The Sweetheart Rules Page 3

  “Wonderful news. Amazing news.” Esther clapped her hands together.

  “Harold Twohig has leprosy and he’s being shipped off to a colony in the West Indies?”

  Esther made her sucking-on-a-lemon face. “That is not even funny.”

  Pauline leaned forward and lowered her voice. “We are being… syndicated.”

  “Syndicated? Pauline, if this is one of your schemes involving the Mafia and questionable bank withdrawals—”

  “For one, that wasn’t the Mafia, it was some poor guy in South Africa who lost all his possessions in a hurricane. For another—”

  “They don’t get hurricanes in South Africa, Pauline,” Greta cut in. Lord, give her patience. Sometimes these women made a box of rocks look like Rhodes scholars. “That should have been your first clue.”

  “For another,” Pauline reinforced, ignoring Greta’s reminder of her five-thousand-dollar mistake, “I’m not talking about that kind of syndication. I mean the multiple-newspaper kind of syndication. As in Common Sense Carla is taking over the state of Florida. The Palm Harbor weekly paper is picking us up!”

  Greta didn’t tell Pauline that adding one small town paper wasn’t exactly taking over the entire state of Florida. The woman looked too happy for even Greta to want to bring her down.

  “We’re going statewide!” Esther burst out so loud she drew the attention of Harold’s table, who sent up a rousing cheer.

  Greta waved a hand at Esther’s face. “For God’s sake, Esther, keep it down. You can’t yell in a retirement home. It’s like throwing a grenade into a fish pond. Who knows how many arrhythmias you’ll cause?”

  “Sorry,” Esther said, pouting now. “I was just so excited.”

  “I’m excited, too, Esther,” Pauline said. “But this means we need to up the stakes for the letters we pick going forward. We want scandal and intrigue. None of this ‘my bald shirtless neighbor won’t quit asking me out’ stuff.” She gave Greta a pointed look.

  “What?” Greta dropped her gaze to her oatmeal, concentrating on making a sugar mountain. “I didn’t write any of those letters. It’s just a strange coincidence that someone else has the exact same problem I have.”

  Pauline snorted. “I’ve got a perfect letter for our debut in the world of syndication.” She reached into the pocket of her sweater and pulled out a sheet of typewritten paper.

  “Do you think Barbara Walters will call to book us on The View?” Esther asked. “If so, I better get my hair done.”

  “It’s a little soon for that,” Pauline said, then reached for the granny glasses hanging on the chain around her neck and perched them on her nose. “Let’s get this letter answered first, and down the road, who knows who’ll come calling?”

  On any other day, Greta would have had some snappy comeback to that, but her senses were all discombobulated by Harold’s presence. Didn’t the man have somewhere to go? A proctologist appointment?

  And all on the one morning when she’d decided to skip the bourbon in her coffee, too, because she had to see Doc Harper for a checkup and didn’t want to give him one more thing to write on that damnable computer of his. Soon as she was done being poked and prodded and lectured in the doc’s office, she was indulging in her daily jigger of Maker’s Mark. If Harold kept up his stalking ways, she’d have to double her consumption. Or move to Antarctica.

  She wanted to glare at him, but Lord knew Harold would only be encouraged by so much as a flicker in his direction. For a man who used to be an engineer, he had unlimited cluelessness when it came to her level of interest in him. Zero, zip, zilch. For some reason, Harold kept coming back for more, that masochistic moron.

  “‘Dear Common Sense Carla,’” Pauline began to read, “‘I am a lifelong resident of Rescue Bay, but have been unlucky in love. I am raising a child on my own, but would really like to find true love. A man who sticks around and forms a family. Does such a man even exist? I’m beginning to doubt. Please restore my faith in happy endings. Sincerely, Jaded Jane,’” Pauline finished.

  “How is that going to get us famous?” Esther said. “It’s just another looking-for-love letter.”

  “Yes, but it’s one with a single mother. Haven’t you been watching television lately?”

  Esther gasped. “Goodness, no. Nothing on there but filth and curse words.”

