CHAPTER 7:

A massage, an energizing facial and coming home to find her little girl

bubbling over with happiness, those went a long way toward lifting

Shelby’s mood.

But the biggest lift had been unburdening herself to her grandmother.

She’d told her everything—about finding the safe-deposit box and what

was in it, the private detective, the spreadsheet she’d created, and her need

to find a paying job as soon as she could.

By the time she’d given Callie her supper, her bath, tucked her in for the

night, she felt she knew all there was to know about Chelsea—and had

made a promise to have Chelsea over as soon as she could.

She went back down, found her father stretched out in the La-Z-Boy

recliner he loved, watching a basketball game on his new TV. And her

mother sitting on the sofa crocheting.

“She go down all right?”

“Out like a light before I’d finished her bedtime story. You wore her out

today, Mama.”

“It sure was fun. The two girls were like tadpoles swimming in their own

pond, hardly still a minute. Suzannah and I talked about taking turns,

having Chelsea come here, then taking Callie there. And I’ve got Tracey’s

number for you, right in on the kitchen board. You ought to call Chelsea’s

mama, honey, make a good bridge there.”

“I will. You gave her a happy day. Can I ask you for a favor?”

“You know you can.”

“I ran into Emma Kate today.”

“I heard about that.” Fingers still working yarn and needle, Ada Mae

glanced up with a smile. “It’s the Ridge, baby. If I don’t hear about

something ten minutes after it happened, I know I have to have your daddy

check my hearing. Hattie Munson—you remember she lives across from

Bitsy, though they’re feuding about something half the time. They’re

feuding now because Bitsy’s getting a new kitchen and didn’t take Hattie’s

advice about the new appliances. Hattie’s boy works for LG, but Bitsy

bought Maytag, and Hattie took that as a personal insult. Of course, Hattie

Munson takes offense if she sneezes in her own kitchen and you don’t say

Gesundheit from yours.”

Amused at the way her mother found a way to wind through a story, and

how her father cursed at the ballplayers, the referees, the coaches, Shelby

eased a hip on the arm of the couch.

“So, they might be feuding, but Hattie doesn’t miss any tricks and saw

you and Emma Kate outside Bitsy’s house, and saw you go on in. How’s

that kitchen coming? I haven’t gotten over there in more than a week.”

“They were putting cabinets in. Pretty ones.”

“Emma Kate’s young man—Matt—and Griffin. Cutie-pies, the pair of

them—and they do fine work. I’m having them do me a master bath, an en

suite, out of your old room.”

“Now, Ada Mae.” Clayton surfaced from the game long enough to hear

about the bathroom.

“I’m doing it, Clayton, so you’d best climb on board. Griff said how they

could take out that wall, and I could have me a spa-like en suite bathroom.

I’ve been looking at magazines, getting ideas. And Griff, he’s got whole

books just on plumbing fixtures—I’ve never seen the like of some of them.

He’s done himself an en suite already. I went over to the old Tripplehorn

place to see it, and it’s like a magazine, even if he is still sleeping on an air

mattress on the bedroom floor. He’s finished the kitchen over there now,

and it just makes me green with envy.”

“Don’t even start, Ada Mae.”

“I like my kitchen just fine,” she said to Clayton, then grinned at Shelby,

mouthed, For now. “I bet you and Emma Kate picked up right where you

left off.”

Miles from that, Shelby thought. “That’s the favor. She said she’d like to

meet me tomorrow, at Bootlegger’s, about seven-thirty, if I could. But—”

“You go right on and do that. Old friends are the bricks and mortar of

your life. I don’t know what I’d do without Suzannah. Your daddy and I

will watch Callie, get her to bed. We’d love to.”

“Finally something I can agree to.” Clayton looked over at his daughter.

“You take some time catching up with Emma Kate. We’ll spoil Callie.”

“Thank you.” She leaned over, kissed her mother, got up, kissed her

father. “I’m going on up because a day of pampering’s made me sleepy.

Thanks for that, too, Mama. And we’ll need to eat at six tomorrow night.

I’m cooking dinner.”

“Oh, but—”

“I’m doing it, Ada Mae,” she said in the same tone her mother had used

to her father, and had Clayton snickering.

“I’ve gotten to be a pretty good cook, and you’ll judge for yourself. I’m

going to pull my weight while Callie and I are here, because I was raised

right. ’Night.”

“She was raised right,” Clayton said when Shelby started upstairs. “So

let’s pat ourselves on the back there, and we’ll see what’s for dinner

tomorrow.”

“She wasn’t so pale and tired-looking tonight.”

