Jerri Corgiat

Ever since Patsy Lee O’Malley’s husband died, she’s been solely responsible for four children, a multitude of animals, and a run-down farmhouse in Cordelia, Missouri. There’s never been enough time to pursue her own artistic dreams or even slow down—until a mishap knocks her off her feet.

The O’Malley family has gathered in matriarch Zinnia O’Malley’s kitchen to solve the dilemma posed by Patsy Lee’s broken ankle. Their circle includes a houseguest, Zeke Townley. At one time, the roar of applause filled the famous bass guitarist’s ears, but now there’s only the quiet of a solitary life, occasionally broken by his visits to his former country band leader, Jon Van Castle.

But Zeke’s life is about to get more... interesting. And it’ll be all his fault...

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER TWO...
Patsy Lee eyed a bottle of uncorked champagne sitting on the kitchen counter and wished she had the energy (nerve) to demand a glass, even though she knew that once its initial effects wore off, it would only add to the headache that had blossomed along with the throbbing in her foot as the Percodan faded. She rubbed her temple, trying to follow the conversation around the table. They’d made her life sound so chaotic.

“I’m amazed I can keep track of it all,” she said to nobody in particular.

And nobody in particular listened, even though she was rather proud of how she managed to wedge everything she had to do within six days a week. Well, to be honest, six days plus some hours on most weeks. She tried to save Sundays, when all the stores on Cordelia’s town square, including Merry-Go-Read, were closed, for family time. But since she’d started studying to get a business degree through Central Missouri State’s satellite campus four years ago, she hadn’t had much success in keeping the day entirely free.

She worried she was shortchanging her children. Especially Lily-Too. Since starting third grade in September, Lily-Too had fallen behind in class and often ended the day in tears.

Patsy Lee’s headache intensified, thinking of her conference with Lily-Too’s teacher, Mrs. Sherlock, early this morning. “The witch.”

Zinnia frowned. “What’s that, honeybunch?”

“Oh, no. I was thinking of— I didn’t mean you.”

Zinnia eyed her, then turned back to the rest of the table.

Pop’s mouth twitched around the unlit pipe perpetually stuck between his teeth since he’d quit smoking years ago. He sat at the head of the table, although nobody doubted who really held command; Patsy Lee sat at the other end, her foot propped on another chair.

She glanced right, knowing she’d get a sympathetic smile from her brother-in-law (despite that earlier crack about her clumsiness). Jon’s chair sat near hers, probably a precaution so he could catch her if she toppled sideways which wasn’t unlikely given the way her head swam. Opposite him, Zinnia had angled her own chair, too. But only so she could pin Patsy Lee in her gaze, still a bright blue, despite sixty-nine years and her smudged glasses.

Right now that gaze was busy elsewhere. Patsy Lee picked up a spoon resting in a bowl of vegetable soup, growing cold, that Zinnia had insisted on serving her since her stomach had felt too queasy for the leftover wedding food the rest of them had eaten for supper. She hated canned soup. She forced down two swallows, let the spoon drop, and pushed the bowl a few inches away.

Without missing a beat, without even looking, Zinnia pushed it back. “Even if we could find a way to transport those kids all over kingdom come, it makes me plum uncomfortable to think of Patsy Lee all on her lonesome during the day. If something should happen...”

Situated on five acres that were all that was left of an original farmstead, most of its pastures now returned to woods, she and Henry had fallen in love with the old place shortly after they’d married. Correction, Henry had fallen in love while she’d held her tongue against the reservations she’d felt. Wild roses frothed in a pink waterfall over the fence he’d never fixed out front, the peace of deep woods cradled three sides, and red hawks arrowed over the Ozark mountains in a sky so blue you wanted to chew on the view when you sat on her porch.

It was a wonderful setting. But the farmhouse was a money pit, she didn’t have time to sit on the porch, not with all the chores the place required, and, situated a half an hour from town, it wasn’t what you’d call convenient. Sometimes, it was even downright lonely.

For quite a while, she’d thought it might be time for a change, but since a place in town—at least this town where gossip was served up with the local diner’s home fries—hadn’t enticed her either, she’d done nothing about it. Now, unable to drive and Hank without his license and herself at Zinnia’s mercy, she could kick herself for dragging her feet.

Still. “I do have a telephone. Or maybe I could change my hours at the bookstore, let Mr. Stuart work more.” Although the fussy little man who worked for her part-time would likely object. “Or maybe I could drop my classes. The semester isn’t that far underway.”

