Hometown Hope Page 8

  He wasn’t.

  “I’m sorry, Anna, but this really seems like a waste of my time. How many of my books could you possibly hope to sell in a one-horse town like this?”

  “Oh, I think you might be surprised.”

  Technically she was telling the truth. Even she was surprised by how few of his books she’d managed to sell out of the modest fifty she’d ordered. The number was even more depressing when you considered that one had been to herself and another was the one she’d strong-armed Hoyt into buying.

  At least some people had shown up. She’d squeezed twenty-five chairs into the main area of the cramped store, and half of them were filled already. This was the most people she’d ever had in the store at one time, and hopefully at least some of them would buy a copy of Coulter’s book before they left.

  One person was conspicuously absent, though. Hoyt Bradley was nowhere to be seen.

  Coulter made an impatient noise and glanced at his flashy watch. “I have to drive back to Atlanta to catch a flight to Tampa first thing in the morning, so I can’t run late tonight.”

  “Of course. It’s time to get started anyway.” As she spoke she saw Hoyt edging into the bookstore. Finally! “But first there’s somebody I’d like you to meet.” Ignoring the writer’s annoyed huff of breath, she took him by one suede elbow patch and steered him in Hoyt’s direction.

  Coulter balked when they were about five feet away from Hoyt. Anna didn’t blame Coulter for keeping a wary distance. Next to the narrow-shouldered author, Hoyt looked even more massive than usual. He was wearing a plain white button-up shirt with no tie, and his biceps had the short sleeves filled to full capacity.

  “Mr. Coulter, this is Hoyt Bradley. He’s the businessman who sponsored this event.”

  “Oh.” Relief relaxed the writer’s face as he extended his hand. “A philanthropist. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

  Hoyt uncrossed his arms long enough to grip the man’s hand. Coulter winced, and Anna shot Hoyt a warning look. He met her gaze blandly. “Sure thing.”

  “I’ll look forward to your input during the roundtable. I always enjoy hearing from my male readers. So often these events are totally dominated by women.” Coulter skimmed the milling crowd with a sigh, flexing his injured hand. “I’ll be especially interested in hearing a masculine perspective on Blaine’s inner conflict.”

  Hoyt smiled without answering. Anna’s eyes narrowed. She’d seen that particular smile dozens of times back in high school. She knew exactly what it meant.

  He didn’t have the foggiest idea what the author was talking about. Hoyt hadn’t read the book. She’d better get Coulter away before he figured that out for himself.

  “Look at the time! We should get started.” She put a hand on Coulter’s arm and tugged him toward the front of the room. “I’ll talk to you later, Hoyt.”

  It was as much a threat as a promise, but Hoyt only looked amused. Anna got Coulter settled behind an old podium she’d dragged out from the back room and repainted a glossy brown. It was still slightly sticky, and she noticed her guest wrinkling his nose as he touched it.

  Great. Something else for him to complain about.

  Please, Lord, she prayed as she encouraged people to take their seats. You know how badly I need this to go well. Help me make this a success. With a bright smile, she introduced James Coulter, an award-winning, bestselling author, to the murmuring group, sat herself down and hoped for the best.

  Forty-five long minutes later, Anna’s polite smile had grown painfully stiff. She was bored out of her mind, and judging by the restless shiftings behind her, she wasn’t the only one. Not only was Coulter horribly dull as a speaker, but he oozed a pompous arrogance that was making her toes curl.

  Still, she reassured herself, he was a well-known name, and his book had been positively reviewed. Lots of gifted people weren’t good public speakers, and maybe he’d do better during the interactive session of the evening.

  She sure hoped so.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Coulter, for that wonderful explanation of scaffolding symbolism.” She was fairly sure that was what he’d been droning on about. “Now we’re going to have a brief intermission before moving on to the most exciting part of our evening. In fifteen minutes, you’ll have the opportunity to participate in a roundtable discussion with this famous author. In the meantime, you can enjoy some refreshments, chat with Mr. Coulter and get him to sign his book. Copies are located on the table by the door, if you haven’t already purchased one.”