“No, she wasn’t. Let’s see how it goes for the next few days, and be glad

we’ve got them home.”

“I am, and I’ll be gladder when she makes things up with Emma Kate.”

• • •

IT WASN’T HARD to keep busy. By mid-morning, she hauled out the stroller.

Taking Callie on a stroll around town, picking up what she wanted for the

chicken dinner she intended to make for her parents was an easy—casual—

way to wander around the Ridge and see if anyone was hiring.

The clouds had lifted, and the air had the bright-edged sparkle of spring

after a shower. She put Callie in her pink denim jacket with a light cap—

and since she might find herself applying for a job, did her makeup before

setting out.

“Are we going to see Chelsea, Mama?”

“We’re walking to town, baby. To the grocery store, and I have to open

up a bank account. Maybe we’ll stop in and see Granny.”

“See Granny! Chelsea, too.”

“I’ll call Chelsea’s mama later, and we’ll see.”

She passed Emma Kate’s house, noted the workman truck in the drive—

and had to resist the urge to lift a hand in a wave across the street where she

imagined Hattie Munson’s eagle eye was trained on her.

People like Ms. Munson did plenty of talking, she knew. There was

welcome in the Ridge, but there were those—and more than a few—who’d

enjoy gossiping over the back fence and in the grocery store aisle, over

lunch at Sid and Sadie, about the poor Pomeroy girl who’d come home a

widow with a child. But what did you expect when she’d run off that way

with a man nobody knew a thing about?

They’d talk about how she’d moved north, rarely came home, dropped

out of college after her parents had worked hard to send her.

There’d be plenty to gossip about. And they didn’t know the half of it.

The smart thing to do would be to keep her head down, be friendly and

get steady work. Steady work would mean some sort of day care for Callie,

so that had to be balanced.

Day care would be good for Callie. Just look how she’d latched onto this

Chelsea. She needed to interact with other kids, even if it meant most of any

paycheck coming in went out again.

While Callie talked to Fifi, Shelby took the fork into town. She kept her

eyes peeled for houses for sale. When she moved out on her own, she

wanted something close by. Close enough maybe Callie could walk to her

grandmother’s, or to Granny’s. To friends, to town, just as she had.

A little house, two bedrooms, maybe with enough land for a small

garden. She’d missed gardening in the condo, and hadn’t had a chance in

Philadelphia.

She let her mind drift, imagined the house in her head. Like a cottage,

that’s all they needed, and she’d plant flowers and have a vegetable patch,

some herbs. She’d teach Callie how to plant and tend and harvest.

She could haunt yard sales and flea markets for furniture, for bargains

she could refinish or paint or reupholster. Warm colors and sink-into chairs.

They’d have a good life here, whatever it took to make it.

She took the main road, with shops and a few old houses on each side of

the winding street.

She could work in a gift shop, or wait tables, ring up sales at the

drugstore or food at the market. Granny had told her she could come work

at the salon, but she didn’t have any real talent for hair—or a license.

Whatever she did there would be make work, and her family was already

making enough for her.

She could check at the hotel or the lodge just outside of town. Not today,

not with Callie along, but they should go on her list.

She liked the way it all looked, freshening up for spring with storefronts

shining in the sunlight, tubs and hanging baskets of flowers decking the

buildings that climbed up or down the hilly road. She enjoyed seeing people

stopping to talk, a few tourists wandering along the steep sidewalks, hikers

with their big backpacks taking pictures of the town well, where legend had

it star-crossed lovers, from feuding families, would meet at midnight.

Until the girl’s father shot the boy dead, and the girl died of a broken

heart.

Their rendezvous, so it was said, gave the town its name, and the well—

haunted, of course—ended up on a lot of cameras and canvases.

Maybe she could get an office job since she had decent computer skills.

But the truth was she had no experience there. Her work experience spread

to helping out at the salon—filling shampoo bottles, sweeping the floor,

working the register—babysitting, working in the college bookstore a

couple of semesters.

And singing with the band.

She wasn’t likely to form a band, and was beyond filling shampoo

bottles. So retail maybe. Or maybe she could look into opening a day care.

But the Ridge had one—and those who had family usually had a mother or

cousin or sister who’d watch their kids when they worked.

Retail, she thought again. Retail or waitressing. There could be

opportunities there, especially since summer was coming, and summer

brought more tourists, more hikers, more families who rented cabins or

stayed at the hotel.

The Artful Ridge—local artists mostly. Mountain Treasures, gifts and

whatnots. The Hasty Market—selling staples and snacks for anyone who

didn’t want to go the half mile to Haggerty Food Market. There was the

pharmacy, the ice cream shop, the bar and grill, the Pizzateria, Al’s Liquors.

