Free The Potluck Club—Takes the Cake by Linda Evans Shepherd Page B

the property, and the bank accounts. The now-jilted wife did exactly as he instructed. She placed an ad in the local paper and sold the car to the first respondent. As the new buyer handed her the check for $100, he said, “Why so cheap? This car is worth a fortune!” To which the woman replied, “He told me to sell it. He didn’t say for how much.”
    By the time I got home from church—having heard not one word of the sermon, I am ashamed to say—my head was swimming with all the rotten things I could do to Jack during our time away in Summit Ridge. It would surely not be a time he would soon forget! Sure, this wasn’t the Christian way to act, but right then, at that moment, as far as I was concerned, the Christian way just wasn’t going to cut the mustard.
    So to speak.
    Jack arrived right on time, grinning like a schoolboy about to make his first conquest. When I opened the door, he stood on the porch, hands on his hips and feet spread wide. As the high school’s head coach, he was most comfortable in this stance. “You ready?” he asked. He glanced upward. “It’s supposed to start snowing again any minute. I’d like to beat it if we can.”
    December in Summit View almost guarantees daily snowfall, though we could go days without seeing so much as a flake. But the ground and surrounding mountains were always snow-topped, as pretty as a postcard. The past couple of days had seen clear skies, but the weatherman had promised that by early evening we’d start seeing the “white stuff ” again.
    “Come on in,” I said to the snake, all the while giving him my bestest, most fakest smile. “I’m nearly ready.”
    As Jack stepped over the threshold, I pointed toward the kitchen, all the while heading back to the bedroom. “The groceries are already bagged up or in the cooler if you want to go ahead and load them.”
    I felt Jack’s fingers wrap around my wrist. I stopped cold, a fraction of an inch from clobbering him with the fist of my other hand. He tugged a bit, turning me toward him, pulling me into his arms, kissing me gently on the cheek. “Here’s to the start of a great weekend, Goldie,” he whispered in my ear. I shivered. Not out of passion, but disgust. I had planned and plotted. I wasn’t about to let a little thing like a kiss ruin my scheme.
    I smiled at him, reaching over and giving him a quick kiss in return. “I can’t wait,” I said.
    Well, at least that much was true.
    We were halfway to Summit Ridge, which was about an hour’s drive, when Jack declared that we needed to stop for gas. “Do you need to use the ladies’ room?” he asked me as we pulled into one of those new, fancy-schmancy truck stops, complete with showers, restaurants, shops, and such.
    I said that I could probably stand to stretch my legs.
    That wasn’t all I could stand to stretch. I’d like to stretch his neck from here to the maternity ward of Summit View Medical Center, but I didn’t add that little bit of info into the conversation. Not yet, anyway. That would come soon enough.
    It was all part of the plan.
    As soon as Jack parked and we exited the car, I noted he’d left his cell phone sitting in the cup holder of the console. I smiled with evil delight.
    “I’ll pick up a few snacks for us. Want coffee?” Jack asked as we entered through the glass doors.
    “You know how I like it,” I said, making a beeline for the restrooms. I even managed to smile at him for good measure.
    I have to say that the ladies’ facility—though meant for women truck drivers, mainly—was fairly impressive. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to get back to the car, I would have taken the time to enjoy it. The wallpaper was feminine and completed with a matching border. The sinks and countertops were a nice faux marble, and there were little baskets filled with assorted lotions and soaps. Tiny paper cups were stacked near bottles of Scope, and there was even a cozy seating arrangement in one of the front corners