Loves Me, Loves Me Knot (2 page)

At the sound of a vehicle pulling into the drive, Charlotte grabbed her things and hurried to the front door in time to see her niece climbing out of her sunflower-yellow VW Beetle. Falling in line with Jenna’s somewhat quirky personality, large magnets in the shape of white and yellow daisies decorated the doors and hood of the adorable vehicle.

Flowers weren’t Jenna’s only mode of decorating her beloved bug, though. At Easter, she used a nose, tail, and ears to make the car look like a bunny rabbit; at Halloween, a broom and the back end of a witch’s robe would appear as though sticking out of the rear hatch; at Christmas, it was antlers and a bright red Rudolph nose.

Charlotte loved to see Jenna’s happy yellow Beetle
coming up the drive, never knowing what amusing guise the little VW would be wearing.

Today, Jenna herself was dressed in dark blue jeans that flared at the calf and sparkled at the thighs and pockets with a mixture of rhinestones and silver studs. Her blouse was sage green and cut in a tank-top style, made of some soft, flowing, almost diaphanous material that was so popular these days. Never mind that one could almost see a girl’s bits and pieces and skimpy brassieres underneath.

And as usual, Jenna also had a boa wrapped loosely around her neck in blending hues of green, yellow, and brown that perfectly matched her blouse.

“Hello, dear!” Charlotte called as she pushed through the front screen door and bustled down from the porch.

Jenna smiled and raised a hand to wave before reaching into the back seat for her overnight bag.

“You ready to go?” Jenna asked as Charlotte crossed the yard to greet her.

Charlotte’s head bobbed up and down. “The station wagon and U-Haul are both stuffed to the gills. As soon as you’re settled, I’ll be on my way.”

“If you’re in a hurry to get going, don’t let me hold you up,” Jenna said. She cocked a hip into the car door to slam it closed behind her and turned to face her aunt, rainbow-striped valise in one hand. “I know my way around, and some of the girls are coming over tomorrow night to keep me company.”

“Oh, good! And you know where everything is, right? Even in the barn?”

Jenna’s lips curved indulgently. “Don’t worry, Aunt Charlotte, your babies are safe with me. I’ll take good care of them, I promise.”

A small weight lifted from Charlotte’s chest. “Of course you will. I’m sorry, it’s just that I don’t leave them very often, and I’m too used to taking care of them all by myself, I guess.”

“Except when I come over to help you out, which is how I know all of their names, their little quirks, and where everything is that they could possibly need.”

Jenna leaned in and Charlotte hugged her back, then let her niece herd her toward her late-model station wagon. It was sort of a buzzard barf brown, according to Jenna, with the prerequisite faux wood side panels. A “woody,” as they used to say . . . though the last time she’d called it that, her niece’s cheeks had turned bubblegum pink and she’d been quietly informed that “woody” was a term currently reserved for a rather private, highly aroused portion of the male anatomy. Charlotte hadn’t referred to her station wagon in that manner since.

Jenna often told her she should trade the outdated rattletrap in—if a dealer was even willing to take it—and find something a little more modern and reliable to get around in. But Charlotte liked her wagon. It had plenty of space and got her where she needed to go, which was all she required of her mode of transportation these days.

Vinyl seat squeaking as she climbed behind the wheel, Charlotte deposited her purse on the passenger-side floor before fitting the key into the ignition.

“Oh, I nearly forgot.” She hadn’t, of course, but the more spontaneous her gift seemed, the better.

Taking the skein of purple yarn from her lap, she held it out to Jenna. “I made this for you. Thought it might give you something to do while I’m away and you’re in that big old house all by yourself.”

Jenna took the yarn, running a few of the fringe-like strands between her fingers. “It’s beautiful, thank you. Purple is one of my favorite colors.”

She leaned in to press a kiss to her aunt’s cheek, then straightened and pushed the door closed.

“Drive carefully,” she said through the open window. “And good luck with the show. I hope you sell out of everything.”

“Me, too, dear. Of course, if that happens, I’ll just have to start all over again.”

One corner of her niece’s mouth quirked up in a grin. “Yes, but you love every minute of it.”