Farther down and around the corner sat Shady’s Bar, which was just that.

And her mama would have a heart attack if she took a job there.

Considering her options, she stopped in the salon first so her granny

could show off Callie.

“I’m going to do your hair,” Viola told Callie. “Crystal, get me one of

those booster seats, would you? You can sit right here at Granny’s station,

Callie Rose. I used to do your Gamma’s hair, and your mama’s. Now I get

to do yours.”

“Callie’s hair.” Callie lifted her arms to Viola, then brushed at Viola’s

hair. “Granny’s hair.”

“About the same, isn’t it—though mine takes some doing these days.”

“Some doing,” Callie echoed, and made Viola laugh.

“Have a seat there, Shelby, Crystal doesn’t have another head for a half

hour. Look at this beautiful hair.”

Callie, who could sometimes be fussy and impatient at hair-fixing time,

sat happily staring at herself in the mirror.

“I wanna be a princess, Granny.”

“You are a princess, but we’ll give you hair worthy of your rank.” She

brushed through the curls, grabbed one of the big silver clips to hold some

back, and began to do a fancy French braid on the side.

“I heard Bonnie Jo Farnsworth—that’s a cousin of Gilly’s sister’s

husband—is getting a divorce from her husband. That’s Les Wickett,

Shelby, who ran with Forrest some when they were boys. They haven’t

been married two years, and have a baby not six months old. Had a big

wedding at the hotel cost her daddy two arms and his left leg.”

“I remember Les a little. I’m sorry to hear he’s having troubles.”

“I heard trouble’s been brewing since before they cut the wedding cake.”

Crystal, who owned a tumbling mane of streaky blond hair, gave a knowing

wiggle of her eyebrows. “But I probably shouldn’t say.”

“Of course you should say.” Viola tied off the first braid, started on the

second. “And in considerable detail.”

“Well, maybe you didn’t know that Bonnie Jo used to go around with

Boyd Kattery.”

“Loretta Kattery’s middle boy. Those Kattery boys are rough customers.

Forrest had a set-to with Arlo—the youngest of them—not long ago when

Arlo got skunk drunk down to Shady’s and started a fight over a pool game.

Arlo took a swing at Forrest when Forrest went in to break it up. You know

Arlo, Shelby. Bony boy with straw-colored hair and a bad attitude. Drove a

motorcycle, and tried to catch your eye.”

“I remember Arlo. He got suspended and sent off awhile for beating up

on a boy half his size outside of school.”

“Boyd’s considerably worse, let me tell you.” As she talked, Crystal

readied her station for the next customer. “And he and Bonnie Jo were

always sneaking off, then they broke up when he got arrested for . . .”

She glanced at Callie, who was too busy admiring herself in the mirror to

pay attention.

“For, ah, having certain illegal substances in his possession. Then Bonnie

Jo took up with Les, and before you can click your heels they’re planning a

wedding. You ask me, her daddy was so relieved she was marrying a nice

boy and done with Boyd, he’d’ve paid double what that wedding cost. But

Boyd got released right before the wedding, and there’s been some talk

down in the holler he and Bonnie Jo have, well, taken up again, and now

the two of them are off down to Florida, where he has cousins—she left that

baby behind like it was leftover pizza or something. And it’s said the

cousins make up some of the substances he was put away for.”

It was nearly as good as a massage and facial, just sitting there for

twenty minutes, watching her granny create a princess do for her girl while

Callie preened in the mirror. And listening to gossip that wasn’t about her.

Viola looped the braids into a crown, gathered the curls into a tail she

fixed with a rose-trimmed band.

“Pretty. I’m pretty, Granny!”

“Yes, you are.” Viola bent down so their faces reflected together. “A girl

should know when she’s pretty. But there’s a couple things I can think of

right off more important.”

“What’s more?”

“Being smart. Are you smart, Callie Rose?”

“Mama says.”

“And she knows. Then there’s being kind. If you can be pretty and smart

and kind, well, that’s what makes a real princess.”

She kissed Callie’s cheek, lifted her down. “If I didn’t have somebody

coming in, I’d take you two girls out to lunch. Next time we’ll plan it.”

“Next time we’ll take you out to lunch.” Shelby settled Callie in her

stroller. “Crystal, I’m thinking I should find some work. Do you know

anybody who’s hiring?”

“Oh, let’s see now. Spring and summer they hire on extra a lot of places.

I didn’t think you’d be after work, Shelby, not with the money you’d have

from—”

She slapped a hand over her mouth, looked at Callie in distress. “I’m

awful sorry. I don’t know why my mouth just runs out without being

hitched up to my brain.”