“But you’ve worked so hard and we’re just so proud. Why, we can’t let a little thing like a broken ankle stick a spoke in your wheel. We’ll figure something else out,” Zinnia said.

Lil frowned—and still looked pretty. As she’d grown older, Lil’s skin hadn’t grown lined; instead it had taken on the patina of fine china. Not that she was fragile. “You’re not really planning to work, are you? The doctor said you should rest at home.”

Unless the doctor planned to pay her bills, he didn’t get to vote. “That’s only because he doesn’t want me moving around that much. I can still do story-telling hours and the bookkeeping, maybe some of the ordering.”

She kept a grimace off her face. She usually left all that to Lil; she liked the story-telling hours, but not any of the paperwork.

“True, but I know you, sweetie. If someone doesn’t sit on you, you’ll end up doing too much. Since I have to divide time between this store and the ones in Sedalia and Kansas City, I can’t be there all the time to be sure you don’t. In fact, I don’t want to see you at the store for a while. Mr. Stuart, me, and the part-timers can juggle things for a month.”

“A month? Lil, I can’t—”

“You’ll still get your salary. We’ll call it disability leave. The store can afford it.”

She knew the financials as well as Lil. Henry had owned Merry-Go-Read before Lil had bought it after he’d died, and now Lil gave her a percentage of the profits in addition to her salary. The store could not afford it.

But Lil and Jon could. The Van Castles had enough money for twelve lifetimes. They both avoided wild displays of wealth (“I want the children to grow up grounded.”) but never hesitated to spend it on family. At least the ones who couldn’t stop them. Which included her, and on more than one occasion. She wondered if there would ever be an end to it.

Although Lil’s lips and eyes were smiling, a certain hardness to her chin said she wouldn’t brook an argument.

Still she had to try. “You’ve done so much for me already—”

“Don’t be silly. I know you’d do the same for me if our positions were reversed.”

At a movement in the doorway, the table fell silent. Waving a hand in a don’t-mind-me gesture, Zeke wandered into the kitchen.

“That’s settled,” Zinnia said. “But we still need to figure out...”

Mentally, Patsy Lee threw up her arms in defeat. The O’Malleys had always been a stampede she couldn’t control. She tuned out and watched Zeke. It was hard not to watch Zeke. He possessed the same magnetism as Jon Van Castle, the magnetism that had helped their country band top Billboard’s charts and fill arenas. Even now, they still commanded attention in the same way they’d once commanded a stage.

She thought about what she’d read long ago about the famous bass guitarist in the pages of Country Dreaming. He’d grown up with money, but his family had suffered a reversal of fortunes, they’d called it, when his father had died in a car accident when Zeke was fifteen. Drunk driving, if she remembered right. His dad’s. A lawsuit had followed, the lawyers and verdict exhausting the family’s savings and insurance. Zeke had dropped out then, gone to work to help at home, then at eighteen, he’d chased an oil rig job in the south. On a trip to Nashville to indulge a country music hobby, he’d met Jon Van Castle. The rest was history.

Undoubtedly, she mused, having money, then losing it, had fed his ambition. It had also probably fed the air of urbanity he carried as well as the GQ fashions that he wore with the ease of, well, a superstar.

Zeke moved to the counter, picked up the champagne bottle, studied it, then turned it upside-down. Only a drop fell out. He frowned.

A snort escaped her—just a little one. “And what a superstar.” She realized she’d spoken out loud and turned beet red. Accustomed to her... dementia... Lil and Zinnia continued their conversation uninterrupted, but Jon choked.

And Zeke raised a brow. “A thirsty superstar, I’ll have you know. But I don’t”— he lowered his voice to a stage whisper—“need a drink as much as you probably do.”

High color fading, she smiled; he smiled back.

“I’d love a glass,” she said, but her voice was lost in the clatter of footsteps down the back stairs.

Seven children spilled into the room. Four were hers, two were Jon and Lil’s, and Alcea could claim one. Although, she supposed the three eldest, all students at MU in Columbia, could no longer be called children. Alcea’s daughter, Kathleen, with the blond elegance of her mother, Jon and Lil’s Melanie, slender and slight with large dark eyes under brown bangs like her younger brother Michael, and her own Daisy, now busy wrapping a scarf in a striped succession of eye-popping hues around her neck, were young women.