  She suppressed a little shudder of dismay when the audience moved in the direction of the refreshments instead of the optimistic stacks of books on Coulter’s signing table. She’d better shoo some people in Coulter’s direction.

  She’d start with Bailey Quinn, one of the few who’d actually bought a copy of the book ahead of time. The grocery store owner was nibbling on an organic baby carrot when Anna approached.

  Anna reached for the plate holding the Coulter-approved snacks that she’d prepared earlier. “Bailey, would you please take this over to James? He’s bound to have questions about the food, and you’ll probably be the best one to answer, since I bought most of it from you.”

  “Sure.” Bailey didn’t look any too enthusiastic, but she set down her own plate and accepted the one Anna handed her.

  “Have you seen Hoyt?”

  “Yeah. He sneaked out about halfway through. I noticed because I was kind of wishing I could go with him.” Bailey shot Anna a guilty glance. “Sorry. Anyway, I think Hoyt’s hiding out in your storeroom.”

  “Is that so?” Irritated, Anna pressed her lips together and cast another despairing glance at the author’s table. Mrs. Abercrombie had gone to talk to Coulter. Hopefully, the retired English teacher and Bailey’s food delivery would keep Coulter distracted while she went to see what Hoyt was finding so fascinating in her storeroom.

  Chapter Seven

  “What on earth are you doing up there, Hoyt?”

  Balanced on top of the wobbly chair he’d dragged into the middle of the room, Hoyt jumped, banging his head on the light fixture he’d pried loose from the ceiling.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” He steadied himself, feeling the rickety chair tremble beneath him. “This thing’s been threatening to break ever since I climbed up on it. If I move around too much, I’m probably going down in a pile of splinters.”

  “You know what? That might just serve you right.” Anna walked into the storage room, her hands fisted on her hips.

  She looked a little annoyed.

  Hoyt had a sudden flashback to the time he’d been removing a brass chandelier from a building scheduled for demolition. A dusty honeybee had zoomed out of the hole he was making in the plastered ceiling.

  It had looked annoyed, too. Hoyt had impatiently swatted it out of the way with his free hand before giving a mighty tug on the stubborn fixture.

  Serious mistake. The bee had been immediately joined by about three hundred of his closest friends, swarming out of their secret mammoth hive in the ceiling. Hoyt had ended up with fifteen stings and a sprained ankle from bailing off a twelve-foot ladder.

  With that memory in mind, he stepped carefully off the chair. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, something’s wrong! You’re not supposed to be in here breaking my poor chairs to smithereens. You’re supposed to be out there mingling with the author.”

  Mingling. Hoyt snorted; then he caught another look at Anna’s expression and tried to disguise the noise as a cough. “I thought I’d come in here for a minute and take a closer look at this light. I noticed it flickering when I was finishing up with the window the other day. It’s a good thing I checked it out. The wiring up in this ceiling is frayed. You can’t be too careful with things like that, especially in an old building like this one. This dry wood would blaze up like a book of matches
if it ever caught a spark.”

  Anna squinted up at the light. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the half-open door. “I appreciate the concern, but this really isn’t the time to be taking my storage room apart. I have an important event going on, remember?”

  “That’s fine. You can go on back.” He couldn’t resist lifting one eyebrow at her. “Mingle. I want to take a closer look at the outlets in here and your electrical panel. I can’t do much tonight, but I’d like to get a better idea of what we’re dealing with before I talk to the electrician.”

  Her face fell. “But after the refreshments, we start the roundtable discussion where people ask questions about the book. You don’t want to miss that.”

  Actually, he kinda did. He didn’t say anything, but his expression must have given him away. Anna groaned and plopped herself down on a torn beanbag chair. Its white pellet filling gooshed out on the floor.

  “I know! I spent all the money you loaned me on this, and Coulter’s awful.”

