“It’s a flat tire,” Charlie announced.
Nevada pointed to the other women. “Annabelle Weiss, the new town librarian, and Heidi Simpson. Heidi and her grandfather bought the Castle Ranch.”
“Goat girl,” Charlie said. “I’ve heard of you. Great cheese.”
“Thank you.”
“This is Chantal Dixon.”
Charlie glared at Nevada. “You did not just say that name.”
Nevada held in a grin. “But it’s so pretty.”
“Don’t make me hurt you.” She turned to the other two women. “Call me Charlie and we’ll get along fine.”
“Why don’t you like your name?” Heidi asked.
“Do I look like a Chantal? My mother had delusions of grandeur when it came to me.” She paused. “She hoped I would be petite and delicate like her. But I take after my dad. Thank God.” She walked toward the car. “This seems simple enough.”
“We were just going to call a tow truck to help,” Annabelle murmured. The librarian barely came up to Charlie’s shoulder.
Charlie shook her head. “It’s a flat tire, ladies, not the end of the world.”
They all looked at each other.
“I’m pretty good with repairing a barn,” Heidi admitted.
“Not helpful if you want to drive.” Charlie turned to Nevada. “You have to know what to do. You have three brothers.”
“My three brothers are the reason I never had to worry about my car,” Nevada told her cheerfully, then laughed as Charlie’s frown turned into a scowl. “Yes, I could have learned how to change a tire. I chose not to. If it helps, I’m great with a backhoe.”
“You’re giving women a bad reputation,” Charlie muttered. “I swear, I need to hold some classes in how to be self-sufficient. You probably can’t fix a leaky faucet, either.”
“I can do that,” Nevada said. “I’m much better with home repair than cars.”
“Not helpful right now.”
Nevada leaned toward Annabelle and Heidi. “She’s not usually so crabby.”
“Yes, I am,” Charlie snapped as she went to the trunk and popped it open. “At least you have a spare. All right, you three. We’re going to do this together. I’ll talk you through it.”
“I’m already late for work,” Nevada said, inching toward her car. “So, I’m going to pass.”
Charlie shook her head. “Don’t even think about it. You’re all going to learn something today.”
“The guys at the construction site put a snake in my truck and I was fine with it. Does that count?”
“Was it poisonous?”
“No.”
“Then it doesn’t count. Come on. Gather ’round.” She held up a tool in the shape of an X. “Anyone know what this is?”
JO FINISHED LOADING the vodka bottles, then flattened the box and folded it into the recycling bin behind the bar. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, the kind of day when nearly anyone would rather be outside than stuck in a bar. Anyone but her. She left the bright blue sky behind and ducked back into the restful quiet of her business.
Everything was going well, she thought happily. A steady flow of customers kept her bank balance healthy. She saved a little each month, putting it aside for emergencies, retirement, whatever. She had a cat whom she adored and plenty of friends. A good life, she thought with only a small quiver of guilt.
She’d heard that people who were really successful sometimes felt like impostors. They worried that they would be told that their good fortune was all a mistake—that they weren’t talented, or they didn’t get the promotion. Sometimes she felt like that. Not about her job, but about her life.
She’d never thought she would be this at peace. This happy. She hadn’t expected to find a warm, welcoming community, to have friends, a nice home. The truth was she didn’t deserve it, but there didn’t seem to be any way to give it back.
She walked back to the kitchen, where Marisol, her part-time cook, scooped avocados into a bowl for fresh guacamole.
“Got everything?” Jo asked.
The tiny fiftysomething woman smiled at her. “You always ask and I always tell you all is well. The suppliers are good people. They deliver when they say.”
“I like to be sure.”
“You like to keep control.” Marisol wrinkled her nose. “You need a man.”
“So you’ve been telling me for years.”
“I’m still right.” She switched to Spanish, probably telling Jo she was shriveling up inside and that all her problems could be solved by the love of a good man.
“You’re hardly an unbiased source,” Jo muttered. “You got married at, what? Twelve.”
“Sixteen. Nearly forty years and we already have eight grandchildren. You should be so lucky.”
“I should, but I’m not. You enjoy your blessings. I’m fine.”
“Fine is not happy.”