Even though they could still behave like they were six. Along with the others, they bumped, jogged, and joshed with each other as they pulled on coats. Except for Lily-Too. Pale hair tucked into a pink hat with a pom-pom, she’d stepped out of the way, not far from Zeke. He’d set down the bottle and leaned against the counter apparently hypnotized by Daisy’s scarf.
Jon eyed the horde. “And where are you hooligans off to?”

“Patsy Lee’s,” Zinnia answered. “I told them to get the chores done, collect clothes, and hightail it back.”

Patsy Lee made sounds that maybe she should go too, if only to supervise.

But Zinnia shook her head. “Tomorrow’s soon enough.” She looked at Hank who slouched with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “And don’t you forget to pick those tomatoes and anything else left in the garden. There’s gonna be a frost.”

Resigning herself, Patsy Lee settled back again and managed a wink at Hank, but he only looked away. She sighed, watching him as he followed the others out the door. He’d always been a loner, more interested in animals than people, but in the past year he’d grown moody as well.

Once the children left, Zinnia pulled them back on topic. “I think the only way we can manage your family, you, and your menagerie is if someone stays out there with you. Lil’s out. She’ll have enough on her hands at the store. And at home. We’ve got to think of Michael, too.”

Michael and Melanie were products of Jon’s first marriage, both adopted by Lil and loved as though they were her own. Last year, Michael’s birth mother had died and the fifteen-year-old had taken it hard, causing trouble both in and out of school. After a summer at a camp for troubled adolescents, things were finally on the upswing but Lil and Jon still kept a watchful eye and weekly counseling appointments.

Patsy Lee felt compassion for what they’d endured but was thankful for what his experience had taught Rose. Her daughter was more determined than most fourteen-year-olds to avoid the teenaged pitfalls her friend had experienced. She was a much easier child than Daisy had been. Than Daisy was. She wished she could say his cousin’s example had taught Hank as well, but...

Patsy Lee’s eyes wandered back to Zeke who had poked his head into the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle and wrestled with the cork. She marveled. Zeke even looked unruffled with his tongue poked out between his—of course—very white teeth.

“Jon’s out, too,” Zinnia continued. “He’s busy with that work he’s doing up in Kansas City at Vreeley Home.” The organization had sponsored the camp Michael had attended. Since then, it had become the beneficiary of Lil and Jon’s charitable efforts.

The cork exploded from the bottle, zipped over their heads, and hit the wall. Lil bit her lip, Patsy Lee the inside of her mouth, and Pop made a business of fiddling with his pipe.

Zinnia glared at Zeke. “Put that champagne away, Zeke Townley, and sit down before you fall down.”

Grinning, Jon pulled over another chair. “Rest your bones. You heard the woman.”

Looking agreeable, Zeke set the bottle aside, but not, to Zinnia’s obvious disgruntlement, before filling a flute. When he reached the table, he slid the champagne in front of Patsy Lee, then took his seat slightly behind her and stretched out his long legs. If she looked down, she could see the sharp crease of his pants and the high sheen of his shoes. The Percodan (and a sudden desire to align herself against Zinnia’s usually unquestioned authority) scattered any concern she might normally have about about mixing alcohol and drugs. She only hesitated an instant before she picked up the flute and took a large swallow. Zeke’s foot twitched.

Shaking her head, Zinnia moved the flute out of her reach. “So Lil and Jon are out. Alcea is, too, since she’s gone. And Mari. That leaves—”

Beside her, Jon said sotto voce to Zeke, “I think you should volunteer. You’ve been grousing how you’ve got nothing to do.”

“My man, I may be drunk. But you are out of your freakin’ mind.”

Choking down a laugh, Patsy Lee glanced back. Zeke’s dark eyes were on her. He winked. Her heart fluttered. Which alarmed her. Fluttering hearts at her age usually signaled a coronary event. Then she remembered the Percodan—that must be it—and relaxed.

Zinnia frowned. “Things seem to be getting out of hand. If you could all contain yourselves for a few more minutes, we can get this settled.”

They’d better. Between exhaustion, drugs, (crummy vegetable soup), and a gulp of champagne, she couldn’t last much longer. To prove the point, she swayed. Behind her, a hand reached out to steady her. Carefully, she straightened. The hand on her shoulder stayed put.

