Bluegrass Courtship

“Maybe we skip the small talk,” Drew said, “and you tell me what’s on your mind.”

Janet decided to take him at his word. “Look, I’m glad the preschool’s getting an overhaul. But that doesn’t change the fact that Middleburg’s problem is about to become prime-time entertainment.”

“You don’t trust us to get the job done right.”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Well, Janet Bishop, I’ll make you a deal.” Drew pulled out a checkbook and wrote out a check. “This here’s a blank check made out to your store. After we’re gone, if plaster cracks, if the pipes leak, we’ll cover the cost for anything the church needs to order. I don’t want you all to feel we’ve taken advantage of Middleburg in any way.”

Janet stared at the check.

“I believe in what I do, Janet, and I mean to prove it to you.” He extended his hand. “Will you let me?”

ALLIE PLEITER

Enthusiastic but slightly untidy mother of two, RITA® Award finalist Allie Pleiter writes both fiction and nonfiction. An avid knitter and non-reformed chocoholic, she spends her days writing books, drinking coffee and finding new ways to avoid housework. Allie grew up in Connecticut, holds a BS in Speech from Northwestern University, and spent fifteen years in the field of professional fund-raising. She lives with her husband, children and a Havanese dog named Bella in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois.

Bluegrass Courtship

Allie Pleiter

MILLS & BOON

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Unless the Lord builds the house,

its builders labor in vain.

Unless the Lord watches over the city,

the watchmen stand guard in vain.

—Psalms 127:1

To my late father, Joe Stanko, who built things

Acknowledgments

Returning to Middleburg always means a return trip to charming Midway, Kentucky. Everything good about Middleburg comes from Midway. Everything “quirky” is definitely of my own invention. My thanks again to the lovely people—readers included—who’ve helped me fall in love with this part of the country. I’m so happy to be back and eagerly awaiting my subsequent returns.

My thanks, as always, to my family—especially Mandy and CJ who endured another one of those “research vacations.” To the inventors of the DVR, who saved my family from sitting through dozens of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition episodes. To Jim Griffin and Alana Ruoso in the art department at Steeple Hill for giving me a delightful cover. And to all of you, for your kindness, your letters and prayers. You are all proof that God can bless abundantly across the airwaves and the miles.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Eight seconds.

Sometimes five, but never more than eight.

Drew Downing knew the world divided itself up into people who loved his television show, and people who hated it. After three seasons of Missionnovation, Drew could size up which side of that very thin line any one person stood. Always in under eight seconds after his trademark greeting of “God bless ’ya and hello, Middleburg!”

He didn’t need the last five seconds this time…not with the pretty face of that woman in overalls standing at the end of the paint aisle. It broadcast pure skepticism. Drew didn’t even need three seconds to tell him Bishop Hardware, while it was Middleburg’s only hardware store, would be no instant ally to his cause. “Hostiles,” his producer, Charlie Buchanan, called them. Sometimes you could win ’em over, most times no matter what you did they were just sure you had an angle. If the hostiles couldn’t find an angle, they never believed you just might not have one. It only meant you hid it well.

Middleburg, Kentucky was the perfect project for the season finale of Drew’s Missionnovation television renovation program. The tiny town’s church preschool had been smashed by one hundred-year-old tree during a summer storm. Toddlers had had to learn their primary colors in the YMCA gym because their preschool had been destroyed. The town had been holding bake sales to buy new roofs and spaghetti dinners to fund drywall. And now Missionnovation was here to help.

Some folks at least were glad of it. “My stars!” came a woman’s awestruck squeal from over by the gardening supplies. “It’s those Missionnovation folks! From TV! Pam, look! It’s him.”

“How may I help you?” The woman in overalls asked.

Wow, Drew thought, I didn’t know you could make “How may I help you?” sound unfriendly. “Well, that’s just it,” he said, turning his gaze to the excited crowd that had pooled into the store behind him, “I’m here to ask you the same thing.”

