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Excerpt from At Long Last,
Love
A Collection
by Judy Bagshaw
A sample from the short story
Duet:
"I think he likes you.” Tricia’s face was a study of annoyance at
her sister Mary’s teasing words.
“Keep your voice down!” It was close to midnight, and many of the other
passengers on the luxury tour bus were sleeping. Harry, their driver, had
muted the lights, and a peaceful hush lay over the vehicle.
“Oh, stop being so prim,” Mary said to her slightly older sibling. “He may
look a little like the Pillsbury Dough Boy, but he’s really kind of cute.”
“I’m not playing this game with you,” Tricia said, a smile threatening at
the corner of her mouth. It was hard to resist Mary’s inherent good humor.
“I’m fifty-six years old, for heaven’s sake. I don’t even use the word
cute where men are concerned. Besides, I’m a widow, remember?”
“Ben has been gone for two years now,” Mary said, suddenly serious. “He
would be the last person to want you to just sit yourself on a shelf. So,
when I say I think Harry likes you, you’re free to say,
‘oh-really-how-nice-I rather-like-him-myself.’”
“Mary!” Tricia fixed a no-nonsense look on her face and glared at her
sister.
“And that schoolmarm look of yours doesn’t work, either,” Mary said. “I’ve
known you too long and I’m immune. Now, when are you going to speak to the
man and put him out of his misery?”
Tricia chuckled in spite of her annoyance. Mary was incorrigible.
“Probably at the same time you mind your own business and start acting
your age!”
Mary feigned a thoughtful expression. “I could do that,” she said. “Mind
you, I don’t feel my age. How do fifty-four-year-olds act anyhow?”
“Certainly not like starry-eyed fourteen-year-olds,” Tricia said, taking
her turn to tease her little sister. “Look, Mare, I agreed to come on this
trip with you to relax and get away from things for a while. I’m not
interested in romance. I had the great love of my life with Ben, and I’m
content with those memories.”
“Who are you trying to convince, me or you?” Mary said softly.
Tricia looked at her sister and felt exasperated. This was an old
argument, one they’d been having for a year now. Mary thought Tricia was
too young to just dry up and be the grieving widow for the rest of her
life. But Mary didn’t understand. Mary still had Bill. And their two boys
had dutifully married nice girls and produced a grandbaby each. Tricia and
Ben, as much as they had wanted a family, had never had children. Memories
were all Tricia had to hold on to. So she was reluctant to let them go.
She smiled with great affection at her sister. “Get some sleep, Mare,” she
said gently. “We’ll be at the hotel soon. Tomorrow will be a big day.”
“You can’t avoid this conversation forever,” Mary said, putting her seat
back and getting comfortable.
“I can certainly try,” Tricia said, doing the same.
“Rise and shine,” Harry said in his jovial, deep voice. A look in
his mirror showed most of the passengers shifting to a seated position and
groggily trying to pull themselves together.
He particularly noticed the classy redhead five rows back, and he sighed
to himself. Even just emerging from sleep, she was lovely. If only he—
“Hey, Harry!” Suzy, the tour guide, had suddenly appeared at his shoulder.
“What’s up, kiddo?” he said to the perky, freckle-faced girl.
“Where were you just now?” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I had to say your name three times before you answered.”
He felt his face go hot and knew he must be blushing. Suzy began to
giggle. “Why the blush?” And then her eyes grew wide with amusement.
“Okay, who is she?”
“Oh, cut it out,” Harry said, trying to sound severe.
“Let’s see if I can guess.” She stood and faced the passengers, craning to
see faces. “I don’t think it’s Betty Shneider. She’s a little too gossipy,
I think, for your taste.”
“I said cut it out,” Harry said, hoping like mad no one could hear Suzy’s
teasing speculations. He was by nature a very shy man and really didn’t
like this kind of attention.
“Connie, Barbara and Greta are all with their hubbies,” Suzy remarked
thoughtfully, “unless there’s an unscrupulous side of you I don’t know.”
“I won’t even dignify that remark,” Harry said. “Now come on. Be a good
girl and sit back down.”
“In a minute. Let’s see. Shirley—No. Maude—Definitely not. —Wait! I know!”
Harry cringed.
“It’s that nice Mrs. Martin—Tricia!”
Harry’s blush deepened and he could feel his stomach tense. He answered as
calmly as he could. “Suzy, you have a wild imagination. Now, have you
called the hotel to make sure they’re expecting us? We’ll be there in less
than twenty minutes.”
“Oh, cripes, thanks for reminding me,” Suzy said, and dug for her cell
phone.
Having effectively distracted her, Harry took a deep, calming breath and
focused on his driving. It bothered him that Suzy had come so close to
guessing his secret.
He had indeed noticed Mrs. Martin—Tricia—from the moment she had first
boarded the bus two days ago. She was so elegant, so gracious. She had
smiled at him and been so nice that Harry had felt he was on top of the
world. He’d even written a song about her, not that he’d ever tell her
that.
“Okay, all set,” Suzy chirped in his ear. “So was I right?”
Harry cringed inside. Here we go again. “You have a one-track mind, little
girl,” he said gruffly. “How about you leave the old man alone and take
care of your passengers.”
Suzy laughed and patted Harry on the shoulder. “Okay, I’ll drop it for
now,” she said with affection. “But I’m not going to give up playing
matchmaker here. I give you fair warning.”
Heaven help me, Harry thought.
Harry had been a bachelor his whole life. Oh, he’d had his small share of
romances over the years, but he’d never made it to the altar. His four
sisters had made it their business to try and find him a nice wife. But he
was mostly just embarrassed by their fix-ups and the enforced dinner
dates. He didn’t know why. He supposed it was because he was such a
backward sort with women, shy and unsure of himself—which was strange
since he’d grown up in a house full of women. But he never knew what to
say and was always conscious of his balding head and soft paunch.
He told himself he was happy with his single life. He loved his job and
got to travel and meet lots of wonderful people. But if he looked deep
inside himself, he had to admit he was lonely. He’d have to retire
sometime in the next few years, and the prospect of living the rest of his
days alone was terrifying to him.
He pulled into the hotel parking lot. “Here we are folks,” he announced on
the intercom. “Enjoy the next two days.”
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Welcome to the shiny new
edition of At Long Last, Love, my collection of short stories
featuring big beautiful—and in some cases slightly more mature—heroines.
Along with the new publisher and the new cover, this edition includes
another story, making an even dozen romantic tales for your enjoyment.
These are heroines you’ll recognize because they are real women like you
and me. They have busy lives and character flaws. They make mistakes and
have regrets. They long for love and have suffered hurts. But they
persevere. And in the stories in this collection they find the love
they’ve been looking for, sometimes where they least expect it.
As a reader myself, I was frustrated for years by the lack of stories that
reflected the reality of my physical existence. I knew from experience
that romance didn’t have a dress size, so why wasn’t I seeing full-figured
women represented in popular romantic fiction? I decided to address that
lack, and this collection is part of the result.
