hand. “I’m going to keep my eye on Drew and Wendy. You can keep looking for someone for Lola if you’d like, but she’s not ready.”
Bitsy’s blue gaze sharpened.
“Sorry I’m late.” Clarice took the seat on the other side of Mims with a plop that gave Mims a little air bump. She set her walking stick against the wall and adjusted her hearing aids. In a tribute to her hippie roots, she wore a blue peasant blouse with white embroidered flowers and faded blue jeans. “I was setting out the bird feeders and spilled all my seed. The squirrels are going to get fat.”
Pearl appeared with a hot chocolate topped with frothy whipped cream and a stack of napkins.
“When are you going to grow up and give up hot chocolate, Clarice?” Bitsy rarely snapped at anyone. She was friendlier than the doormat at Pastor Mike’s office, the one that read, Hug a stranger and love your fellow man.
Mims began to seriously worry about her friend.
“Grow up?” Clarice said, unfazed by Bitsy’s derision. She tossed her gray braids over her shoulders and bobbed like a bird, pressing her face into the swirl of whipped cream. She straightened and smiled at Bitsy, wearing a lopsided white beard. “I’ll give up Saddle Horn hot chocolate when I’m dead.”
“I’m guessing that’s a long time from now.” A familiar sparkle returned to Bitsy’s gaze as she said this, easing Mims’s concern about losing Bitsy from the Widows Club.
“Dead is a long way off.” Clarice wiped away her melting beard and prepared to start over. “Matchmaker business first?”
“Yes.” Mims wasted no time. The second church service of the day would be getting out soon, and the coffee shop would begin to fill, eroding any hope of privacy. “I have some candidates I think would be perfect for Edith.”
Clarice dipped her chin in the whip, creating a pointed beard. “Give us the list.”
So Mims did. “Bart Umberland. He’s divorced and lives alone in a cabin on the mountain.” A forty-five-minute drive from Sunshine in good weather.
“The mountain is a deal-breaker.” Bitsy poured her tea. “Edith enjoys life in town.”
“Agreed.” Clarice dabbed her creamy whiskers away with a napkin. “Next.”
Drat. Mims’s list went downhill from there. “Darryl Woolsey. He’s a retired mechanic and can fix anything.”
“Hmm.” Clarice’s gaze grew distant as she considered Darryl. “I heard Edith complain about a persnickety dishwasher last night.”
“That won’t work either.” Bitsy added a dollop of cream to her tea. “Darryl can’t get the grease out from under his fingertips, and Edith is a bit OCD.”
Mims had been afraid of this. There wasn’t a big pool of eligible men over the age of sixty in town.
“Well…” Clarice spun her hot chocolate slowly, examining what was left of the froth the way Mims studied deer tracks in the snow during hunting season. “Maybe we should let Edith into the club.”
“No.” Mims almost added, Never. She fell back against the banquette, which forced the air in it to either side, giving Clarice and Bitsy a gentle ride on a wave of air. “We have rules in the club for a reason.”
Bitsy gave Mims a hard look. “What aren’t you telling us?”
“When it comes to the club, we don’t keep secrets.” Clarice wiped her mouth with a fresh napkin. “That’s a board rule.”
The need to tell them she and Charlie had been hunting and fishing buddies for more than a decade weighed heavily upon Mims. They’d take it wrong. They’d think…They’d think she was the worst sort of person. When really, she’d done nothing wrong.
Mims drew herself up. “I—”
“I was so excited.” Edith plunked down next to Clarice, sending a wave of air around the booth cushion and squishing the air from Mims’s lungs. “I rushed out of church without getting into the fellowship line and came in the coffee shop back door.” Edith elbowed Clarice deeper into the booth. She wore a pink flowered dress that had seen better days and a smile like a schoolgirl with a full box of valentines. “Get me up to speed. What are we doing?”
Mims felt trapped in the back of the booth.
Pearl set plates down in front of the board. Scrambled egg whites for Bitsy. Hash browns and sausage for Clarice. A western omelet for Mims.
“We’re eating?” Edith smiled as if she’d won the annual trout-fishing contest. Which was ridiculous, because she never fished. “Pearl, have Alsace make me a special.” Edith grabbed Pearl’s apron before the waitress could turn to go. “Only tell Alsace to hold