'What are you thinking about?' she asked him as she led the way around a dented gray van.
'How hard it is to scrape a living here,' he answered. 'But you know what? I haven't heard any complaints.'
'No, you wouldn't. They're too proud.'
'Did I mention you look pretty tonight?' he asked.
'In this old thing?'
This 'old thing' was a short V-necked blue-and-white-checked sundress that she'd spent twenty minutes deciding upon. She'd spent another twenty minutes working on her hair. She wore it down around her shoulders, and it curved softly around her face. She'd worked hard curling it to make it look as though she hadn't. Then she'd added some blush to highlight her cheekbones, and brushed on a tiny bit of lipstick and gloss. When she realized she was becoming compulsive about her appearance-she'd
changed in and out of the sundress three times-and that all the primping was for him, she stopped.
'When someone gives you a compliment, you're supposed to say thank you. You look pretty tonight,' he repeated, 'in that 'old thing.' '
'You like making fun of me, don't you?'
'Uh-huh.'
He'd lied when he'd told her she looked pretty, but he couldn't put into words how he'd felt when she'd come downstairs.
She would have had a field day with that compliment, he thought. And what was the matter with him? He was silently waxing poetic. Now, where had that come from?
'It's a sin to make fun of anyone.'
Theo opened the door for her, then blocked her entrance while he read the hand-printed sign on the wall. 'No wonder it's so crowded tonight. It's all-the-beer-you-can-drink night.'
She smiled. 'It's always all-the-beer-you-can-drink, as long as you pay for each glass and you don't drive. The locals know
about it.'
'Something smells good. Let's eat. God, I hope it's not spicy.'
'Since it's Wednesday, you can have fried catfish and french fries, which I'm sure your arteries will love…'
'Or?'
'French fries and fried catfish.'
'I'll have that.'
As they zigzagged their way to the bar, Theo was stopped more often than she was. Several men and women wanted to shake
his hand or pat his shoulder as he passed by, and all of them, so it seemed, wanted to talk football.
The only person who stopped her was a man who wanted to discuss his hemorrhoids.
Her father was at the far end of the bar by the storage room, huddled with Conrad Freeland and Artie Reeves. Jake was
frowning and nodding at whatever Conrad was telling him and Artie, and he didn't notice her coming toward him.
Armand, the cook, was working in the kitchen, while his brother, Myron, tended bar.
'Daddy's rooked Myron into helping him,' she said. 'I guess I'm off the hook for a little while.'
'Your dad's waving to us.'
When they finally reached her father, he lifted the countertop and hurried over to Michelle. She noticed Artie and Conrad were both frowning at her.
'Theo, why don't you go pour yourself a beer and sit at the bar while I have a word in private with my daughter.'
The look her father gave her told her she'd done something to displease him. She followed him into the storage room and then asked, 'Is something wrong, Daddy?'
'He's gonna leave, Mike, that's what's wrong. The boys and I were talking, and we decided we just can't let that happen. This town needs Theo Buchanan. Surely you can see that. Most of the folks here tonight came out specifically because they want to talk to him.'
'They want free legal advice?'
'Some do,' he admitted. 'And then there's that sugar mill business and the football season is coming on.'
'Daddy, what do you expect me to do? The man lives in Boston. He can't commute.'
'Well, of course he can't.' He grinned over the foolish notion of flying back and forth to Bowen.
'Well, then?'
'We think you could change his mind if you worked at it.'
'How?' she asked. Exasperated, she put her hands on her hips and waited. Knowing how her father's larcenous mind worked,
she knew whatever suggestion he came up with was going to be a doozy. She braced herself to hear what it was.
'Put the welcome mat out.'
'What does that mean?'
'Conrad and I came up with a good plan, and Artie thinks it might work. Now, Conrad told me that Theo happened to mention
you wanted him to stay at my place.'
'Yes, I did.'
'How hospitable was that, Mike?'
She didn't know how he'd managed it, but he'd put her on the defensive.
'I'm being nice to him now. Honest.'
'Have you made him your gumbo?'
'No, but-'
'Good,' he said. 'Conrad's wife is going to sneak on over to your house with a pot full of her gumbo tomorrow morning, and
you can pass it off as your own.'
'That's dishonest,' she pointed out. And then it dawned on her what her father wasn't saying. 'Wait a minute. I thought you
liked my gumbo.'
He'd moved on. 'What about your lemon pound cake? You didn't happen to make that yet, did you?'
'No.' She took a step toward him. 'I'm warning you, Daddy. If you say 'good,' I'm never going to invite you over for supper again.'
'Honey, now isn't the time to be sensitive. We've got a crisis on our hands, and we've only got a couple of days to change his mind.'
'Nothing any of us do will matter.'
'Not with that attitude, it won't. Get with the program, and don't be so negative.'
Her father was so enthusiastic that she felt terrible trying to rain on his parade. 'It's just that-'
He started talking at the same time. 'Marilyn just left.'
'Artie's wife?'
'That's right. She makes a real tasty chocolate cake, and she's on her way home to bake one tonight. It should be in your
kitchen by noon tomorrow.'
She didn't know if she should be insulted or amused. 'And Theo's going to think I whipped that up? Exactly when would I have had time to bake him a cake? I've been with the man all day, and tomorrow morning I'm supposed to go to the clinic and start sorting through files.'
'No, you don't understand what we're trying to do. Marilyn's going to leave a nice happy-you're-here card so