“It’s all right. I just want to keep busy. You know how it is.”

“I know how it is to need to pay the bills, but if you want busy work,

maybe over at The Artful Ridge. It’s got some class, and they do good

business, especially once the tourists start coming in. Might be they could

use another hostess at the big restaurant. They want good-lookers there. Oh,

and Rendezvous Gardens—you know the landscape place? They always

need help this time of year. That could be fun if you like plants and such.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it. We’ve got to get to the food market. I’m

making dinner for Mama and Daddy tonight. Granny, you and Grandpa

should come. I’d love to make dinner for you.”

“I’d love to have you make dinner for me. I’ll tell Jackson.”

“It’s at six, but you could come a little early because I have to leave by

about twenty after seven and meet Emma Kate.”

“Have you met Emma Kate’s boyfriend?” Crystal asked.

“Not yet.”

“She hooked a good one. Now the other—Griffin?” She patted a hand to

her heart. “If I wasn’t engaged to be married for the second time in my life,

I’d head straight in that direction. He’s got a swagger to him. I just love a

man who’s got a swagger to him.”

“There’s your eleven-thirty just come in, Crystal.”

“I’ll bring her right back. It was nice talking to you, Shelby.” She gave

Shelby a good, hard squeeze. “It’s really good to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home.”

“Her first husband had a swagger to him,” Viola said under her breath.

“And he swaggered off with anything female he could talk into it.”

“I hope she does better this time.”

“I like this one. No swagger, but a steady way about him, which she

needs to balance her out. I love that girl like I love raspberry sherbet, but

she needs that balance. What’s for dinner?”

“I’m going to surprise you. And I’d better get to the market or we’ll be

ordering from the Pizzateria.”

She ran into Chelsea and her mother in the food market, which added a

half hour onto her time—and produced a deal to meet at the town park the

next day so the girls could play together.

Now that she was cooking a meal for six she fiddled with the menu as

she shopped. She made a good roast chicken with garlic and sage and

rosemary, and she could make some red potatoes in that zingy dressing she

cut out of a magazine, the carrots in butter and thyme Callie liked so much,

and some peas. And she’d make biscuits.

Richard hadn’t cared for her biscuits, called them hick bread, she

remembered.

Well, the hell with him.

Maybe she’d make some appetizers, really do it up. And profiteroles for

dessert. The cook they’d had three times a week in Atlanta had shown her

how to make them.

She loaded up ingredients, bribed Callie with animal crackers. And tried

not to swallow out loud when she checked out.

For family, she reminded herself as she counted out the money. Family

was putting a roof over her head, and her daughter’s. She could and would

afford to pay for a good family dinner.

It wasn’t until she wheeled the cart and stroller outside that she

remembered she’d walked.

“Oh, for God’s sake, how stupid am I?”

Three bags of groceries, a stroller and a mile-and-a-half walk.

Muttering to herself, she crammed two bags in the back of the stroller,

slung the big Callie bag over one shoulder and hefted the last grocery bag.

She switched arms at the half-mile mark, seriously considered calling her

mother, or poking into the sheriff’s office to see if Forrest was there and

could give her a ride.

“We’ll make it. We’ll make it fine.”

She thought back to when she’d run the mile into town, and back again,

as a child. Up and down those hills, around those curves.

Well, now she had a child, and three bags of groceries. And she might be

working up a blister on her heel.

She made it to the fork, arms aching, and stopped to gather herself for

the last leg.

The Fix-It Guys truck pulled up beside her. Griff leaned out the window.

“Hey. Did your car break down? Griff,” he added, in case she’d

forgotten. “Griffin Lott.”

“I remember. No, my car didn’t break down. I didn’t take the damn car

because I wasn’t intending to buy so many groceries.”

“Damn car,” Callie said to Fifi, and had Shelby sighing.

“Okay. Want a ride home?”

“More, at this moment, than I want a long and happy life. But . . .”

“I get you only met me yesterday, but Emma Kate’s known me for a

couple years. I’d be in jail if I were an ax murderer. Hey, cutie. Is your

name Callie?”

“Callie.” The little girl angled her head, an accomplished flirt, and

fluffed at her new hairdo. “I’m pretty.”

“As pretty as they come. Look, I can’t leave you by the side of the road

with the pretty girl and three bags of groceries.”

“I was going to say I want a ride, but you don’t have a car seat.”

“Oh. Right.” He shoved a hand at his hair. “We’ll break the law, but it’s

less than a mile, and I’ll drive slow. I’ll pull over anytime another car’s

coming, either direction.”

