The Husband School. Kristine RolofsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
bother? Don’t you still get your fair share of tourists in the summer?”
“For two months, maybe three,” Jerry said. “It’s not enough.”
“Our hyperactive and ambitious mayor has come up with a way to increase the year-round population of Willing and save the town,” Gary explained. “It’s a bold plan. I’ll give him credit for that.”
“Save the town from what?” Owen hid a smile behind his coffee mug. “Plague? Pestilence? Space aliens?”
Jerry wasn’t amused. “From certain death. Literally. I have a study, with future growth projections and analyses of trends. According to the experts, Willing is going downhill.”
Owen thought about that for a long moment. He glanced out the window and didn’t see much going on. The main road into town was empty, but October was a quiet month. And winter was a quiet season. He couldn’t blame folks for worrying about the future, but Willing had never seemed to change much, let alone go downhill. It occurred to him how little time he spent here, how little he knew or cared what went on. His life was elsewhere, and had been for many years.
“What kind of trends?” Mike wanted to know. “I like to keep track of advertising prospects,” he explained.
“I have copies of the report for each one of you,” Jerry said. “As I said earlier, if we don’t start attracting businesses and families, there’s not going to be any reason to support a school. Or the money to do it. And once we have no school, we’re finished.” Jerry was obviously getting revved up.
“And the solution is a television show?”
“The solution is publicity, and lots of it.”
“And women,” Jack interjected. “Don’t forget the TV show is about women.”
“We could make this town come alive,” Jerry said. “Unless you’re willing to stand by and see your heritage evaporate, Mr. MacGregor, Willing will be a ghost town one of these days.”
Owen wasn’t sure he wanted the town to “come alive,” whatever that meant. What should have been a quick stop on the way home had turned into the possible annihilation of his descendants. “What’s wrong with things staying the way they are? And how does not having a school mean the demise of Willing?”
Jerry slid a sheaf of papers across the table. “Take a look at these and see if you think things can stay the same. As I’ve explained to the council, we need to become proactive.”
“I’ll look at them. While I eat.” Owen turned back to his meal. Because he’d said he would—and because he knew the town council would watch—he studied the report. Sure enough, doom and gloom were on the horizon, but it didn’t spoil his appetite. He methodically worked his way through his meal—and the pages of information—until all three plates were empty. Meg left him alone, as did everyone else. The illustrious members of the town council quietly discussed the weather, the price of cattle, football and the new season of Survivor.
When he was finished eating the best breakfast he’d had in years, Owen pushed the plates aside and moved his coffee closer. Across the room, Meg worked the cash register while two elderly men took turns handing her money and getting change. She looked the same as she had in high school, except her hair was shorter. She had the same warm smile he remembered being directed at him when he’d spent a lot of time hanging out in the summer kitchen, flirting with the shy girl with the big brown eyes.
“All right,” he said, turning around again to face the council. “I see your point.”
Jerry nodded. “I thought you would.”
“But I guess I can’t imagine your friends in California would be interested. We’re not exactly Bozeman.”
“That’s the hook. We’re small-town guys.” He waved his arm toward the rest of the men. “The fantasy is moving to small-town America.”
“Whose fantasy?”
“Well, people who don’t live in small towns, of course.” Jerry picked up his notepad and leafed through the pages until he found the one he wanted. “Let’s move on to preparation. We’re going to need to form some committees. Owen, can I put you down for locations? You know more about this county than anyone, and Tracy—the producer of this thing—will be looking for local color.”
“I don’t—”
“Meg!” Jerry called as she approached to clear Owen’s table of dishes.
She wiped her hands on her apron. “I am not going to answer any more ridiculous—”
“This is about catering.” Jerry flipped to another page. “Tracy will need a price list for the crew. That is, if we get the gig. Can you put something together? Meal ideas? Costs? They’re going to need to use as much local help as possible, which is good for you, since you’re the only game in town aside from Chili Dawgs, and who can eat chili dogs every night?”
Pete raised his hand. “I can.”
“I can put a menu together,” she said slowly. “What’s going on? And who’s Tracy?”
Les leaned forward in his chair. He was a likable kid and Meg felt badly that the rodeo career hadn’t worked out for him. “Jerry’s friend. Hollywood’s coming,” he said, giving Meg a shy smile.
“That’s the plan. Sit down and I’ll explain everything.” Jerry gestured toward the seat opposite him.
“Okay. I have a few minutes,” she said, surprising Owen by sitting. “Before the lunch rush starts.”
Owen watched Meg’s expression change from tolerant to skeptical as the eager mayor launched into his dying-town, we-need-women-and-families spiel. He wound up with, “What do you think? Can we make it work, get our single guys fixed up with some city women?”
“Well.” Meg looked at the men gathered around the table. Except for Jerry, they were not a sophisticated group, but she clearly didn’t want to hurt their feelings. “I guess that’s up to, ah, Tracy.”
She glanced at Owen.
“Don’t look at me,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m not going on a television show.”
“Of course you’re not. I’m sure you have plenty of women already,” she agreed, which made it sound like an insult. Owen didn’t have “plenty of women,” but he wasn’t going to deny it. Let her think he slept with someone other than Boo. She didn’t need to know that he’d read War and Peace last summer and talked to his dog more than his friends.
“You’re a fine example of the Western man,” Jerry said. “We’ll need your help.”
Owen frowned at him. “I’m a what?”
“Fine example of a Western man,” Meg repeated, obviously trying not to laugh. “That’s quite a compliment.”
Owen opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again. Jerry Thompson was one strange character. Jerry scribbled something on his pad. “Can I put you on the education committee, too?”
“No.”
Jerry acted as if he hadn’t heard Owen. “We’ll drive Tracy around and you can explain the history of the place and show her some picturesque spots for dates.”
“Picturesque spots?” Meg chuckled. “Like watching bears at the dump?”
Jerry bristled. “It’s a transfer station now. Very contained.”
Gary grinned. “We conceived our oldest daughter, uh, ‘watching the bears.’ Had to get married three months after that.”
“Too much information, Petersen,” the town treasurer said.
“But romantic,” Jerry interjected.
“Well, it