Oh, sure, said the woman’s dark eyes. Drew could be in a sea of people thrilled to meet him, and the only thing he’d notice was the one person who was convinced he was on the take. The one person sure the “ministry makeover” Missionnovation offered was just too good to be true. Charlie was always giving him a hard time about his obsession to “win over the hostiles.”

A chubby older man grabbed his hand and shook it vigorously. “Mr. Downing, we sure are glad to see you and your team here. I’m the one who sent in the application.”

“Of course you are.” Drew recognized him from the application video and clasped one of the man’s shoulders. “And I’m glad you did. You must be Mayor Epson.”

“I am.” He beamed. A few of the locals patted him on the back. Watching the person who’d sent in the application get to be a hero never got old. That application process was long, complicated and demanded a lot of work. Getting to tell that person their persistence paid off, and their dream project would be realized, and on TV to boot, well that was the high-octane fuel that enabled Drew to pull as many all-nighters as he did.

“Howard Epson, life’s about to change. Your town’s about to get a shot in the arm like only Missionnovation can deliver. Are you up for it?”

These folks watched their Thursday night television. They knew what to do when Drew Downing asked “Are you up for it?” The tiny crowd yelled “We’re up for it!” so loud it echoed throughout the store. Two teenage girls grabbed a sheet of paint chip samples off the display next to them and held them out to Drew, asking for autographs. Out of the corner of his eye, Drew caught the lady in the overalls rolling her eyes.

“There’ll be plenty of time for that kind of stuff later, gals,” Drew said to the pair. “Right now we’ve got work ahead. You girls think you could convince your classmates to come on over? We need all the hands we can get on demolition day.”

“I suppose we can find a few friends,” they said. If they were in charge of bringing teens onto the set, Drew knew they’d be the most popular girls in school tomorrow.

“Then I’ll put you in charge of teen volunteers. You go see Annie in the bus and she’ll get you all set up with a box of T-shirts to give out as you sign folks up, okay?”

“Sure!” They bubbled up the aisle toward Annie, who’d be waiting in the bus as always.

“Mayor Epson, lead the way.”

“I’d be delighted!”

Drew turned back to the woman, who hadn’t moved from her spot at the end of the paint aisle. He noticed, for the first time, that the name on her Bishop Hardware nametag was Janet Bishop. Owner? Daughter of owner? Wife of owner? It was too soon to say. “We’ll be back later with a mighty long list,” he said, pointing right at her.

She looked unconvinced.

Why do hostiles always look unconvinced?

Chapter Two

Vern Murphy shuffled up the aisle to stand beside Janet Bishop as she stared after the crowd now leaving Bishop Hardware.

“Don’t that beat all,” he said, scraping black grease from under his fingernails with the edge of a screwdriver. “He’s that TV guy, ain’t he? Should spice things up around here for a bit.”

“It’ll do something, that’s for sure.” Janet muttered, even though she could hear her father’s gravelly voice in the back of her mind saying “Jannybean, if you can’t say something nice…”

Vern pointed at the green bus so big it blocked the entire storefront. It had Missionnovation across the side in large white letters. “They probably got all kinds of fancy-pants tools in there. You know, like the pneumatic doodads in those catalogues of yours. Might be worth watching. Sounds like they’ll be buying up a storm if nothing else, so business’ll be good.”

Buses full of tourists were fairly normal in Middleburg, Kentucky. It was a charming, rustic—okay, sometimes a little too rustic—town in the middle of horse country. The kind of town with one main street—Ballad Road—running down the center to comprise its “downtown.” A community where everybody knew everyone’s name and often everyone’s business. Not exactly thriving, but getting by on hard work and watching out for each other. Even so, the storm had hit lots of people hard, and the preschool damage had presented a big challenge. This tourbus, however, was more like a rolling subdivision than your average charter bus. People were already gathered around, talking, pointing, straining to see inside the tinted windows.

“Vern,” Janet sighed, “these people have corporate sponsors. Companies who donate everything so they get their stuff on TV. They’re not going to need much from us.” Janet replaced the can of primer someone had knocked off the shelf in their hurry to follow Downing.

“But he just said he’d be back with a long list,” Vern countered.

