Honey and Smoke Read Online Free Page A

“Who’s this from?” she asked, although the answer loomed in her mind.
    “Here’s the card, ma’am.”
    After the boy left, she set the basket on a table and read the car’s message.
Don’t keep me in the dark
, the thick, bold script cajoled.
I owe you a dinner
. It was signed by Max, of course, and included his telephone number.
    Grace peered over her shoulder. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered in awe. “Max Templeton is after you. The legend lives on.”
    The young couple looked good dressed up as Scarlett and Rhett, Max thought. He’d given them a discount on the costume fee because they were just twenty-one, and from the looks of the boy’s ancient sports car, they didn’t have much money.
    But business was business. He didn’t want to work more than three nights a week and an occasional Saturday, so he had to keep a tight schedule. He’d just reopened the parlor two weeks ago, and he hadn’t done any advertising besides a notice in the Webster Springs paper, but word had gotten around fast.
    Scarlett and Rhett were his six o’clock couple; at six forty-five he had a thirtyish pair who had already married and divorced each other two times, each marriage courtesy of his father, and now they were going for number three. They wanted the medieval outfit—a dress straight out of
Camelot
for her, armor for him. In this case, maybe both of them should wear armor.
    At seven-thirty he had a couple who wanted nothing but the plain package—no costumes, one round of the wedding march on the parlor organ, and a gilt-edgedcertificate. At eighty-thirty he had another plain package, except that the couple wanted the ceremony videotaped, so he had to take time to set up the equipment.
    After that he’d give Norma a hug good night, walk to his weathered old house on the hill above the parlor, and check the answering machine for a message from the fascinating Betty Quint. The thought made him impatient.
    He stepped from his carpeted platform for a second and leaned across the organ. Norma Bishop peered at him over her bifocals, her expression stern. Max bent his head beside Norma’s grizzled Afro and whispered in her ear, “Step on the gas.”
    “I was playing the wedding march on this organ when you were still sucking your thumb. Get your butt back where it belongs. And straighten your tie.”
    Grinning, Max went back to the platform. He slid a hand over the black string tie he wore with his marrying outfit—a Templeton tradition, black boots, black trousers, a long-tailed black coat, a stiff white shirt, and a string tie. It was the country-judge look, his father had always said. People liked it.
    Scarlett and Rhett were halfway down the aisle between rows of folding wooden chairs, only a few of which were occupied by their friends. Scarlett’s hoop skirt got caught on a chair, and as she tugged it loose Max made a mental note to widen the aisle a bit.
    The double doors at the back of the parlor opened just enough for Betty Quint to squeeze through. She slipped quietly into the last row of chairs and studied the scene with wide eyes. Gray eyes, Max recalled instantly, straightening and staring at her in pleased surprise. Eyes the color of pewter.
    Since their encounter two days ago she’d traded her mushroom clothes for soft-gray slacks and a Nordic-looking sweater of grays and blues. Without the overalls it was even more clear that she was slender, athletic looking, and the owner of some terrific curves.
    He hair was a burnished black with auburn highlights,and it was gently layered from bangs in the front to gleaming curves that clung to the tops of her shoulders. She had an offbeat face, angular and serious, but it was softened by wide, full lips and those big gray eyes hooded in black lashes.
    Those eyes met his with rueful humor and more than a little disgust. She gave him a once-over that made the hair stand up all over his body, a significant effect, considering the amount of hair he had. Of course he knew