“Mama says that on Sunday I have to wear shoes and a dress. It’s painful but I do it for her.”
Blake sat down in his recliner. “Where do the strangers sit?”
“Anywhere there’s an empty pew.”
He would have liked it a lot more if she’d said that he could sit with her family, but then that could prove disastrous if Granny decided he was Walter halfway through the service.
“So are you thinkin’ about coming to services on Sunday morning, then?” she asked.
Shooter came over to his side and he scratched the top of the dog’s head. “Thought I might. You want to drive over to Olney and get a hamburger with me afterward?”
“Already got plans for Sunday dinner but thank you all the same,” she said.
“Another time?”
“We’ll see,” she said. “I hear Shooter whining. Sounds like he’s ready to brave the cold. Thanks for checking on Granny.”
“I feel sorry for her, trying so hard to get things in order. Poor old girl doesn’t need to be traipsing through the cold. See you tomorrow at noon. Hey, would you know anyone who’d like to have some firewood? I’ll give away all the mesquite wood that anyone wants to haul off. It’s already piled up so they can bring their chainsaws and help themselves.”
“You could put up a sign in the feed store and Mama’s place. Lots of folks around here use wood in the winter, and mesquite burns really well,” she said.
“Good idea. Thanks, Allie. And thanks for visitin’ with me. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Blake,” she said softly.
He hummed all the way to the door to let the dog out one more time that night and decided as he waited for Shooter to water a nearby bush that he didn’t want to talk to Sharlene or to Mary Jo. Maybe he was making progress after all.
Chapter Six
A blast of warm air and the familiar smell of a feed store hit Blake square in the face when he opened the door to the Dry Creek Feed and Supply store that cold Wednesday morning. He removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his coat pocket while he took stock of the store. Not too different from the one he and his folks used in Muenster but quite a bit smaller. Shelves of supplies to his right along with a small assortment of tools, three or four round racks of clothing to the left, with a few sacks of feed piled up at the back of the store. Most likely that door at the back led into a warehouse where folks who bought large quantities of feed backed their trucks up to load them.
“Can I help you?” A lady made her way to the front.
“I need to place an order for about three hundred steel fence posts, five feet tall should do it, and maybe ten rolls of barbed wire,” he said. “I’m Blake Dawson and I’m new in town.”
“I know who you are.” She was pretty danged cute in those tight-fitting jeans and chambray shirt tucked in behind a cowgirl belt that cinched up to show off a small waistline.
“But I don’t know you.” He smiled.
She smiled. “I’m Lizzy, sister to the woman who is putting a roof on for you. Welcome to Dry Creek.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Lizzy,” he said.
“I have what you need in the warehouse. It’s twenty dollars extra to deliver it unless you spend five hundred dollars, and I can get it there tomorrow.” She circled around behind the cash register and hit several buttons, then looked up and said, “Cash or credit card?”
“Credit card and I reckon that order mounts up to a lot more than five hundred dollars so I’d appreciate it if you’d deliver it to the Lucky Penny. Tomorrow is fine. You mind if I put a flier up there on your bulletin board with those others?”
“What are you selling? Surely you’re not already leaving the ranch.” Her dishwater-blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and those light brown eyes had more questions behind them than whether he was leaving Dry Creek before he’d even unpacked.
Blake headed toward the front of the store. “Not selling anything and, no, I’m determined to make that ranch profitable so I’m not even thinking about leaving. I’m giving away mesquite wood to anyone who wants to come get it. Folks are welcome to cut down however much they want for free.” He used four thumbtacks stuck on the outside of the corkboard to attach the flier he’d made the night before on his computer. “How long have you been in business?” He handed her his business credit card.
“My whole life.” She pulled it free from his fingers and ran it through the machine, then handed it back, waited a second for the tape to roll out of the cash register, and laid it in front of him. “Sign right there.”
He scrawled his name on the bottom. “Are you the person I talked to when Irene showed up on my doorstep?”
She gave him his copy. “Yes, I am. Are you going to be home before noon today? I hear the church ladies are bringing more food.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will definitely be there. How long have you worked here?” he asked.
“I own this place,” she said.