“You know I do,” Charlotte returned with a grin of her own. She cranked the engine and waited for the low throb to vibrate along the car’s long metal frame all the way to her posterior. “All right, then, I’m off. You take care, and if you need anything . . . Well, I don’t have a cell phone, so if you need anything, you’re going to have to run to someone else. But I will call as often as I can to check in.”

“I’ll be fine. And so will the alpacas. You just go and have fun.”

With a nod, Charlotte put the car in gear and rolled slowly out of her drive. She eased the wagon and U-Haul onto the dirt road, kicking up dust and waving into her rearview mirror at Jenna, who stood where she’d left her, enchanted yarn clasped tightly in one hand.

Charlotte hoped for a lot of things for this trip. Safe traveling, high-volume sales of her hand-spun yarns and knit goods . . . but most of all, she hoped for a very special man to appear in her niece’s life. One who would take the shadows from her eyes and make her
smile—really smile—the way she hadn’t since her separation from Gage.

It was a lot to ask of one tiny skein of yarn.

But the spinning wheel had worked its magic before, and Charlotte was confident it would do so again.

The Rob Thomas/Santana collaboration “Smooth” rocked from the small radio/CD player Jenna had set up on her aunt’s kitchen counter, cranked up high enough to be heard and thoroughly enjoyed over the loud whir of the blender. The girls would be here any minute, and she wanted to have the margaritas mixed and ready to go.

Hips twitching in time with the heavy Latin beat, she punched the blender’s off button and popped the lid, dipping her finger in for a tiny taste.

Mmm
, perfect. Mango was definitely a good choice to start. She also had lime, lemon, pineapple, and watermelon-flavored mixes on hand, and all the tequila they could possibly need to make Mexican Night
mucho, mucho ay caramba
!

Even over the bass of the song and her own humming, Jenna heard the insistent pounding on the front door. She slid the volume dial to a slightly less molar-rattling level and ran to answer it.

The minute she turned the knob, Grace and Ronnie spilled into the house, arms loaded with paper sacks, fabric totes, and bottles dangling from their fingers.

A dozen delicious aromas wafted around them, making Jenna’s stomach growl. She’d barely eaten a thing all day, knowing they’d be stuffing themselves this evening with enough calories to make the local circus come looking to recruit them to take over the Fat Lady’s tent.

“We’re here,” Grace announced somewhat breathlessly. “Let the fiesta begin!”

Laughing, Jenna took a few items from each of them to lighten their loads and led the way to the kitchen.

“I’ve got a pitcher of mango margaritas mixed already, but that’s about it.”

“Well, that’s why we’re here,” Ronnie said, dumping her bags on the island countertop. “To do whatever it takes to get this party started.”

Out of long practice and many Girls’ Night get-togethers, they moved around the kitchen as a unit, opening drawers and cupboards, organizing things just the way they wanted them.

Blond and stunningly beautiful, Grace Fisher was everything Jenna wished she could be—tall and lithe, confident, successful, happy . . . She was the host of her own local cable talk show, recently renamed “Amazing Grace” in honor of the nickname viewers had bestowed upon her practically from the very beginning. On camera, at least, Grace seemed capable of just about anything, from baking and decorating a three-tiered wedding cake to changing the oil and spark plugs in her car.

She also happened to be engaged to another national celebrity, Zachary “Hot Legs” Hoolihan, star goalie of the Cleveland Rockets hockey team. The two made a sickeningly attractive couple—the Ken and Barbie of the media world.

If Jenna didn’t love them both so much, she’d have been thoroughly green with envy. Especially considering how short and plain and boring she was in comparison.

A humble grade-school teacher, Jenna had short black hair, plain features, and was lucky to reach most people’s armpits unless she decided to suffer the pains of four-inch heels, which she did only on extremely rare occasions.

Ronnie was just as beautiful as Grace, but in a more down-to-earth, approachable manner, Jenna thought. Equally tall and shapely, Ronnie’s hair was a gorgeous chestnut brown that reached halfway down her back. She wrote a weekly column for the Cleveland
Sentinel
, and until recently had been caught up in a down-and-dirty, anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better competition with Dylan Stone, her arch-nemesis at a rival paper.

Antagonism had quickly turned to passion, however, and the two were now cheerfully involved, living together and maybe, possibly, perhaps one day willing to take the next step toward a ring- and vow-related commitment.

