Excerpt of The Man She Married by Ann DeFee

The sign on the window read Miss Scarlett's Boudoir, and if
the inventory of Maizie’s store was any indication, Miss
Scarlett had had herself a high old time. It was an
environment of lace pillows, frothy undergarments and
frilly feminine apparel. Even the bell above the door
sounded girly.

It was kitschy, it was funky and it had something for
everyone. Every female in the county had shopped at Miss
Scarlett’s at one time or the other.

The blue-hairs loved the beauty and bath selection and the
teens were hot for the trendy collection of jeans. Best of
all, Maizie and PJ were known throughout the area for the
exclusive line of French make-up they applied with a
flourish. If you were in the market for a make-over, the
Boudoir was definitely the place to go.

Under normal circumstances the boutique was a fantastic,
fun place to work, but this day had been a doozey and
Maizie was dead on her feet.

"PJ, would you close the shop today?" she asked. "I need to
run by the grocery store. We’re having a family football
party at my house tomorrow."

"No problem. It’s almost six o’clock anyway."

"I won’t be here tomorrow. Bambi and Jerry Sue will be here
to help you."

"Gotcha’. Don’t worry about a thing."

Maizie pulled into the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. She was
determined to do a quick in out, but the chance of that
happening in Magnolia Bluffs - where everyone knew everyone
else’s business and loved to discuss it – was slim.

Before Maizie could make it through the checkout line,
Laverne Hightower, the town’s rumor maven, had managed to
share a play by play of her gall bladder attack. Not to be
outdone, Shirley Smith had launched into a full rundown on
her daughter’s wedding prep. And everyone wanted to discuss
the commotion at the Boudoir. Puleeze. The next time she
needed groceries Maizie was going to patronize the big box
store out on the bypass.

By the time the groceries were bought, the errands were run
and the day was over, she was ready to pull her hair out.
No doubt about it - today had been one of those days.

Maizie breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled up to the
detached garage behind her rambling white turn of the
century bungalow. Her home was typically southern with
green shutters, a wraparound porch and a trellis of
honeysuckle.

When things got too hectic, or she wanted to meditate,
Maizie loved to sit on the porch swing with a frosty glass
of sweet tea and watch the world go by. It was her way of
cleaning out the mental cobwebs. However that was an
indulgence for another day.

"Clay," Maizie yelled as she dropped her purse and a bag of
canned goods on the kitchen table. "I need some help."

The television was blaring in the family room, Blossom the
cat was twining around her legs demanding to be fed, and
hubby dear was missing in action. Everything was operating
normally in the Walker household.

"Clayton, where are you?" Maizie was perfectly capable of
toting in the rest of the food, but it was the principle of
the thing.

"Clay-ton!"

That apparently got his attention. "What do you need,
Babes?" he yelled, not bothering to abandon the television.

"I want some help with the groceries."

"Can you wait just a minute? I’m watching something."

Maizie stomped into the family room to see what was so
important. Bass fishing? Clay wasn’t waiting for a
touchdown to be scored or a home run to be hit. No - he was
watching some guy in an expensive boat troll for fish. That
was almost as boring as watching the grass grow.

Maizie was normally even tempered – except when she was in
a snit, and that didn’t really count – but that didn’t keep
her from grabbing the remote, hitting the off button and
marching out. Making a grand exit was a talent she’d
learned at her mama’s knee, and she happened to be darned
good at it, even if she did say so herself.

Crap. Clay knew he was in a mess of trouble, again. What
had he done this time? All he’d wanted to do was see if
Skeeter Jackson won the tournament and the hundred thousand
dollars prize. That kind of cash would go a long way toward
solving at least one of his problems.

Getting immersed in that pipe dream had done nothing more
than irritate his sweetie, so it was time to make amends.
Should he go with the "I’m so sorry, I’m an insensitive
jerk" defense? That usually worked, especially if he
followed up with some heavy necking - that and a promise to
do the dishes, take out the trash, clean the bathroom,
yada, yada, yada.

"I’m sorry, Sweetie." Clay was honestly remorseful. He
hated upsetting Maizie. He’d fallen head over heels in love
with her when they kids and that feeling hadn’t dimmed with
age, if anything it had increased in intensity.

"Why don’t you sit down and let me get you a Coke," he
suggested. Without waiting for an answer he retrieved a
soft drink from the refrigerator.

Clay was about to give himself a big pat on the back. Then
he took a good look at his wife’s face. Something was
drastically wrong, and it didn’t have anything to do with a
fishing tournament or bringing in the groceries.

"Clay." Maizie rubbed the cold can against her face. "Is
this all we have to look forward to?"

Moses would have had a hard time answering that question,
and frankly it scared Clay Walker silly. When your wife got
philosophical all hell was about to break loose, and he
didn’t have a clue where it was going or how things would
turn out.