“A long list of requests, I’d guess. Those people think you’ll do anything to get on their show. That you’ll fall all over them and give them whatever they want. And we can’t afford to be a ‘corporate sponsor’ right now.” She headed back to her office, where she had three orders yet to fill. Actual business, resulting in actual income. She’d have to give Howard a piece of her mind the next time she saw him. He was always pulling stunts like this.

“Sounds like I’d better head on over to that bus and tell them all just what they’re dealing with in here,” Vern said. “We don’t stand for no Hollywood shenanigans.”

Ten minutes later, Janet looked up from her order forms to see a short, round-faced woman in a green button-down shirt and glasses standing in her doorway. “I’m Annie Michaels,” she said, extending a hand, “vice president of Shenanigan Prevention.”

“Um,” she stuttered, genuinely shocked that Vern had gone through with it, “I’m Janet Bishop.”

Annie cocked her head toward the doorway. “They don’t make ’em like Mr. Murphy anymore.”

“Vern?” Janet put down the calculator she’d been using and held out her hand. “No, he’s definitely one of a kind. Been working here since my dad bought the shop, which means he’s been at Bishop Hardware longer than I have.”

“He thinks pretty highly of you. He just gave me an earful about not pulling any fast ones on you. Said you’re too smart to fall for any of that…oh, how’d he put it? ‘Slick-o TV shenanigans y’all may be used to.’”

“Yep,” Janet chuckled, “that’d be our Vern.”

Annie pushed her glasses up into her wavy black hair. She had a sensible, friendly smile. “You got a minute?”

“I guess.” Janet swept the pile of bulb catalogues off the office’s other chair and motioned for her to sit down.

“I meant to come on board the bus,” Annie said, “I’ve got a bunch of stuff I’d like to go over with you, and I can bring it all out here, but…”

But we’d rather deal with you on our turf.

“The sponsors give us so much free food, I’m always trying to share it. Honestly, if I eat one more box of chocolate chip cookies…”

Chocolate chip cookies? Was Janet staring at good fortune or a great background check that they knew her weakness for chocolate chip cookies? Her stomach growled, as if to say it wouldn’t quibble much either way. “Well, okay.” It wasn’t as if there’d be many customers. Everyone in town would probably be at the church preschool by now anyway.

The bus doors folded open with a whoosh, and Annie motioned for Janet to step inside. As she walked up the steep stairs, Janet noticed a hand-carved sign hung over the entryway. Home Green Home, it read.

“Drew made that one weekend when it was pouring rain and we were all beyond thankful to have a warm, dry place to sleep. He started calling the bus ‘Home Green Home’ after that, and it stuck. Granted, though, some days this bus feels less homey than others.” Annie shot Janet a look as she turned toward the bus’s center table. The bus was high-end; sleek and well-appointed with all kinds of comforts like a microwave, several televisions and plush furnishings. It also had a chaotic, slightly messy feel to it, as papers and videotapes and a few boxes of T-shirts were parked on every available surface. The table, however, was clear and neatly arranged. “Some days a corporate cubicle looks like a positive vacation. Drew’s nonstop creativity can be…well, non-stop. But most days this is an amazing job and I thank God for the chances I’ve got.”

Well, thought Janet, you knew they’d get to the God part sometime.

As Janet sat down, Annie reached up into a cabinet that was top-to-bottom chocolate chip cookie boxes. And not just any chocolate chip cookie, either. Delicious Dave’s Chocolate Chip Cookies—pretty much the finest stuff on the planet.

She’d forgotten that Missionnovation had Dave’s as one of their sponsors. Every show ended with a parting shot of the whole design team sitting down to milk and cookies with whatever congregation they’d just saved. It was the kind of heavily wholesome scene that made Janet dislike the show, even though her mother watched it every Thursday night she happened to be over for dinner.

“I hope you know your hardware as well as you know your cookies,” Annie said as she placed an opened Dave’s box on the table and flipped open a thick file of lists. “Drew can come up with some pretty unusual requests.” She pulled her glasses out of her hair and put them back on. “Do you want us to just purchase whatever stock you’ve got, or do you want us to place our special orders through you, too?”

