class. I’ll have her send you an invitation to the next event. No matchmaking, understand. Just come and enjoy the company of men and women your own age.”

“That’d be nice. Thank you.” Tibby doubted she’d accept the offer. Unless the social was during the day. It was a dark lonely road to travel at night.

Harcourt drew her a map to the shelter. She thanked him again. “I’ll run by for the letter, say, at three?” He nodded and escorted her to the reception area.

Walking along the street to her car, Tibby caught her reflection in the window of a shoe store. Her steps slowed. Was her braid outdated? Or was it her loose-fitting cotton dresses? She’d noticed that both the secretary and receptionist in the attorney’s office wore suits with shorter skirts. No, by darn. Tibby gripped the shoulder strap of her purse. She liked her hair long, and she’d grown up wearing dresses. They were cool and comfortable, good for bending and stocking shelves.

Tibby stopped at a café for lunch. The place was crowded. The harried hostess acted as if it was a crime to eat alone when Tibby asked for single seating. Once they managed to squeeze her in, Tibby felt as if she had come with a crowd, since the tables were pushed so close together. Two couples on her left knew the people on her right, and talk more or less flowed over her.

As she dug into her salad, she realized that a majority of the men and women in the restaurant were paired up. Contemplating that, Tibby pretended interest in her forkful of greens. Before Justine and Mr. Harcourt had pointed out her social impairment, she’d never given it much thought. Was that how Cole saw her? Naive and inexperienced? A country mouse? He must know a bevy of sophisticated women.