Smooth Moves. Carrie Alexander

      “What Zack did was wrong.” Once roused, Julia’s disapproval was fierce. “It may have turned out that he had a good reason, with his brother and all, but to skip town on the day of the wedding without explanation, leaving Laurel to contend with all the mess and questions—” Lips compressed, Julia shook her head in censure. “No wonder she can’t forgive him.”

      Laurel swept aside the lustrous wave of rich chestnut hair that had fallen across her face. “Oh, I hate to remember. It was so humiliating….”

      Faith cooed with commiseration.

      Idly, Cathy drew elaborate swirls and curlicues on her practice paper. No calligraphy tonight. Since Heartbreak’s actions had stuck Laurel with the role of tragic jilted heroine whether she liked it or not, the woman had chosen to play it to the hilt. There would be no quick end to the dramatic embellishments of her legendary trauma.

      A temporary escape seemed advisable. Feeling guilty about the short shrift of her sympathy for Laurel, Cathy offered to make a quick run to the Central Street Café for coffee and sweets.

      When she returned ten minutes later with a tray of steaming foam cups and a box of assorted baked goods, Laurel was in better shape. Or at least sitting upright, Cathy noted as she distributed coffee, plastic spoons, and packets of sugar and cream. Progress.

      “He shouldn’t get away with it,” Laurel said, adding a minuscule sprinkling of sugar to her coffee. Color flamed high in her cheeks; her green eyes were unnaturally bright. “I’ve suffered. So should he.”

      Cathy held her tongue. Laurel’s “suffering” included the condolence gift of a fashionable dress shop by her placating parents, considerable leeway from the townsfolk and a steady string of suitors eager to restore her faith in men.

      Julia agreed—with caution. “A stern scolding is in order.”

      Gwen snorted. “A scolding? How about a tar-and-feathering?”

      Wide-eyed, Allie put down a half-eaten doughnut and wiped powdered sugar off the tips of her prominent nose and jutting chin. The unorthodox features were at odds with her bubbly personality and rounded figure. “Are we talking revenge?” Allie’s eyes glinted. She may have been Zack’s champion, but she was also an inveterate prankster. “Hmm. Well. Gee. Maybe one nasty turn does deserve another.”

      “Teach him a lesson,” Gwen vowed, spraying cookie crumbs.

      “Break his heart,” Faith put in.

      The women turned toward Faith as one, clearly struck by the idea.

      The quiet secretary’s gaze lowered. Her chin dropped. “Why shouldn’t he know what it feels like?” she murmured into her coffee, giving them a quick glance through her colorless lashes.

      As far as Cathy knew, Faith Fagan’s only connection to Zack was the crush she’d been nursing ever since he’d rescued her from drowning in Mirror Lake during his suitably legendary stint as town lifeguard. The women’s description of Heartbreak in swimming trunks—handsome, tanned, sporting sun-bleached highlights, a mile-wide chest and a six-pack of tight, toned abs—was so vivid that Cathy could almost see him herself when she closed her eyes and concentrated. Which she found herself doing all too often.

      Gwen gave one sharp clap of her hands. “Exactly.” Twice divorced, it was her contention that a formative junior-high fling with Heartbreak had ruined her for other men. Ordinary men.

      Julia frowned. “Let’s not be harsh.”

      “You know, I think Faith’s hit on something.” Allie was contemplative. “Now, I’m not saying I want to see Zack hurt. But it does make sense that if he were to have an inkling of how his ex-girlfriends feel, maybe he won’t be quite so cavalier in his treatment of the next woman.” Her long, narrow nose twitched. “And we all know there’s going to be a next woman.”

      “With Zack,” Julia said, nodding, “there always is.”

      “It’s about time—” Gwen snapped her chocolate-chip cookie in half “—for Heartbreak to experience heartbreak.”

      “But how?” Faith asked.

      “Hmm.” Laurel’s eyes narrowed. “All we need is a woman. A beautiful woman, obviously. Someone to attract Zack, seduce him to his begging knees, then cut him down cold. Without explanation. Leave him wondering what the hell happened.” She smiled.

      “That sounds kind of mean,” Faith murmured.

      Laurel’s eyes flashed. “No meaner than what he did to me.”

      “I don’t know…” Julia started to say, but Gwen cut her off.

      “Where are we gonna find the woman?” she demanded. “Not in Quimby. Heartbreak’s already scorched the playing field.”

      “I’m sure there are a number of younger girls who’d be more than willing,” Laurel said through gritted teeth.

      Julia shook her head. “A twenty-year-old won’t do. Zack is attracted to more than a pretty face and a nubile body.”

      Laurel conceded the point. “I suppose the woman has to have a degree of substance.”

      “And intelligence,” added Julia. “Let’s throw out some names.”

      “Karen or Kelly?”

      Gwen made a face. “Naw, he’s known them forever.”

      “Caitlyn Dumbrowski?”

      “Bleach job,” Laurel sneered.

      “Erica James?”

      “Already hooked up with Heartbreak, like, ten years ago.”

      “Suzy Maki?”

      “With those teeth? She should be seducing a dentist.”

      “Then who?”

      “Sara Carlisle will be vacationing at her family’s cabin next month,” Julia suggested. “She’s absolutely gorgeous and smart enough to have made it through law school. And a feminist, too. I bet she’d be game, for the good of the cause.”

      Allie waved a hand. “Nope, not Sara. Zack already went out with her—somewhere in between you and Laurel. But she was too smart to fall for his smooth moves.”

      “Unlike us,” Gwen said, dourly eyeing a fudge bar.

      “We need someone new.” With a sigh, Laurel scanned the women at the table for further suggestions. Her gaze skidded to a halt when it reached Cathy’s face, temporarily filled with cherry streusel. Brows arched, she glanced back at Julia. “Someone like Cathy.”

      Julia nodded immediately. “Yes. Zack would go for Cathy.”

      “Ohh—” Flushing hotly, Cathy put down the streusel and licked her sticky fingers. “Oh, no. Not me.” She threw up her hands, fingertips glistening. “Don’t even consider it. I’m not the type.”

      “You could be.” Laurel studied Cathy’s stark ponytail, horn-rimmed glasses and loose, shapeless clothing. “Take off your glasses. And that awful apron.”

      Defensively Cathy wrapped her arms around the denim apron that bore evidence of her close working association with paint, glue, papier-mâché and clay. “No.”

      Laurel snatched off the glasses. “Uh-huh. See that, girls? Those are good bones. The brows desperately need tweezing, and makeup will make a world of difference, but I see definite possibilities.” She rose gracefully, walked around Cathy and with a tug loosened the ponytail. Cathy’s long wavy hair fell across her shoulders, such a rich shade of sable it was nearly black.

      “Ahhh,” the women chorused.

      “Why, Cath, you’re beautiful,” Allie said. “I never realized.”

      “I’m not—” Cathy swallowed the denial, though it