  “Don’t forget the naked people. In my day, you had to steal a National Geographic from the library to see a naked person. Not that I ever did that, of course.” Greta signaled for a second cup of coffee. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harold give her another wave. “Nowadays, breasts and butts pop up like weeds on every channel.”

  Pauline tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and went on, undeterred. “Well, there’s a bunch of shows now about teenage moms. They’re a big deal. And if we capitalize on that, we’ll be the next big deal. We gotta stay with the trends, girls. Stay hip.”

  Greta snorted. “The last time anyone put the word hip and you together, they were studying for their orthopedic exam.”

  Pauline pursed her lips and ignored Greta. “I say we tackle this one. And considering how well things turned out for Luke and Olivia, maybe we can bring another happy ending to Rescue Bay.” That made Greta smile. Her grandson had found happiness with the sassy physical therapist. In a few months, they’d be married and maybe giving her a great-grandchild or two. It had eased Greta’s heart to see the two of them together, as happy as robins in spring. Maybe focusing on another person’s problems, and conspiring to fix them, would get rid of this constant churning in her gut. And if she was busy working on the letter, and fostering a happy ending there, then maybe she would stop being aware of Harold Twohig and his bulging eyes following her every move. “Sounds like a plan,” Greta said. “But we can’t create a happy ending until we figure out who wrote the letter. That way we make sure it ends well.”

  “I agree, but there’s a problem.” Pauline drummed her fingers on the table, thinking. “This time, I don’t know who wrote it. Maybe I can ask around town.”

  Greta riffled through her memory banks. Single mom. Lifelong resident of Rescue Bay. Burned by love. About to give up—

  “Olivia’s sister!” Greta nearly smacked herself for not thinking of it sooner. “The dog doc. Remember how Olivia told us she was so frustrated by the lack of available men that she signed up for one of those computer dating things?”

  Pauline’s nose wrinkled. “Isn’t her son a teenager? I wanted a real single mom.”

  “She is a real single mom. Real. Single. For a long time.” Greta sat back in her chair, cupping her mug of coffee between her hands. What a perfect idea. And if Diana was happy, that would make Olivia even happier, which would bring another dose of happiness to Luke’s life. A win all around. “That’s the one. That’s who we’ll focus on. And I know just the man to ask about available Mr. Rights in Rescue Bay.”

  Esther said. “Harold Twohig?”

  Greta let out a sigh and shook her head. Maybe moving to Antarctica wasn’t such a bad idea. “Lord, no. I’m not asking that man so much as directions to the buffet table. Every time I even glance in the same latitude, he takes it as a sign that we’re meant to be.”

  “Maybe you are,” Esther said, then put up a hand to cut off Greta’s protests. “All I’m saying is that you never know where true love will find you. My dear Gerald, God rest his soul, met me when he was in the ladies’ lingerie department at Woolworth’s. Poor man was so embarrassed to be found sorting through the extra-large panties, he kept on stammering that he was there to find a birthday gift for his mother. As if that woman ever wore anything larger than a size six. I helped Gerald find a suitable robe and slippers, and the rest is history.”

  Greta didn’t ask what Gerald was doing looking at lingerie large enough to fit a grown man. Esther had always had a bit of a blind spot when it came to her late husband’s failings, and Greta had long ago given up on trying to change her mind. Instead, Greta resolved to never, ever ge
t wrapped up in something as distracting as love. She was an old woman now anyway. She didn’t have time for a man. But Diana Tuttle… now that young lady needed a big, strong, handsome companion. The problem was finding just the right someone.

  And that was the kind of problem Greta Winslow loved to tackle. Not to mention it would liven things up around here. Without Buck and his exaggerated fish tales and off-color jokes about hooks and sinkers, Golden Years had fallen into a depressing funk. Besides spiking the breakfast coffee with bourbon—not that Greta knew anything about a prank like that, of course—this could be just the ticket to breathing some excitement into the air. And if not, well, there were always Mr. Jim Beam and Mr. Maker’s Mark to help her out.

