Bluegrass Courtship. Allie Pleiter

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ folks! From TV! Pam, look! It’s him.”

      “How may I help you?” The woman in overalls asked.

      Wow, Drew thought, I didn’t know you could make “How may I help you?” sound unfriendly. “Well, that’s just it,” he said, turning his gaze to the excited crowd that had pooled into the store behind him, “I’m here to ask you the same thing.”

      Oh, sure, said the woman’s dark eyes. Drew could be in a sea of people thrilled to meet him, and the only thing he’d notice was the one person who was convinced he was on the take. The one person sure the “ministry makeover” Missionnovation offered was just too good to be true. Charlie was always giving him a hard time about his obsession to “win over the hostiles.”

      A chubby older man grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. “Mr. Downing, we sure are glad to see you and your team here. I’m the one who sent in the application.”

      “Of course you are.” Drew recognized him from the application video and clasped one of the man’s shoulders. “And I’m glad you did. You must be Mayor Epson.”

      “I am.” He beamed. A few of the locals patted him on the back. Watching the person who’d sent in the application get to be a hero never got old. That application process was long, complicated and demanded a lot of work. Getting to tell that person their persistence paid off, and their dream project would be realized, and on TV to boot, well that was the high-octane fuel that enabled Drew to pull as many all-nighters as he did.

      “Howard Epson, life’s about to change. Your town’s about to get a shot in the arm like only Missionnovation can deliver. Are you up for it?”

      These folks watched their Thursday night television. They knew what to do when Drew Downing asked “Are you up for it?” The tiny crowd yelled “We’re up for it!” so loud it echoed throughout the store. Two teenage girls grabbed a sheet of paint chip samples off the display next to them and held them out to Drew, asking for autographs. Out of the corner of his eye, Drew caught the lady in the overalls rolling her eyes.

      “There’ll be plenty of time for that kind of stuff later, gals,” Drew said to the pair. “Right now we’ve got work ahead. You girls think you could convince your classmates to come on over? We need all the hands we can get on demolition day.”

      “I suppose we can find a few friends,” they said. If they were in charge of bringing teens onto the set, Drew knew they’d be the most popular girls in school tomorrow.

      “Then I’ll put you in charge of teen volunteers. You go see Annie in the bus and she’ll get you all set up with a box of T-shirts to give out as you sign folks up, okay?”

      “Sure!” They bubbled up the aisle toward Annie, who’d be waiting in the bus as always.

      “Mayor Epson, lead the way.”

      “I’d be delighted!”

      Drew turned back to the woman, who hadn’t moved from her spot at the end of the paint aisle. He noticed, for the first time, that the name on her Bishop Hardware nametag was Janet Bishop. Owner? Daughter of owner? Wife of owner? It was too soon to say. “We’ll be back later with a mighty long list,” he said, pointing right at her.

      She looked unconvinced.

      Why do hostiles always look unconvinced?

      Chapter Two

      Vern Murphy shuffled up the aisle to stand beside Janet Bishop as she stared after the crowd now leaving Bishop Hardware.

      “Don’t that beat all,” he said, scraping black grease from under his fingernails with the edge of a screwdriver. “He’s that TV guy, ain’t he? Should spice things up around here for a bit.”

      “It’ll do something, that’s for sure.” Janet muttered, even though she could hear her father’s gravelly voice in the back of her mind saying “Jannybean, if you can’t say something nice…”

      Vern pointed at the green bus so big it blocked the entire storefront. It had Missionnovation across the side in large white letters. “They probably got all kinds of fancy-pants tools in there. You know, like the pneumatic doodads in those catalogues of yours. Might be worth watching. Sounds like they’ll be buying up a storm if nothing else, so business’ll be good.”

      Buses full of tourists were fairly normal in Middleburg, Kentucky. It was a charming, rustic—okay, sometimes a little too rustic—town in the middle of horse country. The kind of town with one main street—Ballad Road—running down the center to comprise its “downtown.” A community where everybody knew everyone’s name and often everyone’s business. Not exactly thriving, but getting by on hard work and watching out for each other. Even so, the storm had hit lots of people hard, and the preschool damage had presented a big challenge. This tourbus, however, was more like a rolling subdivision than your average charter bus. People were already gathered around, talking, pointing, straining to see inside the tinted windows.

      “Vern,” Janet sighed, “these people have corporate sponsors. Companies who donate everything so they get their stuff on TV. They’re not going to need much from us.” Janet replaced the can of primer someone had knocked off the shelf in their hurry to follow Downing.

      “But he just said he’d be back with a long list,” Vern countered.

      “A long list of requests, I’d guess. Those people think you’ll do anything to get on their show. That you’ll fall all over them and give them whatever they want. And we can’t afford to be a ‘corporate sponsor’ right now.” She headed back to her office, where she had three orders yet to fill. Actual business, resulting in actual income. She’d have to give Howard a piece of her mind the next time she saw him. He was always pulling stunts like this.

      “Sounds like I’d better head on over to that bus and tell them all just what they’re dealing with in here,” Vern said. “We don’t stand for no Hollywood shenanigans.”

      Ten minutes later, Janet looked up from her order forms to see a short, round-faced woman in a green button-down shirt and glasses standing in her doorway. “I’m Annie Michaels,” she said, extending a hand, “vice president of Shenanigan Prevention.”

      “Um,” she stuttered, genuinely shocked that Vern had gone through with it, “I’m Janet Bishop.”

      Annie cocked her head toward the doorway. “They don’t make ’em like Mr. Murphy anymore.”

      “Vern?” Janet put down the calculator she’d been using and held out her hand. “No, he’s definitely one of a kind. Been working here since my dad bought the shop, which means he’s been at Bishop Hardware longer than I have.”

      “He thinks pretty highly of you. He just gave me an earful about not pulling any fast ones on you. Said you’re too smart to fall for any of that…oh, how’d he put it? ‘Slick-o TV shenanigans y’all may be used to.’”

      “Yep,” Janet chuckled, “that’d be our Vern.”

      Annie pushed her glasses up into her wavy black hair. She had a sensible, friendly smile. “You got a minute?”

      “I guess.” Janet swept the pile of bulb catalogues off the office’s other chair and motioned for her to sit down.

СКАЧАТЬ