The Potluck Club—Takes the Cake by Linda Evans Shepherd Read Free Book Online Page A

strange sense of protection for the lug. “So what you’re saying is that you’re the kind of woman who would just run off with anyone’s husband? The kind of woman who would... who would...” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
    “Would sleep with just anybody?”
    Apparently she could.
    “I’m not like you, Goldie.” She pulled her frizzy blonde hair out from under the collar of the coat. I watched as it lay in stark contrast to the dark wool, reminding me of a witch’s broom against a midnight sky.
    “What do you mean?” I choked out.
    “I’m not Miss Goody-goody. Never have been. Never will be.” She strolled toward the front door, then turned and peered at me over her shoulder. “Like I said, I just thought you should know.”
    I narrowed my eyes. “Does Jack... ?”
    I heard the doorknob twisting open. “Does Jack know about the baby?” She pulled the door toward her, then turned back to me. “No. Not yet. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do about all this.” She cocked a brow. “Still, and like I’ve already said, I thought you should know.”
    And with that she walked out of the door without so much as bothering to close it. After a moment or two of standing there staring out at the bleak and the cold, I inched toward the door, pushed it shut, then turned and headed back to my bedroom. I stumbled as I neared the chair where I’d been sitting, falling to the floor in a heap. I attempted to pull myself up, albeit half-heartedly, then collapsed in a torrent of hot tears.
    When I’d finally cried all I could cry, I rolled over then sat up on the floor, looking down toward my feet. There, wadded up and twisted, was the towel I’d had in my hands earlier. Apparently, I’d dropped it at some point between Charlene’s swooping in and her life-altering announcement. I reached for it, threw it into the chair, then stood and hobbled back to my bedroom, where I stripped out of my clothes, donned the ratty housecoat Lizzie had teased me about earlier, then crawled into the bed, curling up like a baby.
    Charlene’s and Jack’s baby.
    I realized I was subconsciously holding my breath. When my chest began to tighten, I exhaled slowly and closed my eyes. Why, Lord? Just when things were looking up.

7
    I Thought I ’Thaw a Puddy-Tat
    Clay couldn’t help it. With every chance he got, he stole a look at himself in the rearview mirror of his Jeep. Twice he stopped along the short road from Silverthorne to Summit View just to run inside a convenience store and head for the men’s restroom so he could admire himself in the mirror.
    He even flirted a bit with one of the salesclerks behind the counter.
    “That’s two-fourteen,” she said as he paid for the bottled water flavored with only a hint of peach.
    “And well worth it.” He winked.
    “You sure are a happy guy,” she said, taking the two bills and change.
    “Just had my first pedicure. My first facial. And my first massage. What is holding men back, I ask you. Why do we think this is just for women?” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What do you think of the highlights? Eh? Nice, right? For an Irish Native American? You think my ancestors are rolling over in their graves right now?”
    The girl—her name tag dubbed her as Kristin—laughed. “You’re right. Men should get prettied up too.”
    Clay frowned. “Well, let’s not use words like pretty . But I did buy some pretty good-looking clothes over at the outlets.”
    He thought about it all the way home. His bad day—what with David Harris showing up—had turned out to be not so bad. He had a lead story, he was sporting a new look, and even the adorable Kristin from Rob’s Pump-N-Go thought he was cute.
    As he pulled into the city limits of Summit View, though, his mood changed. Passing by 6th Avenue off Main Street, he spotted Charlene Hopefield leaving the front door of Goldie Dippel’s apartment.
    No-good woman , he thought. He thought of another word too,