The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club (20 page)

And how would that look? The organizer of the knit-a-thon—the daughter of the woman who’d won three state fair blue ribbons—exposed as a fraud on the courthouse square.

Don’t fret, it’s going to be fine. You’ve managed to fool everyone for years. You even fooled your mother
.

Honestly, everything was coming off without a hitch.

By the Fourth of July weekend, the Yarn Barn was almost finished. The supplies Flynn had ordered had arrived. She pried open boxes and filled up the cedar bins her father had built for her with hanks and skeins and balls of festive yarn, all the colors of the rainbow. Even though she couldn’t knit, she had to admit there was something bright, comforting, and optimistic about yarn.

The airy aroma of silk, cotton, linen, wool bathed her in a quiet calm that came from methodically sorting and stacking the colors and types of fibers. The work came quickly, easily as she found her rhythm and took pleasure in her achievement. This was it. On Tuesday, she’d be ready to open.

By fulfilling her mother’s dream, Flynn was hoping to find her center. The yarn store was simply the means to that end. If her store could bind the heart of the town square, if it could knit the Sweethearts together in a thread of community, hope, and love, then she knew that she would find her own center, even if knitting wasn’t her personal strength.

She finished her task and stepped back to look at her handiwork. Floyd’s diligent attention to detail had paid off. In his handcrafted cedar bins, the yarn captivated.

“I did it, Mama,” she whispered into the silent confines of the room. “I made your dreams come true.”

With jaunty spring to her step, she left the Yarn Barn and went out onto the sidewalk.

The knit-a-thon was scheduled to last the entire holiday weekend, running from Friday at noon to Monday at sundown. Entries had exceeded the
cut-off limit, and Flynn didn’t want to turn people away, so she and the Sweethearts had set up knitting stations all around the town square, not just on the courthouse lawn as previously planned—in Sweetheart Park, on the street corners, on the balconies of the storefronts. Along with big electric floor fans to keep the knitters cool in the Texas heat.

The money was raised in three ways: by entry fees, by selling the items they knitted, and by sponsors who donated money for however long the knitters knitted, like in a charity walk-a-thon. You knitted, the local businesses or private donors paid for your time and effort.

Sponsorship money rolled in. Ivey’s hardware pledged a hundred dollars for every registered knitter who knitted for twelve consecutive hours. Not to be outdone, other businesses had made similar pledges, including the Ford dealership. They donated a new pickup truck to the grand prize winner of the knit-a-thon.

Moe had fashioned a tally board and raised it on the courthouse steps to keep track of the money raised. Terri and Marva had made two giant balls of yarn out of papier-mâché and a couple of matching knitting needles for the display. Outside her Sweetest Match office, Belinda set up a booth to sell the knitted items. Local restaurants got into the swing with portable food carts vending Italian meatball subs from Pasta Pappa’s, tamales from Taco Hacienda, steak on a stick from the Funny Farm, fried chicken from Froggy’s, and barbecued sausage from Texas Joe’s.

The annual Fourth of July parade would kick
off the event in exactly two hours. At nine
A.M
. on Friday, everyone was in motion, setting up, preparing, organizing, and arranging. Flynn took a deep breath. It was going to work. She’d brought the town together for a common goal. Her chest swelled with pride. She’d done a good job.

On the walkway leading up to the courthouse, she found Carrie and Terri setting up the eye-catching artwork of yarn balls and needles. Carrie was on a rickety ladder, wearing purple short-shorts and a white midriff top. Flynn noticed several local boys had gathered around to watch, but none offered to help. Typical adolescent guy behavior.

“Shoo.” She put on her best big-sister face, glowered, and waved her hands at the teens. “Go away or I’ll put you to work.”

Once the boys had scattered, Flynn turned to Carrie. “You’re incorrigible.”

“What I’d do?” She grinned.

“Dressing like that, climbing a ladder, toying with young boys’ minds.”

“Who me?”

“What would Logan think?”

“Who cares? We broke up.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last week. You were right. He was pompous. Always correcting my grammar.”

“Told you.”

