A Husband of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #2)(35)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Rebecca?” Hatty called up the stairs. “Rebecca, would you mind coming down here for a minute? I want you to run to the grocery store for a few things, dear. It won’t take long.”

Rebecca plugged her ears in an effort to shut out the sound of her name on Hatty’s lips. It was eight o’clock on Monday night, the very end of her day off, and she’d still had no time to herself.

“Beck, I can go,” Booker called. He’d been outside most of the day, ever since they’d returned from Jerry’s Diner, trying to chop down a dead tree at the edge of the property. Hatty was determined that he turn it into fire-wood, but it was really a job for one of those tree services with big equipment. Rebecca knew he had to be twice as tired as she was, so she dragged herself off the bed.

“No, I’ll go, Booker,” she hollered. “I’m coming.” She glanced at the telephone and considered making a quick call to Buddy. She wanted to tell him that he simply had to come. She needed a change in luck, something that would put a little wind at her back. But she doubted she could convince him. He probably hadn’t planned on coming in the first place. Otherwise, he would’ve already bought the darn plane ticket.

“What’s wrong?” Booker asked as soon as she descended the stairs.

“Buddy’s not coming for the anniversary party,” she said.

She thought he’d make some wisecrack like, “And that’s bad news?” but he didn’t. He actually gave her a sympathetic smile and went for his coat. “I’ll go to the store with you.”

“You’re both going?” Hatty sounded disappointed. “I was hoping you’d take a look under the sink in my bathroom, Booker. I think I have a leak.”

“Sorry, Granny.” He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll check it out in the morning, okay? Where’s the grocery list?”

She pulled a notepad from a purse the size of a suitcase. “Here you go. Just have them put it on my account. But don’t forget to ask the manager if he has any loose bananas. They sell them a lot cheaper that way, you know. Only they don’t put them on the table. You have to ask, and they bring them out from the back. That’s how you get the deal. And pick me up one of those flyers that says what’s going to be on sale next week. I’m hoping it’ll be pot roast. They haven’t had a sale on pot roast for a long time, and I’d really like one.”

“How much could you save by waiting?” Rebecca asked.

“As much as three dollars,” Hatty reported proudly.

Rebecca didn’t get it. Three dollars? Was it worth three bucks to wait week after week, month after month, for a sale on pot roast?

“Do you think Buddy will expect me to follow those sale flyers as closely as your grandmother does?” she asked Booker as they walked out to her car. “Do you think he’ll expect me to ask the manager for loose bananas?”

Booker shrugged. “Depends. Did he say why he’s not coming for the party?”

“Something cropped up at work.”

“So it wasn’t because of the plane fare?”

Rebecca thought the plane fare might’ve been part of it. Which was probably why she was so irritated with Hatty for trying to save a couple of bucks on pot roast. Suddenly everyone in the world seemed cheap. “I don’t know. He never did buy his ticket, even though I made it crystal clear I wanted him to come.”

“Doesn’t say a lot for his intent,” Booker said.

She nodded. Neither did a third postponement of their wedding.

Booker grabbed her purse and the shopping list and headed back inside.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“We’re not buying groceries tonight.” He jerked his head in the direction of his motorcycle. “We’re going for a ride on my bike.”

“What about your grandma?”

“She’ll get her loose bananas in the morning.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

REBECCA HAD INTENDED to call and ask her father if she could bring Booker to the anniversary party. She’d meant to do it a week ago. But since their meeting in his office, she hadn’t heard from him or anyone else in her family—except Greta, who’d phoned to try and talk her into changing the color scheme of her wedding from periwinkle and turquoise (“Beck, they’re just so unusual”) to something more classic and timeless (“ivory and green would be perfect, don’t you think?”). In addition to a general lack of contact, Rebecca had been busy, what with Hatty lining up project after project. And, if she was being perfectly honest, she’d have to admit there was never a good time to approach her father about something he wasn’t going to like. So she’d procrastinated—and now it was too late.

She parked her Firebird behind a large black pickup and saw so many cars lining the street she almost lost her nerve. She’d known it wouldn’t be wise to bring Booker along under any circumstances. But without express permission…

Still, she couldn’t see how his presence would hurt anything. What was one more among so many? She couldn’t tell him he wasn’t welcome. Not after he’d been so good to her. It was Booker who’d given her a place to stay, Booker who’d helped her move, Booker who’d been there for her when Buddy let her down.

Besides, Rebecca knew what it was like to bear the brunt of everyone’s disapproval. She wasn’t about to distance herself from Booker just because the other folks in Dundee found him unacceptable. Booker was her friend, and she was going to stand behind him.

She just wished standing behind him didn’t have such potential for causing a scene.

“Would you mind carrying the salad?” she asked, getting out of the car.

“No problem,” he said.

Greta hadn’t asked Rebecca to bring any food, but she’d whipped up a chicken salad from a recipe she’d seen in a magazine, as sort of a peace offering. Maybe if Booker was busy finding a place for the salad when they first arrived, he’d be too preoccupied to hear anyone gasp.

She opened the trunk. He removed the large bowl of salad and she retrieved the gift she’d bought her parents—a hammock for their back porch she thought they might enjoy next summer.

“If we don’t like it, we don’t have to stay,” she said, preparing him, and herself, just in case. “I need to put in an appearance, that’s all.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.”