  She looked so bummed. It made him feel like a jerk for skipping out on the boring lecture. He stood awkwardly over her, shifting a rusty screw he’d taken out of the light fixture from hand to hand. He searched his brain for the right thing to say.

  “Well, at least you’ve got a pretty good crowd in there. That’s something.”

  “I’m not sure why they came. Nobody seems the least bit interested in meeting Coulter or buying his book.” Her gaze suddenly zeroed in on his face, and her eyebrows lowered. “What did you think of Coulter’s book?”

  Now that was a loaded question if he’d ever heard one. He got very interested in examining the screw. “I’m probably not the best guy to talk to. I’m not too clear on all that inner conflict stuff he was talking about.”

  “Did you even read the book, Hoyt?”

  He could tell by her tone that she already knew the answer to her question. Hoyt sighed and slipped the screw into his pocket. The jig was up, and he might as well come clean.

  “No, I didn’t. I meant to. And I tried.” He watched as Anna’s expression darkened. She opened her mouth, but he hurried on before she could speak. “But come on, Anna, that book—” He stopped, trying to think of some way to describe it that wasn’t rude. He came up with nothing. “One thing’s for sure. The guy who wrote it doesn’t know anything about scaffolding. I thought the whole thing was stupid,” he finished honestly.

  “That stupid book has been on the bestseller lists for a month and a half, Hoyt. And it’s received rave reviews from all the most significant literary critics.”

  “Maybe so.” Hoyt shrugged. “One thing you learn in the construction business is that people like strange things. One time a couple asked me to install a claw-foot tub in their dining room. Plumbing and all. They were going to use it to ice down drinks. Painted it bright red, too. People like some weird stuff.”

  His attempt at distraction didn’t work. “Since you didn’t even read the book, how do you know if it was weird?”

  Their gazes met, and she quirked one narrow, dark eyebrow at him. He blew out a breath. “I read some of it.”

  “Some of it.” Anna shook her head. “I feel like I’m back in high school, wrangling with you over an English assignment.”

  So did he, and he didn’t much care for the memories this particular argument was bringing up. But high school was a long time ago, and things were different now.

  He was different now, whether Anna could see that or not.

  He met Anna’s accusing gaze head-on. “Okay, then. Tell me this. What’d you think of it?”

  “At least I read it, so I’m entitled to have an opinion about it.”

  Hoyt studied Anna, who was having an unusual amount of trouble meeting his eyes. He couldn’t help it. He chuckled.

  Even a blind squirrel found himself a nut every once in a while.

  “You didn’t like it, either.”

  Anna opened her mouth to say something. Then she shut it again and glowered at him.

  “Gotcha,” he teased.

  Anna looked like she was about to explode. “All right,” she spluttered. “I didn’t like the book, and the man’s an even bigger pompous pain in the neck than he was back in college. And to top things off, now you’re telling me this place is one spark away from burning to the ground unless I shell out for a bunch of expensive repairs I can’t possibly afford? Tonight’s a complete disaster.”

  “Oh, my,” Trisha Saunders drawled from the doorway. Hoyt and Anna had been so focused on each other that neither of them had noticed the door being eased fully open. James Coulter stood beside Trisha, glaring at them. He had his plastic-wrapped plate of food in one hand and outrage written all over his face. The look on Trisha’s face tended more toward satisfaction. She lifted an eyebrow. “Looks like it’s true, what they say, Mr. Coulter. Eavesdroppers really don’t hear well of themselves.”

  “James.” Anna had gone white. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea... I didn’t mean...”

  “Oh, I understood precisely what you meant.” The man was swelling up like a toad. “I expected better from you, Anna, I really did. At the very least I expected a certain degree of gratitude after I came all the way to this backwater town just to do an old friend a favor.”

  “And I appreciate that,” Anna started, but Hoyt cut in.

  “She paid you to come and bought you that fifty-dollar plate of overpriced snacks you’re holding to boot. If anything, she did you the favor.”

  “For your information, I gave her a ten percent discount on my speaking fee, and these aren’t even the crackers I asked for!” The author dropped the plate on the ground with an angry flourish. “As far as I’m concerned, this evening is over.”

