Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie MacomberЧитать онлайн книгу.
two seconds later with her sweater, grabbing her backpack from the table as she went.
“Do you have your lunch money?” Rosie asked.
“Duh? Of course I do.” Allison kissed her cheek in the same fashion Zach had and was out the door.
No sooner had they left than Eddie appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Is my Pop-Tart up yet?”
“Almost,” she muttered and searched the cupboards until she located a box of her son’s favorite breakfast food.
An hour later, Eddie left to catch the school bus and Rosie straightened up the kitchen, turning on the dishwasher. Still in her ratty, ten-year-old housecoat, she went to the bedroom and pulled open the dresser drawer to take out fresh underwear.
It wasn’t until she was in the shower that she remembered she had to be at the school by noon as a lunch volunteer for Eddie’s class. She groaned and raised her face to the water. She’d be away tonight, too. As it was, Zach didn’t approve of her chairing this PTA committee. She’d taken the position a year earlier and had promised to serve until the end of term and no longer. But last June not a single parent had stepped forward to volunteer. Rosie had no choice but to continue as chair.
She dressed and was about to call Zach’s office when the phone rang. A half hour later, she was rushing out the door, about to ward off an emergency concerning the new choir robes at church. Somehow their order had gotten switched with that of another church, somewhere in Florida. It was imperative that the correct robes show up before the end of the month. At the church, she painstakingly repackaged the robes, made half a dozen phone calls and took the boxes to the post office to return to the company. Not until eleven-thirty did she realize she still hadn’t called Zach. Taking out her cell phone, she punched in the number to her husband’s office.
“Smith, Cox and Jefferson,” came the pleasant—and unfamiliar—female voice.
Rose eased to a stop at a red light. “This is Rosie Cox. Could I speak to my husband, please?”
“Hello, Mrs. Cox, this is Janice Lamond. I don’t believe we’ve met, have we?”
“No, we haven’t,” she said. The light changed to green and she sped forward.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Cox left the office. I understand he was meeting you?”
They hadn’t agreed to meet anywhere, at least not that she remembered. Where the hell would Zach go? Think, think, she ordered herself.
“Did he bring his cell phone?”
“I’m sorry, he didn’t. Mr. Cox said he didn’t want to take any calls.”
Rosie groaned. “Did he tell you where he was headed?”
The woman hesitated. “I believe he mentioned D.D.’s on the Cove.”
Of course. It was her favorite and Zach always took her there for her birthday.
“Are you going to be late?” Janice asked. “I could phone the restaurant and let him know, if you’d like.”
“I can’t make lunch at all,” Rosie muttered, truly regretful. Zach would never forgive her. Especially when he learned she had to cancel because she was volunteering yet again.
“Is there anything I can do?” Zach had never mentioned how helpful this new employee was. Rosie liked her already. She pulled into the school parking lot and cut the engine.
“You wouldn’t mind phoning him for me?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Would you like me to tell him where you can be reached?”
“No,” she said quickly, not eager to have Zach call her in the midst of a volunteer activity. “Tell him I’ll explain everything once I’m home.”
“I’ll see to it immediately,” Janice said.
Rosie appreciated that the firm’s new assistant was so friendly and accommodating.
If Zach was upset with her for skipping out on lunch, he didn’t give any sign of it when he walked into the house that evening. Rosie was thawing hamburger in the microwave for spaghetti, Eddie’s favorite dinner, when her husband came in. As usual, she was in a hurry to get out the door.
She tried to gauge his mood. “I’m so sorry about lunch,” she told him.
Zach shrugged as he flipped through the mail. “It was fine.”
“I should’ve checked my calendar. Did the assistant reach you?”
“Actually she joined me.”
“You had lunch with your secretary?” Rosie wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.
“She’s not my secretary, she’s my assistant,” he explained, his back to her. “I left the office early because I wanted to get a table by the window. When Janice called with the news, I said it was a shame to let that table go. I was only joking when I suggested she come over since you couldn’t, but she took me up on it.”
“Oh.” Rosie was silent for a moment. “Did you have a nice lunch?” She’d eaten a candy bar out of a machine.
“It was all right,” he muttered and headed toward the bedroom for a shower, but she noticed he was whistling.
“I can meet you for lunch any day next week,” she called after him.
“Sorry, honey,” he said as he strolled past her. “I’m booked solid.”
Four
Having her nails done every other week was Maryellen’s one luxury. Although beautifully manicured fingernails were an extravagance, she couldn’t make herself give it up. Even more than that small pleasure, though, Maryellen enjoyed her friendship with the “girls” at Get Nailed. They were close to her age and single, but unlike Maryellen they wanted men in their lives.
Every second Wednesday morning, Maryellen listened while they bemoaned their fates. She was often amused by the crazy schemes they devised for meeting men. Frankly, she couldn’t understand why Rachel, her nail tech, hadn’t found a decent man. Maryellen considered her attractive and savvy.
The third Wednesday in October, Maryellen arrived for her appointment. Rachel was, as usual, ready for her. As soon as Maryellen was seated, Rachel doused a cotton swab in nail polish remover and reached for her hand.
“How’s it going?” Rachel asked.
“Great, how about you? Meet anyone last weekend?”
“I wish,” Rachel returned with a long sigh. “I’m not getting any younger.”
Maryellen knew that Rachel had made it her goal to find a husband by age thirty, and her birthday was only a few months away.
“I read something interesting this week,” Maryellen told her. “It’s about a town in Ireland named Lisdoon-varna. Every September and the first week of October, eligible men come to town looking for wives. Apparently it’s a tradition that’s been going on for years.”
“This is a joke, right?” Terri asked from across the room.
“No, I swear to you this is real.”
“Where do these women come from?” Rachel asked.
“All over the world. According to the article, a woman flew all the way from Australia to find a husband—and she did.”
“I can’t afford to go to Ireland,” Rachel muttered.
“No, but maybe we could hold our own festival,” Terri suggested.
“You could do that,” Maryellen said, wanting to encourage the other women. She didn’t want to get involved herself, but she did hope the crew of