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“Just fine, Kayla. Yourself?” He had a way of lowering his chin when he smiled. Meg had watched him do it to Lucy at the rehearsal dinner. He didn’t drop it far, maybe only an inch, just enough to turn his smile into a curriculum vitae of clean living and honorable intentions. Now he was offering the identical smile he’d bestowed on Lucy to the desk clerk at the Wynette Inn. So much for his broken heart.
“No complaints,” Kayla said. “We’ve all been prayin’ for you.”
He didn’t look remotely like a man in need of prayer, but he nodded. “I appreciate it.”
Kayla tilted her head so that her sweep of shiny blond hair fell over one shoulder. “Why don’t you join Daddy and me for dinner at the club this weekend? You know what a good time you and Daddy always have.”
“Just might do that.”
They chatted for a few minutes about Daddy, the weather, and Ted’s mayoral responsibilities. Kayla pulled out all the stops, tossing her hair, batting her lashes, doing the Tyra Banks eye-thing, basically giving it everything she had. “We’ve all been talkin’ about that phone call you got yesterday. Everybody thought for sure Spencer Skipjack had forgotten about us. We can hardly believe Wynette’s back in the running. But I said all along you’d pull this off.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but it’s a long way from a done deal. Remember that up until last Friday, Spence was set on San Antone.”
“If anybody can convince him to change his mind and build in Wynette, it’s you. We sure do need the jobs.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Meg’s hopes that they’d continue their conversation were short-lived as Ted turned his attention back to her. “I understand Miz Koranda here owes you money. She seems to think she can work it out.”
“Oh, I hope so.”
The clerk didn’t look as though she hoped any such thing, and a panicky flush crept from Meg’s face to her chest. She licked her dry lips. “Maybe I could . . . speak to the manager.”
Ted seemed dubious. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“She’ll have to,” Kayla said. “I’m only helping out today. This is way beyond the realm of my responsibilities.”
He smiled. “Oh, what the heck. We could all use a little day-brightener. Go on and get her.”
Officer Surly piped up from the door. “Ted, there’s been an accident out on Cemetery Road. Can you handle things here?”
“Sure thing, Sheldon. Anybody hurt?”
“Don’t think so.” He nodded toward Meg. “Walk her over to the station when you’re done.”
“Will do.”
Walk her over to the station? They really were going to arrest her?
The cop left, and Ted leaned against the desk, comfortable in the world that had crowned him king. She tightened her grip on her purse. “What did you mean when you said talking to the manager wasn’t a good idea?”
Ted gazed around the small, homey lobby and seemed satisfied with what he saw. “Just that she’s not exactly a member of your fan club.”
“But I’ve never met her.”
“Oh, you met her, all right. And from what I hear, it didn’t go well. Word is, she doesn’t appreciate your attitude toward Wynette . . . or toward me.”
The door behind the desk swung open, and a woman with woodpecker red hair and a turquoise knit suit emerged.
It was Birdie Kittle.
“Afternoon, Birdie,” Ted said as the inn’s owner came toward them, her short, fiery hair blazing against the neutral backdrop of the beige walls. “You’re lookin’ fine today.”
“Oh, Ted . . .” She appeared ready to cry. “I’m so sorry about the wedding. I don’t even know what to say.”
Most men would be mortified by all that pity flowing at them, but he didn’t seem even mildly embarrassed. “Things happen. I appreciate your concern.” He nodded toward Meg. “Sheldon stopped Miz Koranda here on the highway—fleeing the scene of the crime, so to speak. But there’s been an accident out on Cemetery Road, so he asked me to handle it. He doesn’t think anybody’s hurt.”
“We have too many accidents out there. Remember Jinny Morris’s daughter? We need to bulldoze that curve.”