Zinnia opened her mouth, her expression turning triumphant. Patsy Lee sensed what was coming and her heart fell into an increasingly roiling stomach. Now that the wedding was over, Zinnia wanted another pet project and she was it. “Looks like I’m the only one who can spare the time to—”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Pop took the pipe out of his mouth. Everyone stared.

“But—”

“You’ve already worn yourself out on this wedding.”

“I agree with Pop, Mother.” Lil leaned forward. “You hardly gave yourself time to recover before you were up to your elbows in wedding plans.”

“Pish. I’m fit as a fiddle and—”

“It was just this morning you were complaining about angina.” Pop said, chin thrusting out in an expression Patsy Lee had only seen him use recently.

“I...” Zinnia flushed.

This time Patsy Lee couldn’t stifle the snort. The angina Zinnia had experienced had come on the heels of an argument with the bride over Mari’s changes to the place cards set at the bride and groom’s table. And had immediately subsided once Mari had changed them back.

But Lil didn’t know that. She stared at Zinnia who was glaring at Patsy Lee. “Your chest was hurting, mother?”

Patsy Lee looked away from Zinnia. She hadn’t been able to help the snort, really she couldn’t; the champagne had gone straight to her brain.

“Mother, you just can’t do this. I didn’t say anything when you planted fall flower bulbs at St. Andrews with the Ladies’ Auxiliary, or when you signed up for the Oktoberfest bake-off, or even when you told Mari you’d host her wedding. But obviously you’ve been doing too much. And this—” Lil was truly upset; her hands, as usual carefully folded on the table in front of her, had grown white-knuckled. She looked at Patsy Lee. “I’m sorry. Taking care of you is one thing, but you know she’d get in a fuss over Hank and Rose and Lily-Too. Even if you all stayed here it would be too much. There’s your house and animals and the drive back and forth.”

“Lil’s right, she can’t manage,” Pop said.

Zinnia stared at him, then her eyes softened.

“Jon and I can hire someone—” Lil continued.

“Oh, no.” Patsy Lee’s amusement fled. She tried to cut through Lil’s words. “Lil—”

“—to help you out. We just can’t allow Mother—”

The hand squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll do it.”

There was a beat of pure silence.

Then heads swiveled toward Zeke, none faster than hers.

He blinked, as if surprised the words had come out of his mouth, but repeated, “I’ll do it. It sounds like all Passy—Passy L— ” He frowned at Patsy Lee, then enunciated carefully. “Your name is really a mouthful, you know.”

He was snockered. She wasn’t so sure she wasn’t, too. She ignored everyone else, who still sat stunned. “I don’t care for it really. But it’s a family name.”

“Ah. Your mother’s?” he inquired politely.

“My grandmother’s, and then my aunt, who died young. And...” She stopped and considered. “You know, I’ve actually always preferred Patricia.” Although Patricia wasn’t even on her birth certificate. (Although not as conspicuous as the absence of the name of her father.)

“Patricia. Patricia Lee.” He rolled the sounds out with the slowness of the very inebriated. “A beautiful name, shorn of local conventions.”

Patsy Lee smiled. She’d floated the name before, but Zinnia had always shot it down, saying it just didn’t sound natural.

Zeke nodded sagely, then looked around the table at the others. Seeing their puzzled faces, he frowned. “You know, local conventions? Ida Mae. Joe Bob. Etta Lou... Patsy Lee.”

Jon suddenly found something worthy of intense interest on the table top.

Zinnia shook her head. “I think you’re three sheets to the wind.”

“Or insane,” Zeke agreed. “But let’s let the lady decide. I’m sensing she’d like to make a decision about herself... By herself.”

Zinnia went mute again. As did everyone else.

Zeke didn’t seem to notice. He leaned forward to whisper to Patsy Lee, although his voice was hardly soft enough for secrets. “If all you require is a chauffeur and someone who can pick you up if you happen to fall down, I’m your man.”

He looked so sincere, so earnest, so.. drunk, Patsy Lee struggled to contain the imp that wanted to accept just so she could see him try. But she knew the ruckus that would raise. Nobody would take his suggestion seriously. Not only was it ridiculous, but he’d riled Zinnia. Although, come to think of it, if she could really have a choice between skilled hired help and unskilled Zeke... Drifting into a drug-induced haze, she gave the chiseled planes of his face some serious study: the aquiline nose, the arching dark brows, the high cheekbones, the black eyes... She cocked her head, gaze sharpening. Those eyes rested on Lil, moved to Jon, then back. And in the back of his gaze...

