thing there’d been the miracles of the fishes, because otherwise—God forbid—they would have had to have eggless meat loaf.
The twins bragged all through the meal about the fish they’d caught and the ones that had gotten away. Mazie kept an eye on Muffin in case the boys tried to slip him bits of fish, because small dogs could easily choke on bones.
Gran broke into the fishing drivel. “Well, Mazie—I hear you’re going to be in the Miss Quail Hollow Pageant.”
“What?” sputtered Mazie. “Bodelle Blumquist’s dog-and-pony show? Where’d you hear that?”
“Oh, it’s quite the buzz. They’re getting all the former beauty queens together for the pageant. Folks are already laying bets on who’ll win.”
“They could get Jake Gyllenhaal to emcee and I still wouldn’t be in it.”
“Of course you’re going to compete,” Gran snapped. “Every woman in my card club has already pledged a hundred dollars toward your queenometer. And you’ve got all those Maguire relatives who’ll donate, too—if they know what’s good for them.”
“Not gon-na hap-pen,” Mazie sang, glancing across the table at Ben, who was avoiding her gaze. He was mad about Hoolihan, she guessed. Good! Was she going to exploit that fact?
Oh, shamelessly.
“Come on, Mazie,” Scully said. “Go ahead, enter the pageant. You’ve got to uphold the family honor.”
“Screw the family honor.”
“Mazie, you’re going to be in it, and you’re going to win it.” Gran dinged her fork against her coffee mug. “All those in favor—”
The kitchen resounded with clanging silverware. Sam broke his glass. Milk spilled on the floor and Muffin started lapping it up. Mazie sank her head into her hands and tried to rub away the vodka headache that had settled behind her forehead.
Fortunately for her, Scully volunteered to do the dishes. Exhausted, sunburned, andnow beginning to feel the aches from her bike accident, Mazie started upstairs, intending to down a couple of Tylenol and go to bed. She got as far as the fourth step before Ben Labeck, who’d glided silently into the hallway, reached out a long arm and snagged her wrist. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“Let go of me. I’m going to bed.”
He smiled. “Not a prayer. You’re going for a ride with me.”
Chapter Nine
“Tell me about this Johnny Hooligan,” Ben said, his jaw set.
They were driving along a country road at twilight. It was the first time they’d been alone all day, and it would have been romantic if it hadn’t been for the crackling tension between them.
“It’s Hoolihan . I happened to run into him this afternoon—”
“At a bar where you happened to be hanging out,” Ben said. “Your old boyfriend?”
“He wasn’t my boyfriend. We didn’t move in the same circles.”
“You must have had a lot to talk about. You were gone for hours.”
“Well, we didn’t talk the whole time.”
Shut up, now! warned the Smart Mazie, but as usual, Dumb Mazie kicked Smart Mazie’s butt. “We danced a couple of times. The bar has this old jukebox—”
“You danced with him?”
“Just casual jukebox dancing. It’s not like we were Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey doing the lift scene.”
“Who’s Patrick Sway?”
“It’s Swayze —Patrick Swayze .” Mazie swatted Ben’s shoulder with a rolled-up road atlas, which felt so good she whacked him again.
“Hey—what was that for?” Ben asked indignantly.
“To stop you from saying any more stupid things. You don’t know Patrick Swayze? Didn’t you ever see Dirty Dancing ?”
“Yeah. Monday nights, where those celebrities—”
Mazie hit him again. “The movie , dummkopf!”
How could there be this parallel universe where males had never heard of Dirty Dancing ? Every woman worth her estrogen adored Dirty Dancing . They’d played the movie nonstop in the prison rec room until the DVD disc wore out. Mazie loved Patrick Swayze because he was a wildly handsome, muscular hunk who made
The twins bragged all through the meal about the fish they’d caught and the ones that had gotten away. Mazie kept an eye on Muffin in case the boys tried to slip him bits of fish, because small dogs could easily choke on bones.
Gran broke into the fishing drivel. “Well, Mazie—I hear you’re going to be in the Miss Quail Hollow Pageant.”
“What?” sputtered Mazie. “Bodelle Blumquist’s dog-and-pony show? Where’d you hear that?”
“Oh, it’s quite the buzz. They’re getting all the former beauty queens together for the pageant. Folks are already laying bets on who’ll win.”
“They could get Jake Gyllenhaal to emcee and I still wouldn’t be in it.”
“Of course you’re going to compete,” Gran snapped. “Every woman in my card club has already pledged a hundred dollars toward your queenometer. And you’ve got all those Maguire relatives who’ll donate, too—if they know what’s good for them.”
“Not gon-na hap-pen,” Mazie sang, glancing across the table at Ben, who was avoiding her gaze. He was mad about Hoolihan, she guessed. Good! Was she going to exploit that fact?
Oh, shamelessly.
“Come on, Mazie,” Scully said. “Go ahead, enter the pageant. You’ve got to uphold the family honor.”
“Screw the family honor.”
“Mazie, you’re going to be in it, and you’re going to win it.” Gran dinged her fork against her coffee mug. “All those in favor—”
The kitchen resounded with clanging silverware. Sam broke his glass. Milk spilled on the floor and Muffin started lapping it up. Mazie sank her head into her hands and tried to rub away the vodka headache that had settled behind her forehead.
Fortunately for her, Scully volunteered to do the dishes. Exhausted, sunburned, andnow beginning to feel the aches from her bike accident, Mazie started upstairs, intending to down a couple of Tylenol and go to bed. She got as far as the fourth step before Ben Labeck, who’d glided silently into the hallway, reached out a long arm and snagged her wrist. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“Let go of me. I’m going to bed.”
He smiled. “Not a prayer. You’re going for a ride with me.”
Chapter Nine
“Tell me about this Johnny Hooligan,” Ben said, his jaw set.
They were driving along a country road at twilight. It was the first time they’d been alone all day, and it would have been romantic if it hadn’t been for the crackling tension between them.
“It’s Hoolihan . I happened to run into him this afternoon—”
“At a bar where you happened to be hanging out,” Ben said. “Your old boyfriend?”
“He wasn’t my boyfriend. We didn’t move in the same circles.”
“You must have had a lot to talk about. You were gone for hours.”
“Well, we didn’t talk the whole time.”
Shut up, now! warned the Smart Mazie, but as usual, Dumb Mazie kicked Smart Mazie’s butt. “We danced a couple of times. The bar has this old jukebox—”
“You danced with him?”
“Just casual jukebox dancing. It’s not like we were Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey doing the lift scene.”
“Who’s Patrick Sway?”
“It’s Swayze —Patrick Swayze .” Mazie swatted Ben’s shoulder with a rolled-up road atlas, which felt so good she whacked him again.
“Hey—what was that for?” Ben asked indignantly.
“To stop you from saying any more stupid things. You don’t know Patrick Swayze? Didn’t you ever see Dirty Dancing ?”
“Yeah. Monday nights, where those celebrities—”
Mazie hit him again. “The movie , dummkopf!”
How could there be this parallel universe where males had never heard of Dirty Dancing ? Every woman worth her estrogen adored Dirty Dancing . They’d played the movie nonstop in the prison rec room until the DVD disc wore out. Mazie loved Patrick Swayze because he was a wildly handsome, muscular hunk who made
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