The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(34)

This year, the funds would go toward making a hiking and bike trail through some of Ellis Farm. Everyone could use it, of course, not just kids, but it was special to Honor’s heart. Manningsport, while as beautiful a town as America made, had pockets of need. Kids who grew up in the squat brick houses at the edge of town, or the trailer park, didn’t have what Honor had growing up—woods and fields to romp in. Orchards and sledding hills, a shallow pond for skating. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned buying a small herd of Scottish cattle for the 4-H program, a flock of chickens, maybe a few rescued horses. The land would be for those kids, so that they could enjoy the riches of the area, get away from their televisions and Nintendos and feel the connection to the land the way she did.

The ball would be held in the Barn at Blue Heron, the space that Faith had converted last fall—once a crumbling stone barn, now a stunning, bright space overlooking the rest of the vineyard. Her sister had quite a talent. And red hair. And the cutie cop.

Okay, none of that. She ran her hand over her own hair. She had good hair now, too. The rude Brit had been right: it had been a little sister-wife.

So yes. While Jessica Dunn and Ned were doing just fine, the Black and White Ball was Honor’s. And lists needed to be made. Or remade. Or color-coded.

Just then, her phone rang, making Spike leap up from her beauty rest and bark four times. Honor lunged for the phone before Jessica could answer it. “Honor Holland,” she said, using her smooth, Blue Heron voice.

“It’s your father speaking,” Dad said. “Reminding you that you have a life and need to leave the office.”

“Dad, no one leaves work at five.”

“Get out. Go to O’Rourke’s with one of your friends.”

Honor winced. Unluckily, no one in town had died since the catfight...no one had even been arrested or had sex in a public place (except maybe Pru and Carl, though they hadn’t been caught). In other words, she was still the hot gossip. O’Rourke’s was out.

“And, um, don’t be home before ten,” Dad added, his voice sheepish.

“Why? Wait, scratch that, I don’t want to know.” Honor sighed. “Okay. Maybe I’ll swing by Pru’s and stay over.”

“Oh, honey, that’d be great.”

“Dad, please.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just...well, you do what you want, Petunia. Just give me a call if you do decide to come home. Let the phone ring twice. That’ll be our code.”

“Got it. Code, as in don’t you dare be doing anything in the living room that would cause emotional scars for your spinster daughter.”

“You’re not a spinster. Go out. Have fun. Meet some young people.”

“I hate young people.” She paused. “Can I at least come home to change and feed my dog?”

“Of course. Just, um, make it quick, okay? Oops, I have to go. Mrs. Johnson’s glaring at me. Love you!”

“You should probably start calling her by her first name,” Honor said, but her father had already hung up. She sighed. It’d be nice to be able to tell her sisters about this (it might be fatal to Jack), but Mrs. Johnson had made her swear not to tell yet.

Honor scooped up Spike and kissed the dog’s little head, getting a joyful snuzzle in return. “Let’s run away, just us two,” she said. Spike wagged in agreement.

Young people and friends. Outside of her relatives, no one leaped to mind. Maybe Jack would want to watch Top Ten Tumors, a show dear to both their hearts. She could go to Rushing Creek and talk about artificial hips, or she could go to her grandparents’ house and do the same thing. Maybe get rid of some of their stuff. Help Goggy clean out the pantry, which held canned goods from the 1980s.

A knock came on her door frame. “Hey. Sorry to interrupt,” Jessica Dunn said. “I took a whack at the press release for the tourism magazine.”

“Great! Let’s take a look.” Delegation, delegation. It was supposed to be a good thing.

Jessica handed her the paper. “I also posted a picture of the cask room on Facebook and Twitter and asked everyone what wine was in their fridge. And I made a list of some potential blog topics for you, too. Oh, and here’s your calendar for next week.”

“Thanks,” Honor said, her heart sinking a little.

Jessica had worked here for two weeks now, and Honor was a little intimidated by how terrifyingly efficient she was. Didn’t smile much, did everything from empty the trash to bring Honor coffee to write copy (pretty damn well, too).

Jess stood there a minute as Honor read what she’d done. It was friendly, informative and seemed to be missing all of one comma. Honor looked up. Jess was frowning.

Honor knew this was her first job outside of waitressing; the girl (woman) had acknowledged that on her first day. So far, she’d been quiet, hardworking and a little tense, almost as if she was worried she’d be fired. It was kind of endearing. Faith had mentioned that she’d always been a little scared of Jessica Dunn; Honor didn’t see why.

“This is great,” she said. “I almost can’t remember what I did before you came.” You worked sixteen hours a day, the eggs told her.

Jessica smiled a little. “Thank you.”

“Hey, Jess, do you want to get a drink? Since it’s time to go?”