  Three

  “So that’s what you look like.” Diana smiled down at the scrawny dog on her table. Two vet techs, a long bath, and a half hour with a pair of shears, and finally the stray resembled a dog instead of a matted ball of dirt. Diana pegged it for a sheltie mix, with its long multicolored hair and short legs. Given the dog’s thin body and rough condition, she’d probably been on her own for a few weeks.

  “She’s cute,” Olivia said, leaning forward and scratching the dog under the chin. The pup leaned into Olivia’s touch, tail thumping a happy song. At Olivia’s feet, her bichon, Miss Sadie, wagged her tail in concert.

  Every once in a while, Diana marveled at how quickly things had changed. Six months ago, Diana hadn’t even known she had an older sister. Diana had still been reeling from the sudden death of her mother, and then Olivia drove into Rescue Bay and turned everything Diana thought she knew about her life upside down.

  Even though they’d just found out they were siblings, the two of them had formed a quick, tight bond. Last week, Diana had relocated her offices to the front half of the Rescue Bay Dog Rescue. The sisters had pooled their resources to renovate part of the building, then renamed it as the Rescue Bay Animal Shelter to accommodate more than just canines in need. The building had been left to Olivia by their late mother, with the request that the sisters run it together. At first, Diana had been hurt and angry by her mother’s bequest, but now, six months later, she saw the wisdom of Bridget’s plan and enjoyed seeing her only sibling every day.

  “What a friendly dog,” Olivia said. “I bet someone’s missing her.”

  “I scanned her chip this morning,” Diana said. “The number was out of service but I’m going to try a couple other ways to track down the owner. In the meantime, do you want to keep her in the shelter? She’s physically healthy. She just needed a bath and a few dozen meals.” Diana gave the dog a tender ear rub.

  “Sure. Chance will watch over her. He takes it as his personal mission to keep an eye on all the animals in the shelter.” Olivia’s fondness for the wounded dog she’d found a few months ago showed in her voice and the tenderness in her eyes. The golden had been in such bad shape, Diana hadn’t been sure he’d survive, much less thrive. He’d made a full return to health and now served as a mascot of sorts for the animal shelter and the vet’s office.

  Most days, Chance went on a run with Luke, the wounded pilot who had fallen in love with Olivia and vice versa. Olivia’s happiness bloomed in her eyes and her face, resonated in the chipper tones of her voice. Diana was glad her sister had found someone who loved her the way she deserved to be loved.

  Still, Diana battled a constant twinge of envy, which was crazy. She had no time or room in her life for a relationship with a man and enough complications with the ones in her past. Sean’s custody suit loomed over her, a constant worry. Jackson’s defiance and distance lately only added to Diana’s worries.

  Then there was Mike Stark.

  Well, she wasn’t going to think about him. At all.

  Except she had. A lot.

  The couple of weeks they’d dated back in January had been amazing. Filled with a heady, crazy rush that had swept her into a whirlwind, one she had thought ran deeper than it did. She’d made that same mistake once before, back in high school, when the captain of the football team swept her off her feet. She hadn’t realized Sean wasn’t after much more than a hot night in the backseat of his father’s Chevy sedan until after the little white stick had come back with two pink stripes.

  Mike Stark was cut from the same cloth as Diana’s ex. Charming, handsome, and utterly undependable. A one-night stand, not a rest-of-her-life love. That hadn’t stopped her from falling too hard, too fast, from getting swept up into the same overwhelming infatuation that had her fantasizing about a future with a man who had no sticking power. Her brain shouted warnings that had yet to be heeded by her traitorous heart and reckless hormones.

  Diana refocused on the dog before her, and Olivia talked for several minutes about the stray, but Diana’s mind kept detouring to Mike. Why was he back in Rescue Bay? How long was he going to stay? And most important, why did she even care? She was over him—over and out.

  The diamond ring on Olivia’s left hand caught the light from time to time, sending dancing sparkles across the stainless steel table, the white walls, the bright tile floor, as if the ring were teasing her, telling her to take a chance on love, like Olivia had.

