3. Hattie

"Hattie," Peyton snips my way, her usual tone when it comes to our greetings. The sun is hot, the waves are warm, and the sand is scalding right here at the beach just beneath the country club. "I want you to meet Missy Livingston of the Livingston Live Well for Life Foundation." The brunette by her side smiles brightly as if affirming the fact. "She'll be conducting classes on the premises for the next couple of weeks as a courtesy for our patrons."

The brunette frowns momently. Courtesy? Try at a significant discount in hopes to rope in the masses. And hopefully, once they get a taste for health and healing, they'll line my pockets with a healthy and healing pad of greenery.

I make a face at the woman without meaning to.

"Nice to meet you, Missy," I say, nodding her way. "I'm Hattie Holiday, the event planner here at the club. I'd be happy to help you set up your classes whenever you like."

"Perfect," the woman says. "I'll be here this evening for the Sunset Soiree. Actually, there's not much to plan. Peyton already cleared me to run classes out here from nine to five for the next two weeks. But I wouldn't mind some help getting the word out to the patrons." The wealthiest patrons, although in a place like this, the words wealthy and patron are a tautology, she thinks to herself. Nevertheless, I need to juice all the green they've got.

Tautology? I bite down on a smile. Big vocabulary for a woman hungry to juice the club members for all their green. But then, she'll have to have more than a big vocabulary to squeeze a single dime out of this crowd. They might have a pocketful of government-issued lettuce, but it doesn't mean they like to share their salad.

"And don't forget"—Peyton leans in and narrows her eyes at me in a menacing manner—"the Fourth of July will be here before you know it. Think luxury, think class, think French food." She grabs Missy by the shoulder and stalks off for the clubhouse.

"French food?" I call out. "But it's an American holiday."

I'm about to inform her that burgers and hot dogs will be front and center on the menu when a hurricane made of fur threads its way between my legs and blazes past me, nearly knocking both Missy and Peyton to the ground.

And that hurricane doesn't stop coming.

Cricket and Rookie may be leading the charge, but an entire infantry of their furry friends are in hot pursuit. Just about every pooch, cat, and—I can't stake my life on it, but I'm pretty sure I just saw a sheep bolt by as well—are on the move.

And just when I think they're doing an impression of the fifty-yard dash, a giant Saint Bernard swoops between my legs and takes me along for the ride as I lodge onto his back.

"Whoa," I cry as he races near the shoreline. I try to grasp onto his neck, but it's so thick I can hardly wrap my arms around it. I swipe for an ear—heck, I'll take a snout. Instead, my entire body lists to the right, and just my luck, he goes left.

I hit the ground, face-first, and end up with not only a mouthful of sand, but a couple of eyefuls of it, too.

"My eyes." I gag and sputter as I struggle to right myself. "I can't see," I call out as I begin to crawl toward the shoreline.

My word.I hear Peggy bleat from somewhere behind. You can't take this girl anywhere. She makes a bull in a china shop look like the belle of the ball.

"Nice one," I say. "Although, if I don't get my vision back, I might spend the rest of my life doing an impersonation of a bull in a china shop."

"What was that?" Peggy asks, sounding a bit stupefied by my response.

"Never mind," I mumble as I do my best to spit the sand from between my teeth, still blindly crawling my way to the water.

Hey?Clarabelle muses. If Hattie goes blind, I might have a fighting chance with that wall of muscles she's dating.

"You keep your hands off that wall of muscles, Clarabelle Harper."

Normally, I'd be teasing, but at the moment I'm as serious as the heart attack I'm about to have. My mouth opens to say something else just as a wall of water smacks me in the face and does its best to drown me.

It takes more than a few minutes of coughing, sputtering, and rubbing my eyes raw for me to get my bearings again.

Peggy and Clarabelle help pull me aside as the three of us land back in the sand. I flop unceremoniously across their laps like a fish out of water as the two of them take turns slapping me silly and shouting for me to stay away from the light.

"I'm fine," I say, trying my best to sit up.

"Fine, my shiny behind," Peggy says. "What made you say that comment about the bull in the china shop? It's like you knew what I was thinkin'."

My mouth opens and closes.

Oh my word!

Okay, don't panic.

"I was just—" Oh, good grief. How was I supposed to know she wasn't speaking out loud?

"You know"—Clarabelle gives me the side-eye—"I was just thinking about that wall of muscles of yours when you said those very same words."

Gah!

I sit up straight and do my best not to burp up a minnow from all that water that just made its way down my throat.

Peggy gasps. "Hattie Holiday, how in the world did you know what we were thinking?"

"Oh, that's just a little old party trick." I wave the two of them off as if I had any idea on how to make this entire conversation go away.

"Party trick?" Peggy nearly strangles my arm as she shakes me. "Oh, hon, if you can figure out what people are thinkin', I gotta have me some of that. I'll give you every dime in my bank account if you teach me how to do it." The things I can do with a trick like that up my sleeve. If I think I can see right through men now, imagine what I could glean if I could peek under the hood—the one on top, of course. I already know what's brewing under the lower hood, and it ain't much.

I scoff at the woman for even going there.

Although, let's face it, life would be a lot easier if Peggy gave me all of her money.

"I want in on this little party trick, too." Clarabelle pulls me her way and soon the two of them are yanking me back and forth like a prognosticating wishbone.

"How about this," I say, doing my best to break free from their demonic hold. "The three of us reconvene back on the beach for the Sunset Soiree and I'll try to drum up a few tips and tricks to help the two of you—try to predict what others might be thinking."

I leap back to my feet and do my best to stagger away from them.

Predict what others are thinking, my foot,Peggy calls out.

"It's true," I say, turning around just in time to see Peggy's eyes round out.

"Knew it," she calls out while jabbing a finger my way.

Clarabelle shakes her head. Hattie Holiday, your so-called little party trick is about as little as your behind.

I suck in a quick breath and shake my head in horror.

Clarabelle claps her hands and laughs. "Oh, I knew it, too!"

And just like that, I've been outwitted and outplayed by a couple of conniving grannies.

"We'll see you tonight," Peggy shouts out.

"And bring your party tricks, too," Clarabelle calls out before the two of them break out into cackles.

Party tricks indeed.

So much for a calm and peaceful summer.

I get all the way to the Cottage House where a staff member lets me know there was a package delivered for me and I head over to find a small pink box with an envelope that has my name printed over the top of it. I quickly open up the envelope and it reads, To the most beautiful woman I know. XO

It's written in all caps and the E's are nothing but three straight lines. Odd but fun, and Lord knows I can use a little fun.

A silly grin buoys to my face as I open up the little pink box, and once I see what waits for me inside, I can't help but gasp.