“You don’t have to sound so smug.”

“Stop wiggling around.” Terri had both hands on the ladder. “And hurry up, I gotta pick Gerald up from day care in fifteen minutes. They’re closing early for the parade.”

“Go ahead and go, Terri,” Flynn offered. “I’ll hold the ladder.”

“You sure? You’ve got a lot to do.”

“Everything’s running smoothly.”

Terri winced. “Don’t say that.”

“Don’t say what?”

“That everything is running smoothly, you’ll jinx it.” Terri was a bit on the superstitious side. She read her horoscope—Leo—religiously, wore an emerald four-leaf-clover necklace, and consulted Madame Drucilla out on Highway 377 whenever something went haywire in her life, even though the turban-wearing woman had twice been busted by the Fort Worth bunco squad.

“What could go wrong? All the yarn we ordered arrived, the rocking chairs are set up, Moe’s here to collect the money, we have massage therapists at the ready to knead knotted necks—”

“Good alliteration, Flynn. Logan would love you.”

“Everybody loves Flynn,” Terri teased. “Beau, Jesse, now Logan, probably even those boys you chased off.”

“They are in love with you, Flynn,” Carrie said. “You think they were just ogling me? When you bent over that big basket of yarn…”

“They were not.”

“They were too,” Terri added.

“Stop it.”

“Imagine, Flynn’s a cougar, grrr,” Terri growled. “Watch out. You’re gonna have to change your name to Demi or Madonna.”

“Don’t you have a kid to pick up?”

“Luckily for you. Otherwise I’d spend the rest of the morning teasing you unmercifully.”

Flynn took Terri’s place at the base of the ladder and Terri went off to retrieve her offspring. It was already eighty-five degrees at nine in the morning and her blouse was sticking to her back.

Carrie leaned over, trying to artfully drape the rope, dyed to match the deep scarlet color of the papier-mâché ball of yarn, around the gigantic wooden needles so that it would look like a knit stitch.

Flynn’s gaze wandered around the town square, supervising the bustling activity. Belinda was decorating her booth with helium-filled balloons and a cheery banner. On the corner, off-duty firemen were setting up a first aid station. And directly across the street, Jesse was parking his Harley on the sidewalk, setting up a motorcycle display. Polish rag in hand, he bent over the back of the bike, buffing up the chrome.

Flynn zeroed in on his tush, on compelling lines and honed angles as fine as his motorcycle. She licked her lips and felt something powerful stir inside her.

He bent over farther.

She tilted her head, studied the flex of his butt muscles underneath his tight jeans. Her mouth watered. Yummy.

Lust dug into her. She raised a hand, splayed it against her throat, swallowed hard, completely forgetting where she was and what she was supposed to be doing.

A group of women passing by on his side of the
street actually stopped, turned their heads, and caressed him with their eyes.

Jealousy blazed in her heart. Flynn’s first instincts were primal, a feminine urge to claim her man, to cross the street, plant a kiss on his lips, and let the world know he belonged to her.

Beside her, the ladder wobbled.

“Flynn?” Carrie called down.

It didn’t even register that her sister had called her name. Jesse had captivated her complete attention.

“Flynn!” Carrie’s voice was urgent this time, snapping her from her trance. “Hold the ladder, please, I’m off balance and I’m about to—”

The last part of her sentence broke off as the ladder collapsed, falling into the giant ball of papier-mâché yarn. It spun off across the courthouse lawn as her baby sister tumbled yelping to the ground.

Flynn looked at Carrie’s hand dangling from her arm at a very unnatural angle, her wrist ballooning like a puff adder. Nausea crowded her throat. Her head spun and she feared her knees might crumple right out from underneath her.

Don’t panic. You can handle this. Carrie needs you
.

“Let’s get you to the hospital.” She forced a smile, tried to look calm and cool, as she’d done many times in emergency situations. Flynn slipped an arm around Carrie’s waist and tried to lever her up off the ground.

“Ow, ow, ow.” Tears sprang to her sister’s eyes. “It hurts, dammit. Bad.”

“I’m sorry, how can I help? How can I make it better?”

