Page 9 of A Tempting Seduction

“Ruby, you don't have to⁠—”

“Yes, I do.” I was already dialing the number that I'd memorized months ago. “Hi, this is Ruby Miller. I'm visiting Luther and Violet Randolph in 2C, and there’s a problem with their fridge... Yes, I'll hold.”

Luther watched me with clear eyes. “She's a good one, Violet.”

“The best,” Violet agreed.

Five minutes later, I hung up with a satisfied smile.

“I can’t believe you made it sound so urgent,” Violet said.

“It is. Chances are that if it’s on the fritz now, it will just conk out in a day or two, then you’ll end up with spoiled food and a puddle of water in the middle of the night. It’s their job to fix it.”

I finished my tea and packed up my quilting supplies, but not before helping Luther work through three more crossword clues and listening to Violet tell me about the new romance novel she'd been reading. These Tuesday visits had become one of the highlights of my week. Spending time with such a loving couple, who had been through so much in their lives but remained positive filled my tank. They might think that they got the most out of these visits, but they were wrong. I was the one who went away benefiting the most.

“Same time next week?” I asked as I gathered my things.

“We'll be here,” Violet said.

I got back in my car and headed to the town square. Dorothy's Antiques occupied a corner building downtown, its narrow aisles crammed with everything from vintage jewelry to Depression-era glassware. But I wasn't here for the antiques. I pushed through the shop toward the back room where Dorothy Sheridan held quilting classes every Tuesday and Saturday evening.

The familiar scent of fabric and thread welcomed me as I entered the quilting room. Six women sat around a large table, their projects spread out in colorful arrays. Dorothy looked up from her own work, her gray curls bouncing as she grinned.

“Ruby! Perfect timing.” Dorothy's eyes sparkled with mischief. “We were just discussing your morning adventure.”

My stomach dropped. “Adventure?”

“Florence heard from Pearl, who heard from Lettie, that Ford Larson asked for your phone number at Java Jolt today.” Margaret Thompson leaned forward eagerly. “Is it true?”

I felt heat creep up my neck. In a town the size of Jasper Creek, news traveled faster than gossip at a church social. “He asked. I didn't give it to him.”

“Why on earth not?” Dorothy set down her needle with dramatic flair. “That boy is gorgeous, hardworking, and according to his sister Carrie, he's been looking for the right woman for years.”

“Because men like Ford Larson don't date women like me.” The words came out sharper than I intended.

Silence fell over the room. Six pairs of eyes stared at me with varying degrees of sympathy and confusion.

“Honey,” Dorothy said gently, “what do you mean by that?”

I immediately regretted my honesty. “Nothing. I just... we're not compatible.”

“Nonsense.” Dorothy waved her hand dismissively. “Let me tell you about my first date with Harold McKinnon. This was 1962, and I was convinced I wasn't pretty enough for the captain of the football team. Wore my best dress, spent two hours on my hair, and was so nervous I threw up in his car.”

“Dorothy!” Margaret gasped.

“Gets better.” Dorothy's grin widened. “So, there I am, mortified beyond belief, and Harold pulls over and says, 'Dorothy, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, vomit or no vomit.' Then he kissed me right there on the side of Highway 421.”

“That's actually sweet,” Susan Martinez said dreamily.

“Oh, we're not done.” Dorothy picked up her needle again. “Fast forward six hours, and I'm in his dorm room at the university, naked as the day I was born, doing things that would make a sailor blush.”

Three women gasped in unison while the other two burst into delighted laughter. I found myself caught between the two reactions, not quite scandalized but definitely surprised by Dorothy's casual confession.

“Dorothy Sheridan!” Margaret fanned herself with a piece of fabric. “There are unmarried women present!”

“Like Ruby's never seen a naked man,” Dorothy snorted. “She lived in Los Angeles, for heaven's sake.”

“That doesn't mean—” Margaret started.