  Yeah, right. Not in this lifetime.

  Not that Diana resented Olivia or begrudged her sister the happiness radiating from her like sunshine. It was something deeper than that, something that boiled in Diana’s gut in those quiet moments between dark and dawn, when she lay awake in her bedroom and wished for a do-over.

  Maybe it was all the upheaval with Jackson. The looming custody battle with Sean. Or the name and address that she’d found in the box her mother had left her, a link to the father she had never known. A letter Diana had sent, an answer that had never come.

  Exhaustion settled heavy on Diana’s shoulders. It was only ten in the morning and already she wanted to go back to bed, pull up the covers and stay there for a week.

  “Earth to Diana.”

  Olivia’s voice jerked Diana back to the present. “Sorry. Daydreaming.”

  “About one of the guys you met online, I hope.” Olivia grinned. Beside her, Miss Sadie’s tail swished against the tile.

  Diana laughed. “I wouldn’t call any of them guys. Maybe close cousins to reptiles.”

  “There are good men out there. Look at it this way. You’re weeding out the losers from the field so you can see the winners in the tall grass.”

  “You make dating sound more like a lion stalking a herd of antelope.”

  “Hey, whatever it takes. Even Cinderella had to wait for Mr. Right to come along.” Olivia grinned again, then gathered the sheltie mix into her arms. “We still on for dinner at Luke’s tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I’m kinda tired. And Jackson is coming home tomorrow morning.” Diana debated opening up to Olivia about the worries on her mind, then decided against it. Maybe because she was still getting used to this whole idea of having a sister. Or maybe because Diana had learned long ago that the only person to rely on was herself.

  “How’s Jackson’s camping trip been?”

  “Good, I hope. You wouldn’t know by my son,” she said with a laugh. “He only texted me once. If it wasn’t for Eric’s mother keeping me in the loop, I’d be afraid he got eaten by a bear.”

  Olivia snapped the leash onto the stray dog’s collar and lowered her to the floor. Miss Sadie sidled up to her new friend and began the doggie dance of sniffing and greeting. “Jackson’s growing up. That’s all. He’ll be back, and before long, you’ll be complaining about him driving you crazy with his music up too loud and his dirty dishes on the table. You’ll wonder why you worried in the first place.”

  “You’re right. It’ll be good to have him home.” Good because when her son was around, it reminded Diana of her priorities. But a part of her wanted Jackson to stay safely at the lake, far away from Sean’s disruptive appearances. Sean would swoop in for a day, maybe two, make a lot of promises, then leave before he had to deal with the consequences of breaking them. And now h
e wanted to be a full-time parent?

  I want him back.

  Sean had never had him in the first place. What had changed now?

  “So, are you coming tonight? Or do you have a date?” Olivia grinned.

  “God, no. I’m done with the online thing.”

  Olivia parked a fist on her hip. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up on finding Mr. Right?”

  Diana forced a smile to her face and busied her hands with picking up the stray’s chart and making a few notes. “I’m just taking a… breather.”

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Mike being back in town?” Olivia cocked a brow and studied her sister.

  Heat stole into Diana’s cheeks. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Painfully so.” She laid a hand on Diana’s. “You know, there’s no better way to make a man regret dumping you than to show him that you’ve moved on.”

  “I don’t care if Mike regrets dumping me,” Diana said. Then she shrugged and put the chart to the side. “Okay, I do. Deep down inside, I want him curled up in the fetal position, sobbing in a corner, devastated that he let me go.”

  “Well, we can make that happen.” Olivia grinned. “I can’t guarantee the fetal position or uncontrolled sobbing, but if you come to the barbecue tonight looking amazing, Mike will definitely be filled with regret.”

  Diana considered Olivia’s offer. Maybe if she went she could finally make it clear to herself that she no longer felt anything for him, and get an in-person reminder of how uncommitted and undependable he was. Except she’d seen him with his daughters, and though he had been an overwhelmed and indulgent parent, that moment added something new to the equation of Mike Stark.