Her heel burned, her arms ached and her legs felt like rubber stretched

too hard and long. “I think driving slow’s going to be enough.”

“Hold on. Let me help you.”

That made the second person who wasn’t family in the last little while

who’d offered to help her. It was hard to remember how long before that

anyone had.

He got out of the truck, took the bag from her. Feeling came back into

her arm in pins and needles.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

He stowed the groceries while she lifted Callie out. “You sit right there,”

Shelby told Callie. “Sit still while I fold up the stroller.”

“How does it— Oh, I get it.” Griff folded the stroller as if he’d been

doing so for years.

She turned back to Callie as he stowed it, and saw her daughter had

opened a takeout bag sitting on the seat beside her.

She was now eating french fries.

“Callie! Those aren’t yours.”

“I’m hungry, Mama.”

“It’s okay.” Laughing, Griff got in the truck. “I wouldn’t trust anybody

who could resist fries. I had to pick up some stuff in town, grabbed lunch

for me and Matt while I was at it. She can have some fries.”

“It’s past her lunchtime. I didn’t expect to be gone so long.”

“Didn’t you grow up here?”

She took a deep breath as he drove—true to his word—at about twenty

miles an hour. “I should’ve known better.”

Now sitting on her lap, Callie held out a fry to Griff.

“Thanks. You look like your mother.”

“Mama’s hair.”

“Yours is really pretty. Have you been to Miz Vi’s?”

“That’s Granny, Callie. Miz Vi’s Granny.”

“Granny did my hair like a princess. I’m pretty and smart and kind.”

“I can see that. You’re the first princess I’ve had in my truck, so this is a

pretty big deal for me. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Fifi. She likes french fries.”

“I would hope so.” He eased into the driveway. “Whew.” He took a

mock swipe at his forehead. “Made it. You get the princess and her carriage.

I’ll get the groceries.”

“Oh, that’s all right, I can—”

“Haul in three bags of groceries, a kid, a stroller and whatever’s in that

suitcase you’ve got there? Sure you can, but I’ll get the groceries.”

“You carry me!” Callie shoved out of Shelby’s arms, threw herself at

Griff.

“Callie, don’t—”

“I’ve got my orders.” He climbed out, crouched down, tapped his back.

“Okay, princess, climb aboard.”

Callie said, “Whee,” and hooked herself on for a piggyback while

Shelby scrambled out the other door to try to heft whatever was left.

He beat her to it, pulled out two grocery bags, and with one in each arm,

her daughter bouncing gleefully on his back, headed to the front door.

“Is it locked?”

“I don’t think so. Mama may have . . .” She trailed off as he was already

going inside, Callie clinging to his neck and chattering in his ear like he was

her new best friend.

Flustered, Shelby pulled out the stroller, got the last bag, swung her

Callie bag on her shoulder. She managed to get it all in the house, left the

stroller by the door to deal with later.

He’d set the bags on the island. Before she could speak, he stopped her

heart by swinging Callie off his back, dangling her upside down while she

squealed in insane delight, then tossed her up in the air, catching her neatly.

And settled her on his hip.

“I love you,” Callie said, and kissed him enthusiastically on the mouth.

“Is that all it takes?” Grinning, he gave her hair a tug. “Obviously I’ve

been going about my conquests the wrong way for a lot of years.”

“You stay and play with me.”

“Would if I could, but I’ve got to get back to work.”

Callie took a hank of his hair, obviously finding it to her liking, and

wound it around her finger. “You come back and play with me.”

“Sure, sometime.” He looked over at Shelby, smiled, and since she was

staring, she saw he had eyes as green and clever as a cat’s. “You’ve got a

keeper here.”

“She is. Thank you. Ah, do you have children?”

“Me? No.” He set Callie down, gave her a friendly pat on the butt.

“Gotta go, Little Red.”

She wrapped her arms around his legs in a hug. “Bye, mister.”

“Griff. Just Griff.”

“Gwiff.”

“Grrr-iff,” Shelby corrected automatically.

“Grrr,” Callie said, and giggled.

“Grrr-iff’s gotta go,” he said, glanced back at Shelby. “You set?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you so much.”

“No problem.” He started out. “Love this kitchen,” he added, and strode

to the door and out—he did have a swagger about him—before she could

think of anything else.

“Grrr-iff,” Callie told Fifi. “He’s pretty, Mama, and he smells good. He’s

going to come back and play with me.”

“I . . . umm. Huh.”

“I’m hungry, Mama.”

“What? Oh. Of course you are.” Giving herself a shake, Shelby got back

to reality.