Oh, no. So that’s where the wind blew.

Zinnia spoke up. “You realize, don’t you, that you’d have to stay there until she no longer needed you? I don’t want stopgap solutions.”

Patsy Lee’s eyes whipped to her mother-in-law. “You can’t seriously be considering—”

“I do,” he said.

“Have you both completely lost your minds?”

Zinnia and Zeke ignored her.

“This may be just what the doctor ordered,” Zinnia said. “Seems to me, Zeke Townley, you’ve been up to next to nothing for a good long while. It’s about time you made yourself useful.”

Zeke frowned. “Do you know my mother?”

Zinnia ignored him. She turned to Patsy Lee, an odd light in her eyes. “And it’ll be a good thing for you, too.”

Watching her mother, Lil’s expression had grown thoughtful. Her gaze slid from Patsy Lee to Zeke and back, then exchanged a look with Jon. The same speculative look that was on Zinnia’s face spread over theirs.

They were match-making? “I—He—You can’t—”

“Not a bad idea.” Jon said.

She looked at her brother-in-law. Et tu, Brute?

“It’ll be okay,” Jon assured her. “Believe it or not, he could compete with Mary Poppins. He helped raise four sisters, all younger than Rose at the time. He can handle your quartet.”

“A quartet,” Zeke repeated as though he’d just remembered she had children. He looked at Zinnia. “I didn’t really raise my sisters.”

Jon sighed. “I knew you weren’t up to the challenge.”

So had she.

“You think I can’t do it?” Zeke eyed Jon.

“Jon.” Patsy Lee glared at her brother-in-law.

But he didn’t even look her way. “You won’t last a week.”

Patsy Lee saw her mother-in-law clamp down on a satisfied smile. Oh, no. “Please. This is ridiculous.”

Zeke glanced at her, appeared to consider her words. Her hopes rose, then looking back at Jon, he shook his head. “No, I’m certain... I can last a week. Much more than a week. Put your money where your mouth is, my man.”

While the men made their odious bet, she slumped. Zeke didn’t have a clue what he was getting himself into. She thought of her children. Her farmhouse. Her animals... And Zinnia O’Malley.

He really didn’t.

All he’d provide was another person for her to take care of.

She opened her mouth, but before she could get a word out, Zinnia slapped the table. “Done. Welcome to the family, Zeke Townley. Now, let’s see... you’ll fix the children’s supper.”

Looking smugly at Jon, Zeke agreed. “I’ll fix the children’s supper. Actually, I’m a good cook.”

“And their breakfast.”

“And their breakfast.”

“At six.”

“At”—Zeke tore his eyes off Jon and stared at Zinnia. “Six?”

“Six. The high school bus picks up at seven. Lily-Too’s comes just after.”

Jon snickered.

Zeke gave his friend a hard look. “A hot breakfast.” He drew a breath. “At dawn.”

“Zinnia,” Patsy Lee interjected. “They aren’t babies. They can certainly fix—”

“And you’ll help with the chores, of course.” Zinnia continued.

“Of course.”

“At least, most of them. Rose will help Patsy Lee with her bath.”

Patsy Lee covered her eyes.

“And Hank will show you the ropes for the rest. He’ll likely do most of it, but you’ll have to keep after him or he’ll forget Dowdy and Dharma.”

“Dowdy and Dharma... I don’t remember children named—”

“Not children.” Jon’s voice was strangled. “Donkeys.”

“You won’t need to do much with the chickens, though,” Zinnia continued, “Lily-Too takes care of them.”

“Chickens.” Zeke’s voice had grown faint.

Although her alarm at heart flutters had faded in her very real fear that she would die from embarrassment, Patsy Lee uncovered her eyes and twisted to look back at Zeke. “Please. You don’t have to do this. I can—”

“Patsy Lee’s right. We’ve had our fun and I’ll rescind the bet.” Standing up, Jon slapped Zeke on the back. “We won’t blame you if you’re—what is the word I’m searching for? Oh, yes. Chicken.” The smile he gave Zeke was pure evil.

Zeke narrowed his eyes at Jon, then looked at her. His gaze softened. “Dowdy, Dharma, and chickens notwithstanding, I’d like to help.”

In response, all she could manage was a sickly smile. The drugs and champagne had gone from making her loopy to making her nauseous. “Okay.”

But it wasn’t okay. Without warning, she suddenly upchucked vegetable soup all over his shoes.