The Sweetgum Ladies Knit for Love - By Beth Pattillo Page 0,25

also to Nancy St. Clair and Frank Jackson.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” she said. “We don’t normally have many visitors at these potlucks.”

“Evan and I met Rev. Carson in town today. He invited us.”

“Will you be in Sweetgum much longer?” she asked him, and then she realized her question might be taken two ways. “I mean—”

“We’ll be here at least another week.”

Why? Maria wanted to ask, but she couldn’t. Secrecy had been a condition of the sale. She could only hope that nothing had happened to thwart their plans or derail their purchase of the Munden farm.

“And your lady friend?”

“Evan’s sister. She’s going back to Memphis in the morning.”

There was a lengthy silence while she waited for him to introduce another topic of conversation, but he merely stared around the room. She wanted to ask him why he hadn’t simply introduced himself that first day at the store. Surely he had connected Munden’s Five-and-Dime with the purchase of the Munden farm.

“Where are you staying while you’re here?” she finally asked.

He arched an eyebrow at her, as if to suggest she was prying. “At the bed-and-breakfast on the edge of town. Sugar Mill, I think it’s called.”

“Sugar Hill.” She couldn’t resist correcting him. “A lovely place.”

“It’s fine.” But she could hear the implied criticism.

“It’s not a five-star hotel.”

“Definitely not.”

Maria took a deep breath, sucked in her cheeks, and contemplated biting her tongue. The man was colossally arrogant. Honestly, it was a wonder there was room for anyone else in the fellowship hall given the size of his ego.

She nodded toward the buffet. “You should help yourself before all the good stuff is gone.” Her polite suggestion was the nicest way she knew to get rid of him.

From his superior height, he looked at the long tables pulled end to end and covered with casserole dishes, bowls, and platters. “There’s enough cholesterol here to—”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said in her blandest tone. “Excuse me, but I think my mother needs me.” With a short nod-as close a concession to good manners as she could make at the moment—she melted away, leaving Mr. James Delevan to contemplate the deficiencies of a church covered-dish supper. And herself to wonder why an arrogant stranger should bother her quite so much.

Later, after everyone had eaten and Rev. Carson had given a short devotional, Maria stood behind one of the large round posts that dotted the fellowship hall at regular intervals. The posts, however awkwardly placed, served the utilitarian purpose of holding up the second and third floors of the education wing. Almost two feet in diameter, they were large enough to conceal a grown woman. She was hiding from Henry Hale, the organist, who looked determined to ask her out yet again. She’d been avoiding his attentions for the better part often years, but Henry was not easily discouraged. The fact that he lived with his mother and wasn’t in any hurry to move out gave him the leisure to be persistent.

“Come on, James. Surely you can find someone here to talk to.” The voice came from the other side of the pole. She recognized it as belonging to James Delevan’s friend, Evan. Maria froze. She looked around for means of escape, but if she moved now, the two men would surely see her.

“I think you have found—and monopolized—the only decent conversationalist in the room,” James replied. His friend had been talking to Daphne whenever Maria happened to look their way. She couldn’t see James Delevan’s expression, but she heard the censure in his tone.

“James, someday your arrogance is going to backfire on you.”

“I’m not arrogant.”

His friend chuckled. “I can’t wait to see you get caught in your own net.”

“Well, it’s not likely to happen in a sleepy backwater like this.”

“What about Daphne’s sister? She’s nice. Seems intelligent.”

“A little old for me. I’d rather spend the rest of the evening in my room at that excuse for a bed-and-breakfast doing Sudoku. Or watching reality television.”

Maria felt the flush of embarrassment rise from her midsection until it suffused her throat and then her face. A little old. Well, that was what she got for eavesdropping. What had she expected him to say? That he’d been fascinated by her?

Maria did not have a false sense of pride. She had long ago accepted that her looks were average and her possibilities for marriage nonexistent, Henry Hale excepted. But she hadn’t expected others, particularly strangers, to discuss those facts quite so openly And certainly not at a covered