Something About Ewe: Something About Ewe / The Purrfect Man. Ruth Dale Jean

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СКАЧАТЬ said a woman couldn’t be too blond or too thin or too rich was probably thinking of Sylvia.

      “Hello, Mrs. Dalton. It’s good to see you.”

      Sylvia straightened and turned. “There you are, Lucas. I saw your car outside and wondered if something was wrong.”

      Luke looked as if he considered this a pretty feeble attempt at an explanation. “Nothing’s wrong that I know of.” He looked at Lorraine and daughter. “Anything wrong?”

      “Not a thing.” Lorraine glowered. She didn’t look as if she liked having her archenemy invading her turf. The next words seemed dragged out of her. “We’re having cookies and milk if you’d care to join us, Syl.”

      Sylvia’s nostrils flared at the casual use of a nickname no one else had uttered in decades. She got revenge by saying, “Don’t mind if I do, Rainy.”

      Lorraine rolled her eyes but said nothing, just led the way back to the kitchen. Sylvia fell in behind her while Thalia and Luke exchanged dubious glances before following.

      Sylvia sat down and looked at the plate of cookies with disapproval. “I cannot tell you how many of my son’s meals were ruined in this house by cookies and milk,” she announced. “I held you personally responsible, Lorraine.”

      “Good reasoning.” Luke picked up another cookie, his third or fourth. “She used to tie me to a kitchen chair and jam cookies down my throat. It was hell.”

      Lorraine let out that raucous laughter. “Yes, and everyone can see how it stunted his growth. I think you should call the nutrition police, Sylvia.”

      “I would, if I thought it would do any good.”

      Luke pushed the plate toward his mother. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, Ma.”

      She picked up a cookie, pointedly using her thumb and one exaggerated finger. “I don’t believe I can eat this without something to wash it down.”

      “Milk?” Thalia jumped up, eager to avoid further dissension.

      “I don’t suppose there’s coffee made.” Sylvia said it as if it were a test for gracious living.

      “Darn it, Syl!” Lorraine grimaced. “I am not going to make a whole pot of coffee just for you and end up tossing most of it away. There might be a little left over from breakfast in the carafe, but—”

      “Never mind.” Sylvia gave a condescending sigh. “A glass of water will be sufficient.” She tore off a crumb and lifted it to her mouth as if suspecting it of containing hemlock.

      Thalia pulled a small bottle of water from the refrigerator and offered it hopefully. Lorraine watched impatiently for about thirty seconds before she burst out, “Okay, out with it, Syl. What are you doing here?”

      “I can’t drop by to visit a neighbor?” Sylvia countered.

      “You ask me that after forty years’ worth of cold shoulders?”

      “It isn’t forty. More like thirty-five.”

      Lorraine appealed to the gallery. “She’s quibbling.”

      “No, seriously.” Sylvia leaned forward. “Lorraine, I must speak to you about Shangri-la number two.”

      Lorraine caught her breath sharply. “There is no Shangri-la number two.”

      “But there will be, if you’ll stop trying to rouse the populace against it.”

      “Don’t count on it.”

      “But Rainy, you know it’ll benefit the community, and the land will eventually be developed anyway. In fact—” Sylvia’s voice dropped, became confidential “—the developer has agreed to raise his offer for this little ol’ plot of land of yours. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with what he—”

      “Out!” Lorraine rose in all her leotard-and-tights-clad dignity. Her red-gold curls quivered with indignation. “Out of my house! If you have intruded into the sanctity of my home to insult me with another pathetic offer when I’ve already made my feelings perfectly clear—”

      “Mother!” Thalia tugged at Lorraine’s elbow. “You’re going overboard. Mrs. Dalton didn’t insult you.”

      “But I will now.” Sylvia also rose, regal in her classic designer suit. “I don’t know why I waste my breath. There’s no reasoning with an unreasonable person.”

      “Out!” Lorraine’s pointing arm quivered.

      “I’m going. Lucas, come along.”

      “Not yet, Mother.”

      “You’d side against your own flesh and blood?” She looked horrified.

      “I’m not siding with anyone. I came to check out Lorraine’s dog and that’s what I intend to do.”

      “Fine.” She lifted her chin still higher. “I’ll expect you for dinner at seven.”

      “I may not be hungry after all these cookies.”

      “Lucas! I will expect you for dinner at seven.”

      “Yeah, right, whatever.”

      Sylvia marched to the kitchen door, then spun around to glare at Lorraine. “I am assuming this altercation will not affect Saturday.”

      Thalia frowned. “What’s Saturday?”

      “Lucas’s birthday party,” Sylvia said grandly. “Lorraine’s Pretty Posies is providing flowers and decorating for a pool party. Or was.” She gave her nemesis an accusing look. “Are you still?”

      Lorraine’s jaw tightened. “Certainly, I am. That’s business. This is personal.”

      “Then I expect you to have everything there at noon and don’t screw this up!” Sylvia turned and marched out of the room and the house.

      Lorraine stood as stiff as a poker until the front door slammed. Then she closed her eyes, clenched her hands into fists and said, “Ohh! That woman makes me crazy.”

      “It’s mutual, Mother,” Thalia assured her. “You two go at each other like junior high kids.”

      “Maybe because that’s when it started,” Lorraine snapped. “Well, my supper’s ruined. Excuse me. I’ve got to go change.”

      Alone, Luke and Thalia looked at each other in mutual puzzlement.

      “What do you suppose started this feud?” she wondered aloud. “It seems to grow worse with time, not better.”

      “They may not even remember themselves.”

      “That’s certainly possible. Your mother’s always been really nice to me.”

      “Your mother’s been nice to me, too. In fact, she’s one of my favorite people.”

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