“Just back off a minute and let me get my breath.” Carrie sat on the ground, chuffing in air, wincing against the pain.

Several onlookers had seen the accident and came running over. From the corner of her eye, Flynn saw someone retrieve the oversized yarn ball before it rolled into the Main Street traffic.

“You better get some ice on that wrist,” someone said.

“She needs a doctor.”

Yes, yes she did. But how could Flynn leave when there was so much to do?

Patsy Cross put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said, reading her mind. “I’ve got it under control. Get your sister to the doctor.”

“But I’m supposed to be handing out the packets and showing everyone where they’re supposed to set up and—”

“I’ll figure it all out,” Patsy said, “and recruit the rest of the Sweethearts to help, and if something gets left undone, well, then something gets left undone. You can’t be everything to everybody, Flynn. Your sister is most important.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Here’s your ride, now go.” Patsy nodded.

Flynn looked over and saw Jesse, helping Carrie up off the ground. “I can do that,” she said.

“I’ve got it.” Jesse guided Carrie toward Flynn’s Ford Ranger, idling at the curb. The passenger side door hung open.

Flynn fell into step beside him. “How’d you get my truck started? I’ve got the key.”

“Hot-wired it. I figured taking Carrie to the hospital on the Harley wasn’t an option.”

“Thanks, I think. You still remembered how to hot-wire a vehicle?”

“Hot-wiring a car’s like making love. Once you know how, you never forget.” His sexy tone made her heat up inside. “Remember when we—”

“Okay you two, I’m in pain here, save the trip down memory lane for later, huh?” Carrie grunted as Jesse helped her into the passenger seat.

“Thanks,” Flynn said again. “We appreciate your help.” She hustled around to the driver’s side, Jesse close at her heels. She slid behind the wheel.

He placed his hand on the door. “Scoot over.”

“What?”

“Scoot over, I’m driving.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Sure there is. You’re shaking like a pound puppy.”

“I’m perfectly capable of driving my sister to the hospital.”

“Sure you are,” he said. “But wouldn’t it be nice if you just had a hand to hold on to?”

“I don’t need you.”

“I never said you did.”

“Listen, Jesse—”

“For godsake, Flynn,” Carrie snapped. “Just let the man drive us to the hospital. We get it, you’re independent, you don’t need anybody, you’re the savior of us all, now get me to some drugs pronto or I’m gonna start screaming.”

Flynn scooted over. Jesse got in and slammed the door. They took off, tooling past the throng of tourists that had already started lining the square.

Fifteen minutes later, Flynn paced the emer
gency department waiting room at Twilight General, arms crossed over her chest. “Why won’t they let me in the exam room with her?”

Jesse lounged in one of the vinyl plastic chairs, looking far too comfortable for the atrocious seating. How did he manage that smooth, sexy, slouch? “Because they’re examining her, that’s why it’s called an exam room.”

“But she needs me. I’m her big sister. Hell, I’m her surrogate mother—”

“Calm down.”

“I’m calm. I’m always calm in a crisis. I’m just frustrated. It’s my fault she’s there.” Flynn knotted her hands. “I wasn’t holding the ladder securely enough because I was—” She bit off the words before she said them.

“Was what?” Jesse prompted.

Staring at your butt
. The man should be fined for having such a good-looking butt. “Umm, I was distracted.”

“You have a lot on your plate.”

“I do.”
No more than usual. I was just too busy staring at your butt. Carrie was hurt because I was staring at your damn butt
.

“You must have walked ten miles in the last five minutes.” He patted the seat next to him. “Come here, sit down.”

“How can I sit down when my sister’s in pain?” She gnawed a thumbnail. “It’s all my fault.”

“The nurses were coming at her with a Demerol needle just before they threw us out. I’m sure Carrie’s floating pain-free right now.”

“What if she needs me? What if she’s calling for
me?” Flynn stepped to the wooden double doors and pressed one eye against the crack between them.

“She’s not.”

Flynn turned and sent him a flinty-eyed stare. Him and his sexy butt. “How do you know?”