  A smile played around Trisha’s lips as she stepped aside so the man could storm past her back into the bookstore.

  “James! Please wait!” Anna started after him.

  Hoyt caught her by the arm before she made it across the threshold. “Let him go, Anna.”

  “I can’t! People expect him to sit and talk with them. Besides, I already paid him.”

  “I think you’re going to have to write that money off. You saw the mood he’s in now. If he talks to any of your customers now, trust me, it won’t end well. They may want to throw his books at him, but they sure won’t be buying any of them.”

  “This isn’t funny, Hoyt!”

  It was a little funny, but he wasn’t about to point that out. Anna was chewing on her bottom lip and staring at the door. “Maybe if I just talk to him...”

  “Not a good idea.” Coulter didn’t strike Hoyt as a gentleman. If Anna followed that guy outside, Hoyt suspected he was going to end his own night by punching a bestselling author right in the mouth.

  Nobody needed that to happen.

  “One spark from burning to the ground? Is that what you said?” Trisha peered up at the dangling light fixture. “How terrifying!”

  Just what he needed right now: Trisha sticking her new-and-improved nose into all this. “Don’t go off the deep end, Trish. Anna’s wiring will have to be brought up to code, that’s all.”

  “It’s not even up to code?” Trish’s eyebrows lowered, and she turned to Anna. “You’d better get this firetrap fixed fast. Although if you want to sell the store, I might still be interested. Naturally I’d have to amend my offer to account for the cost of all the additional work that’s going to have to be done.”

  “Naturally.” There was a strange tone in Anna’s voice that made Hoyt shift his attention back in her direction. From the look on her face, Anna was either about to start crying or throwing things. He wasn’t sure which. Either way, Trish didn’t need to be standing around gawking when it happened.

  “Excuse us, Trish. Anna and I need to talk about getting this work scheduled.” Hoyt didn’t wait to see if Trish planned to cooperate. He herded her out of the
storeroom and shut the door in the woman’s annoyed face.

  “Don’t worry about all this, Anna. I work with the best electrical contractor in this area. Mitch Connor and I will get this knocked out in no time.” Mitch would pitch in; he always did. There wasn’t a whole lot of leeway in their schedules right now, so they’d be looking at a few weeks of evening and weekend work. That didn’t matter. He’d manage somehow. “We’ll be working at night, and everything will go a lot faster if we can cut the power off. Is there someplace you could stay for a few weeks?” The thought of her sleeping upstairs gave him chills now that he’d gotten a closer look at the tangled mess up in this ceiling.

  “I can’t.”

  “It’s really not going to cost that much. I’ll get the material for you wholesale.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Anna cut him off. “Whatever it costs would be too much. There’s no money, Hoyt. I spent the whole check you gave me on the author I just insulted—him and those expensive organic snacks he threw all over the floor.”

  “Anna...”

  “I’ll have to sell. And now, thanks to you rummaging around in here, where you weren’t even supposed to be, by the way, Trish is going to lower her offer even more.” Anna stopped and pressed her lips together tightly for a second before continuing in a calmer voice. “I guess I should be thankful that you found this problem, but I kind of wish you hadn’t. I really don’t need anything else to deal with right now. I can’t talk about this anymore. I have to go tell people the roundtable isn’t happening.”

  She left the room. A minute later he heard her explaining calmly that Coulter had been forced to leave unexpectedly.

  Personally, he doubted anybody out there would be too upset over that news.

  Except for Anna.

  There’d been something way worse than anger in her eyes just then. He’d seen a broken defeat that he recognized all too well. He knew what that felt like...that desperate sense of being boxed in with nowhere to turn. He’d kind of specialized in that for a while after Marylee died.

  The thought of Anna feeling that way... Well, it bothered him. In fact, it more than bothered him. It hit him somewhere deep in his gut, in that place reserved only for a few special people, the people in his world that he’d do pretty much anything for.