LITMIR.BIZ

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nerves. It has everything to do with me. She doesn’t understand why I’ve moved out.”

      “Have you?” He heard himself ask the question, but he couldn’t believe it. Stay out of this, he told himself. “Permanently?”

      “That depends.” She gave him an embarrassed look. “Oh, you don’t want to hear our problems.”

      He shrugged. “If it would help to talk about it, I don’t mind listening.”

      “Oh, that’s so nice, but no, really…”

      He straightened. “No problem. Honest.”

      A shrewd smile slightly curved her lips. She tried to hide it. Too late, he’d seen it. She’d baited him, dammit, and he’d fallen for it like a two-ton drunk elephant.

      “Abigail thinks the town is going to fall apart without her. Not in a vain sense, of course, but she has this silly idea that Cunninghams are the glue that keeps Bingo together. And she feels she needs to do her share.”

      He frowned. It wasn’t like the place was called Cunninghamville, nor did he see evidence that the family controlled the town.

      Estelle smiled as if reading his mind. “There has been a prominent civic servant in our family for several generations. Prominent by Bingo standards, anyway. But it really goes deeper than that.” She paused, and glanced over at Mona and Rosie who were busy arguing over who needed glasses.

      He thought it odd that she was willing to tell him something she didn’t want her friends to hear but he gave her an encouraging smile and leaned closer.

      “Abigail was already leaving for college when her parents died but she took it very hard. We all did. They were too young to die in that senseless truck accident, but for Abby, the sense of abandonment seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back, if you pardon the old expression.

      “People had started leaving Bingo about ten years before, and one by one, all her little friends began moving away. She’d no sooner find someone new to play with when the child’s father would find a job in Las Vegas or Reno and off the family would go. Not a single one of her high school friends returned after college, either. Only Abby.” Estelle sighed. “I fear, mainly, to watch over me.”

      “Ah, so you feel guilty.”

      “There’s that, but equally upsetting is that Abigail has tied herself to this town for no good reason. There aren’t enough jobs here, so of course people will continue to leave. She can’t take it personally and she can’t save everyone. I don’t think she can divorce herself from her image of what the town used to be. But she can’t recreate the past. And she certainly isn’t responsible for trying to do it.”

      The blonde suddenly called for everyone’s attention via the now working microphone, and grateful for the distraction, Max slumped back in his chair. Estelle had warned him it was complicated. She wasn’t kidding. Simply having listened, he felt as weary as if he’d just run a marathon.

      With new interest, he watched Abby smile at everyone and begin her speech. It seemed more like a pep rally, he realized as she got deeper into it, her nervousness apparently forgotten. She must have been a cheerleader in high school.

      It tired him out just watching her enthusiasm gain momentum as she talked about her vision for better classrooms, developing sports teams to occupy the youngsters and enable them to compete with neighboring schools, and eventually, the prospect of building a community college just outside of town.

      When someone asked where they were going to find the students to fill the college, Abby smiled serenely and explained how she had a plan to attract more businesses to the area.

      Max thought she’d gone off the deep end. No sane businessman would move his concern way out here no matter what the tax advantage, but no one questioned her. Instead, there was lots of head-nodding and satisfied smiles. Obviously she was well-respected and trusted. And Max got the most peculiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. A kind of strange mix of anticipation and longing and helplessness, almost like when he was a kid and he’d wanted something really badly but it was just out of his reach.

      He didn’t know what it meant to have that same peculiar feeling now. He would have blamed it on the strange-looking chicken they’d served for dinner except he’d missed that dubious pleasure.

      His gaze drew to Abby. It had something to do with her, although what, he had no idea. He couldn’t even identify with her. It was impossible for him to understand welcoming someone else’s responsibility, much less asking for it. Hell, it was sort of like begging for a migraine.

      Abby not only took responsibility in stride, she embraced it. What must she think of him?

      He felt raw suddenly, exposed. It made no sense, made him want to sink low in his chair.

      Until he thought he heard someone yell his name.

      6

      ABBY SCANNED the sea of smiling faces. The speech had gone well. She’d quickly shed most of her nervousness. And as expected, the roasted chicken from Edna’s Edibles was a hit. Everything was going fine until she thought she heard a man’s gruff voice yell out Max Bennett’s name.

      She glanced around the room again, but she didn’t see Max, nor anyone who might be calling to him. Most of the people were facing her, still chuckling over the little joke she’d made about everyone getting home before acting mayor Cleghorn had the streets rolled up. A few others were looking around, mostly just distracted, probably by the lateness of the hour. Nothing unusual.

      Great. Now her overtaxed brain was playing tricks on her. No one here even knew Max, and anyway, the people of Bingo weren’t so impolite as to holler over her speech, even if she had just wrapped things up.

      “Okay, anyone have any questions?” she asked, more as a friendly gesture than anything else. Ida Brewster and Tommy Lee Smith had already fired two at her earlier. She expected everyone wanted to go home by now.

      “Aren’t you going to answer mine?”

      At the same gruff voice Abby thought she’d heard earlier, everyone twisted in their seats to see who it was. She herself squinted, trying to see past the last grouping of tables but she still couldn’t identify the speaker. It hadn’t helped that his voice was somewhat garbled. Heaven help her, she hoped Fritz Walker hadn’t crawled into his moonshine again and wanted to pick a philosophical fight about today’s mores.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, still unsuccessfully scanning the room. “I didn’t hear the question.”

      “I wanna know about the Swinging R, what that Max Bennett plans to do with it.”

      Mention of the Swinging R started the murmuring again. Abby’s patience slipped three notches. She shaded her eyes against the lights’ glare and strained for a better look. “Fritz, is that you?”

      No one answered.

      Something was fishy. The Swinging R wasn’t an issue. She had made it a personal one, but politically, no one had questioned the existence of the brothel in her entire lifetime. Why would someone bring it up now?

      “I’d like to see whom I’m addressing before I answer the question,” she stated firmly, and the few people who hadn’t already craned their necks for a look, turned around to see who it was.

      Herb Hanson stepped out from behind a large fake ficus plant. “I guess that would be me.” He shuffled forward a couple of feet, his face redder than the bandana around his neck.

      “Why you wanna know? You finally gonna marry Mona?” someone shouted out, and everyone else laughed.

      “That ain’t none of your business,” Herb said, and headed for the far corner of the room, grumbling under his breath. Something made him stop, or someone.

      He slowly turned around and faced Abby,

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