“If she was asking for you they’d come get you.”

“Clearly you have more confidence in medical professionals than I do.”

“I just know getting yourself worked up isn’t going to solve anything.”

Flynn eased the door open a crack, stuck her foot in.

“What are you doing?”

“I need to check, make sure she doesn’t need me for something. What if she’s thirsty and they’re too busy to get her a drink of water? She could be parched, and too dry to even call out water, water.”

“This isn’t Death Valley. See any sun-bleached cow skulls around? See any cactus? They’ll give her water.”

“You are such an optimist. How is it that you’re such an optimist?”

“Flynn, get your foot back across the line. Read the sign. It says medical personnel only.”

“Since when did you start paying attention to signs? Mr. Gone in Sixty Seconds lecturing me about following the rules? I’ve been in enough hospitals with my mother. I know the drill. The squeaky wheel gets the grease.”

“Unless you’re obnoxiously squeaky and then you get tossed out. Carrie’s going to be fine. Now sit.”

“You’re sure? You promise?” She let out a huff of exasperation and reluctantly plunked down beside him.

“I promise.” He reached out and laid a hand on hers.

Instantly she calmed. “I’m sorry, I’m getting testy with you and it’s not your fault.”
Your butt’s fault, maybe
. “You hot-wired my truck for me and drove me over here and everything and I’m spouting off like you’re my sounding board.”

“Go ahead and spout. That’s what I’m here for.”

“I’m too hard on Carrie.”

Jesse nodded. “She’s not like you, Flynn.”

“I know that. What’s wrong with me? Why do I keep expecting her to live up to my standards instead of accepting her for who she is?”

“You have high ideals.”

Flynn wrinkled her nose. “You make me sound like Beau. I don’t want to be like Beau. He’s too rigid. Am I too rigid, Jesse?”

“You’re not like Beau.” He slipped a hand to the back of her neck, and she melted against him. “And you’re not the least bit rigid. You simply expect too much out of yourself.”

A nurse appeared in the doorway. “The doctor has finished examining your sister. Would you like to come in now?”

Flynn shot to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Jesse took her hand, and her spirits lifted. Maybe everything would be all right after all.

They followed the nurse into the examination room. Carrie lay on the gurney, her face pale, her injured arm suspended from a sling on a rolling IV pole. Flynn plastered a cheerful smile on her face.

“Oh no,” Carrie said. “I know that look.”

“What look?’ Flynn asked brightly.

“That everything’s-gonna-be-A-OK smile you
always fished out for Mama’s sake. It’s bullshit, that smile. It doesn’t convince anyone. Not Mama, not me. I must be dying.”

“You’re not dying.”

“So why the perky smile?”

“I’m just trying to be positive. Rainbows, unicorns, kitties in a basket, all that upbeat stuff.”

“Well stop it. My hand hurts like hell and it’s my tray-carrying hand. You’re going to have to find someone to fill my shifts at Froggy’s. That should put a kink in your perk.”

“Okay, this sucks. It’s a nightmare. It’s a disaster. The sky is falling. Does that make you feel better?”

“Actually,” Carrie said, struggling with one arm to scoot herself up higher in the bed, “it does.”

Flynn scurried over to help her sit up. Maybe fluff her pillow, offer her a sip of water.

Carrie’s glower stopped her in her tracks. “I can make it on my own.”

Flynn raised her palms. “Sor-
ry
. Just trying to help.”

Carrie eyeballed Jesse. “He was holding your hand.”

“What?”

“When you came in, he was holding your hand.”

“Mmm, was he?”

Carrie snorted.

“What?”

“It’s okay to admit you’re with Jesse.” She kept trying to wrestle her pillow with her good hand, but every time Flynn tried to help, she quelled her with a look.

“I’m not with Jesse.”

“Because that would signal the end of the world,” Jesse muttered.

Flynn spun to meet his gaze. “Well, I’m
not
with you.”

He didn’t say another word, just drilled her with his patented sexy stare, the one that made her itch and sweat and long to strip off her panties.

The doctor strode into the room, followed by a nurse pushing a big metal cart behind him.