Janet froze with the cookie halfway to her mouth. “You’re going to buy your supplies through me?”

Annie looked surprised. “You don’t want us to?”

“I’m…” Janet hid her astonishment behind a mouthful of cookie. “I just figured you guys got your stuff through HomeBase.” The hardware megastore chain was one of Missionnovation’s major sponsors.

“Well, we do loads of business with them, that’s true, but we also try to do as much local business as we can.”

Annie popped up off her chair and filled a mug from the coffeemaker behind her. Janet noticed a bank of electronic equipment—walkie-talkies, headphones, video-cameras and several machines she couldn’t recognize—on a shelf over Annie’s head. The woman hoisted her cup Janet’s way in a “want some?” gesture, but Janet shook her head. She had never really been the coffeemaker after-breakfast type. “And, in answer to your question, yes,” Annie said as she turned back toward the counter to add a big swig of creamer to her cup. “He really is like that.”

“Like what?” Janet hadn’t asked a question. Out loud, that is.

“Like what you see on TV. The thing nobody seems able to figure out is that Missionnovation is exactly what it looks like. There’s no hype or gimmick. Drew and Charlie—that’d be Charlie Buchanan, our producer—just hit on one of those great ideas where everybody wins.” Annie sat back down, and Janet wanted to gulp. Had her suspicions been that apparent? “This is a first-class, faith-filled, high-integrity operation, Janet. If you have any problems, even the tiniest one, you come straight to Drew or me, okay?”

I don’t know the first thing about you except what I see on TV—that hardly seems enough to go on. Janet stared at the long lists in Annie’s hands. The first page alone had more orders on it than Janet had seen all month. The first file—and there were six—probably doubled all the sales ledgers sitting in her office. If what this Annie said was true, then Bishop Hardware might not have a “slow season” this fall. And that would make a world of difference. Slowly, Janet nodded. “I’d be a fool not to take you up on it.”

“Good. I’m glad we got that out of the way. We’re the real deal, Janet.” Annie dunked a cookie into her coffee. “And you can take that to the bank. We’ll try never to give you a reason to worry.”

They were just going over the third file when a noise rose up outside the bus and the doors pushed open.

“Annie,” came Drew Downing’s voice over the crowd, “we got our octopus!”

Chapter Three

“Octopus?” Janet glanced between them.

“Drew, this is Janet Bishop.”

“Hi, there.” Downing sounded as if he had run the whole way back from the church. “Howard Epson is going to be a handful. Serious octopus.”

“The guy who has to have his hand in everything,” explained Annie with a wry grin.

“Oh.” Janet couldn’t suppress a smile. She had an amusing vision of Mayor Howard Epson’s ever-present blue cardigan sweater suddenly sprouting six extra sleeves. “Yeah, that sounds like Howard.”

Drew used one foot to tug over a stool while he reached into the bus fridge for a bottle of water. “I know he’s probably a good guy, but we’ve got to find something safe—lots of safe somethings—for Mayor Epson to do. I won’t get a thing done if he’s all over this the way he wants to be.”

Annie sighed. “There’s an octopus on every project. And it usually is the one who sent in the application. It’s great that they feel such a sense of ownership, but…”

“Howard is a bit of an attention and control freak,” Janet offered.

“Being elected for three straight terms as Mayor of Middleburg does not qualify you to run a bulldozer.” Drew gulped down some water before continuing. “He can’t be the guy to knock down the gym. You need certification to do that sort of thing. Try and talk to him again, will you, Annie?”

“And that,” said Annie, gathering up a clipboard, “is the other part of my job. Shenanigan Prevention and Octopus Wrangler. Put that on a business card.”

“Shenanigan?” Drew looked at Janet.

“Long story,” Janet answered dryly.

“You two finish going over that list. I’ll go deal with His Honor.” Annie snagged her coffee mug—a green mug with the white Missionnovation logo on both sides—and headed out the door.

