Angel's Peak (Virgin River #10)(71)

“Hm,” Maureen agreed. She picked up a magazine from Viv’s coffee table.

“Turn on the TV if you like,” Vivian said. “It won’t bother my reading.”

“I’m fine. The quiet is nice,” she said.

Another ten minutes passed when Vivian put aside her book and said, “What’s wrong, Maureen?”

“Huh? Nothing! Nothing at all. Why would you think that?”

“You’re not doing your needlepoint. You’re not looking at that magazine, which is a medicine monthly and probably of no interest to you, anyway. And you’re no magpie, but you’re usually lots more talkative than this.” She smiled. “Even when I’m reading.”

Maureen tossed the magazine back on the coffee table. She smiled and asked, “Have I been rude?”

“There’s not an unappreciative bone in your body, rude or otherwise. So, what’s wrong? Are you upset with your boys?”

Maureen sighed. “Not any more than usual. I did do a rude thing tonight, Viv. I told a lie and I think I got away with it, but it didn’t make me feel any better. I just didn’t like the spot I thought I was in.”

Vivian sat forward a little bit, crossing her legs under her on the sofa. “I can’t imagine—I thought a lie would turn to acid in your mouth!” She grinned almost happily. “Do tell!”

“It’s pretty silly. A gentleman I met while I was here for Luke’s wedding happens to be visiting again and we ran into each other at that little Virgin River bar. I pretended I couldn’t remember meeting him. I don’t know why I did that. Probably because he was coming on a little strong.”

“Strong?” Viv asked. “Did he make a pass?”

“God, no, I’d have had a coronary! He hadn’t even started flirting, thank goodness. But I could tell he was happy to run into me again and I thought it best to just discourage him right away rather than have to reject him later. Turned out he wasn’t nearly discouraged enough and asked me out to dinner.”

Viv was silent for a long moment. Her brows drew together and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And the problem is?” she finally asked.

“I don’t want to go out to dinner with him.”

“Ah,” she said, sitting back on the couch. “He’s not your type?”

“Vivian,” Maureen said with surprise. “I don’t have a type!”

Again Viv was silent. “I don’t think I understand, Maureen. We all have pretty basic likes and dislikes. Are you put off by his looks?”

“That’s not it—he’s actually handsome. Probably a little older than me, but still handsome.”

“Bad manners?” Viv asked. “Bad breath? Slippery dentures? What puts you off?”

“Nothing, he’s nice. Attractive and charming. But I don’t go out to dinner with men.”

“Why ever not?” she asked, completely baffled.

“I’m a single woman. A widow of a certain age. An older woman!”

“Maureen, you must draw the interest of men regularly. You’re a very attractive woman!”

“No, never,” she said. “Not at all. But then, I’m never in places where something like that might happen. I pretty much keep to church things or pastimes with women who live in the condos. Golf, tennis, bridge, the occasional potluck. If I do run into men, they’re with their wives.”

“But don’t you have friends your age who date? Friends who are divorced or widowed who have men friends or boyfriends?”

Maureen made a sound of annoyance. “Yes, and some of them act downright ridiculous! I’ve seen some of these women I play golf and tennis with, chasing men as if they’re…they’re…”

“Horny?” Viv asked with a smile.

Maureen was shocked. “Really, that’s an awful word!”

“Oh, brother,” Viv said with a laugh. “Be right back.”

Maureen was left to wonder what Vivian was doing in the kitchen until she returned and handed Maureen a glass of wine. “I’ve already had a glass of wine. Earlier. Before dinner.”

“You have some special medical condition I should know about?” Vivian asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, it’s just that I—”

“Two glasses of wine in one day won’t kill you. In fact, if you decide on a third, I won’t tell a soul. You and I need to have a talk.”

“A talk?” Maureen asked.

Vivian went back to the couch with her own glass and nodded. “Since your mother is no longer available, God rest her soul. You know, when you told me your sons considered you a prude, that you considered yourself a prude, I didn’t take you that seriously. I should have. Maureen,” she said gravely. “It’s one thing to be strait-laced, but another entirely to stop living!”

“You can’t say that of me, that I’ve stopped living! I’m very active! True, I’m a little…Well, my son Aiden calls me ‘starched.’ But I like to think of it as moral fiber.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe we should put it all out on the table here, girlfriend. Let’s talk about the difference between moral fiber and uptight fears. Because—”

Maureen got a little red in the face. “Is it an uptight fear to wish your son would marry the woman before he has a child with her?”