“What’s that?” Flynn eyed the cart.

“Cast cart,” explained the nurse.

“Cast? Why does she need a cast?”

“Her wrist is broken. See here.” The doctor stepped to a gray box mounted on the wall. He flicked a switch and the box was backlit, showing off the set of X-rays clipped to the front of it. It was an arm. Apparently Carrie’s arm was broken, and anyone with half a brain cell could tell from the jagged line running across the base of the bone.

Flynn plastered the fingers of both hands over her mouth. “No, no, broken wrist. She can’t have a broken wrist.”

“She has a broken wrist,” the doctor insisted.

“If she has a broken wrist, she can’t knit.”

“That’s right. No knitting for our girl here for many weeks to come.” The doctor held out his hand. The nurse opened up the cast cart, fished out supplies, and started slapping them one by one into his waiting palm.

“But there’s knit-a-thon going on.” Okay, she was officially sounding like an idiot, but the realization that she was totally screwed was finally sinking in. She met Carrie’s gaze.

His sister shrugged. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“But this is the knit-a-thon. We have over a hundred entrants and dozens of sponsors and most of the town will be there and we have tons of tourists and—”

“And everyone will finally find out that perfect, infallible Flynn has a deep dark secret.”

“I’m not perfect, I’m not infallible. I’m very fallible. That’s why we’re in this fix. I failed. I was staring at Jesse’s butt and getting jealous over all the other women who were staring at his butt and I should have been holding the ladder when you needed me most, but I wasn’t because I was staring at Jesse’s butt. That’s how fallible I am.”

“You were staring at my butt?” Jesse straightened.

“Don’t get cocky. You know your butt looks good in those jeans.”

“You think my butt looks good?” He smirked.

“Actually, now that I think about it, this whole thing is your fault. For crying out loud, man, wear looser fitting jeans.”

The nurse stepped back to check out Jesse’s backside and made a she’s-got-a-good-point face.

The doctor pulled Jesse aside. “Your friend sounds close to losing it. Maybe you could escort her back to the lobby.”

“I heard that,” Flynn said. “I’m not losing it. I don’t lose it. I’m the thread that binds everything together. The twine, the string, the yarn. If I’m not there, it’s all a tangled mess.”

Kind of like your knitting.

Okay, so she was ranting, and Jesse had her
around the waist and he was dragging her off and she was just, well…What was she going to do about the knit-a-thon?

“Come on, Dimples, let’s give the doctor some breathing room,” he coaxed. “Let’s go to the cafeteria for a Coke while they finish patching up Carrie.”

Yeah, okay, he was right, no need to have a meltdown in the middle of the ER.

“What am I going to do?” she moaned when they were seated in the cafeteria. She sank her head in her hands. “Here I am the ringleader of this knit-a-thon. How am I going to compete? We had it all figured out. Carrie was going to be knitting the exact same garment I was supposed to be working on. When I took a break, the plan was for me to go across the street to the Yarn Barn, leave the piece I was working on and pick up the one she’d been knitting. Then she was going to come over, visit me with a knitting bag just like mine, and we’d swap out totes. Now everyone is going to know I’m a fraud and here I just opened up a yarn store. Seriously, who’s going to buy yarn from a woman who can’t knit?”

“Look at it in the grand scheme of things. Maybe it’s a good thing this is happening.”

“What are you talking about? This is a total disaster.”

“People were bound to find out sooner or later.”

“No they weren’t. Carrie and I have had this going on for over ten years and nobody guessed a thing.”

“So for the rest of your life you’re going to pre
tend to be a perfect knitter while Carrie has to pretend she’s got no talent for it? That’s not fair to either you or Carrie.”

“But I never did any of this for me. It was all for my mother.”

Jesse shifted in his seat. “Isn’t it about time you did something for yourself? You’ve been putting everyone’s needs before your own and look, it’s got you doing some goofy Lucy and Ethel scheming to pull it off. Do you really want to live your life like a 1950s sitcom?”

“No, of course I don’t, I just—”

“Don’t want to let people down.”