“I’m Drew,” Downing said as he extended a hand. She thought it was funny that he introduced himself—everyone knew who he was. Janet noticed his watch was a combination of a snazzy face and a rugged leather band. “And you’ve met Annie. You got any trouble—any concerns at all—you bring ’em to one of us. We aim to do right around here.”

“So I keep hearing,” Janet replied.

“Well,” Drew said, shucking off his coat and tossing it on the couch behind him, “if you don’t mind my saying so, you looked a bit skeptical back there in the store.” He took another swig of water and pulled Annie’s file of lists over in front of him. “So you’re the Bishop in Bishop’s Hardware?”

“That’d be me.”

He cocked his head to one side and eyed her. He had brown hair, shot through with a smattering of very hip-looking blond streaks. He sported an expensive brand of athletic shoes, but they’d definitely seen a lot of wear. His jeans were one of those expensive brands, too, but they had rips in both knees and a streak of paint down one side. Still the kind of man better suited for some slick California café than a Kentucky diner. There was no arguing he had a face worthy of television—tawny complexion, strong jaw, killer dimples. The color of his eyes wasn’t that noteworthy—it was mostly the gigawatt intensity that made Janet look twice. “You don’t see too many female owners in the hardware business,” he offered. “Especially in small towns. How’d you get into it?”

Janet was well aware of her uniqueness. Even though she’d been around the store for years, contractors all over the county gave her a hard time when she first took over, testing to see if she really knew her stuff. And she did. Janet knew the name of every type of screwdriver by the time she was three. She was mixing paint by the time she was ten, and could recommend the proper pipe fitting by the time she could drive. “Genetically,” she replied. “My dad owned the store.”

“My dad was a plumber,” Drew said as he dug his hand into the box of cookies and pulled out two. Janet could see the memory overtake him, diffuse the light in his eyes. “He wouldn’t know what to make of what I do now.”

“Was?” She just knew by the way he said it.

“He died four years ago, just before we signed the deal for Missionnovation. Your dad like how you run the store?”

“He’s been gone for a couple of years now. I like to think he’d be fine with how it’s going.”

Drew raised an eyebrow. “You’re old enough to have been running a hardware store for five years? Don’t they have child labor laws in Kentucky?”

Janet crossed her arms and tried to look every one of her twenty-eight years. “They teach you that in Hollywood charm school?”

“Okay, so maybe we skip the charming small talk and you tell me what’s really on your mind. I like it better that way, anyway.”

Janet decided to take him at his word. “Look, I’m glad the preschool’s getting an overhaul. We needed it, even before the oak tree went through the roof. And I know the school and church’ll get all kinds of bells and whistles that they’d never get any other way. And this,” she tapped the files between them on the table, “is a whole lot of business for me, that’s true. But all that doesn’t change the fact that Middleburg’s problem is about to become prime-time entertainment.”

“Because you don’t trust us to get the job done right. You’re afraid we’ll manufacture drama. Exploit your hardship.” He pushed up the sleeves of his green Missionnovation sweatshirt.

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Well, Janet.” He leaned forward in his seat. “I’ll make you a deal. You won’t have to trust me. I’m giving you full access. Inspect any of the construction at any time of the day or night.” He stood up and went over to a little office built next to where all the electronics stood. “Here are the direct lines to our production staff and our accountants. Call anyone you like to confirm anything you hear from me.” He handed her a paper while he pulled open a cabinet revealing a safe. Opening it, he pulled out a fat checkbook.

“I, however,” he sat back down again, “am going to trust you from this very moment.” He pointed to the file. “There’s a list of what we’ll need so far. That’s only the beginning, of course, but it should keep you busy while we set about finishing the job that oak tree started.” He pulled a check from the checkbook and wrote it out to Bishop Hardware, signed it, but left the amount blank. “And this here’s a blank check made out to your store. We want satisfied customers. This check is for you to make any repairs or modifications you find you need after we’re gone. If the plaster cracks, fix it. If the pipes leak, call a plumber. We’ll cover your costs for anything you need to fix that you think was our doing. I don’t want you to feel we’ve taken advantage of you or Middleburg in any way.”