Considering Jenna’s own failed marriage and current romantic dry spell, it wasn’t always easy to see her two best friends happily involved. She’d wallowed in her own misery long enough, however—and boy, had she ever. So now whenever compare-and-despair depression threatened to swamp her, she tried to remind her-self of how very much she cared about Grace and Ronnie, and that someday she, too, might find someone and fall in love again.

Hey, it could happen.

“I’ll take care of the food,” Grace offered, loading up a tray with mass quantities of Mexican take-out that she pulled from multiple bags and containers.

“Ronnie,” she continued, “you take the radio into the living room and find somewhere to plug it in. We must have music to make Mexican Night
fantastico
.”

Ronnie bustled around, unplugging the radio and hoisting it off the counter.

“Jenna, don’t just stand there,” Grace, ever the take-charge kind of gal, ordered, shaking a lock of hair away from her face. “Grab some glasses and start pouring. I’ve been waiting all week to get plastered.”

With a chuckle, Jenna grabbed three jelly jars—the only drinking glasses her eccentric aunt had to offer—from a nearby cupboard. Carrying them in one hand and the pitcher of thick margaritas in the other, she headed for the living room.

“See you in there,” she threw over her shoulder, knowing Grace wouldn’t be far behind.

Moments later, all three women were sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the low coffee table, backs resting against Charlotte’s faded red old-fashioned brocade settee. Jenna poured them each a healthy dose of the thick, frothy, pale peach concoction while Ronnie and Grace took turns loading up plates with a little bit of everything their favorite Mexican restaurant had to offer.

As was typical of their Girls’ Nights, they’d gone overboard with both the food and the drinks. There were cheese quesadillas, chicken enchiladas, beef and bean burritos, crispy fish taquitos, side orders of rice and beans, and for dessert, mini churros. The very thought
of those sweet cinnamon snacks waiting at the end of the meal made Jenna’s mouth water.

“So how are you doing out here all on your own?” Ronnie asked after they’d each taken several bites and downed half of their slushy drinks.

Jenna swallowed before answering. “Fine. Caring for the alpacas means no sleeping in, but I’m used to being up early for school. And it’s quiet with no one else around, but I’m used to that, too.” She took a sip of her margarita. “Thanks for coming all the way out here, by the way. I could have just as easily driven back into town.”

Grace flicked a taquito-filled hand. “Don’t be silly. It’s nice to meet somewhere new for a change, and I have to admit it’s kind of fun to be here without Charlotte around.”

Ronnie’s face blanched as she choked on a mouthful of Mexican rice.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,” Grace quickly corrected herself with a small eye roll. “I just meant that it feels sort of . . . wicked, like when I was a kid and my parents would leave me home alone. I’d poke around for secret hidey-holes, hoping to find hidden birthday and Christmas presents.”

“And did you?” Jenna wanted to know.

“Sometimes. But I sort of lost interest after I snooped one time too many and ended up discovering their sex drawer.” She shuddered with revulsion, sending Jenna and Ronnie into peals of laughter.

“Oh, my God,” Ronnie gasped, “what did you find?”

Grace shook her head as though it were too horrific a memory to put into words, but then said, “Some magazines and . . . toys.”

“
Eeew!
” The three of them cringed and shuddered, simultaneously doing their best to shake off the mental image.

“I didn’t fully understand what everything was at the time, but I sort of knew instinctively that I shouldn’t be seeing them. It was traumatizing, believe me, especially later when I
did
start to figure out what they were for. There are some things a child just
should not
know about her parents, no matter how old she gets.”

“Did they ever find out?” Jenna asked.

“God, no!” Grace’s normally unflappable demeanor slipped, showing a flush of color on her cheeks. “Can you imagine? I’d have had to shoot myself or move to Siberia or something out of sheer embarrassment.”

“Well, you’re not the only one trying to block out childhood trauma,” Ronnie said, pulling a slice of quesadilla apart to eat section by section. “I once walked in on my father just after he’d stepped out of the shower and was still naked. I don’t think we looked each other in the eye again for about six years.”

They all howled again, continuing to eat and imbibe great gulps of mango margarita.