The Cottage on Juniper Ridge (19 page)

Just like half the items in Johnson’s Drugs. Stacy would have
actually given the necklace to someone who loved it and couldn’t afford it. But
no way was she letting Hildy go skipping off with it for a song.

“Gosh, I guess it’s not for you, then,” Stacy said regretfully.
“Too bad, because it really does look great.” No lie there. Hildy might not have
been the most gorgeous jewelry model, but the piece was beautiful.

Hildy studied the necklace. “Well.”

“For heaven’s sake, buy the thing,” said Dot, who’d returned
with yet another bargain.

Hildy scowled at her. “Mind your own business, Dot.”

“I am minding my own business. If you don’t want it, I do.”

“I’ll take it,” Hildy told Stacy.

“I know you’re going to enjoy it,” Stacy said as Hildy gave it
to her to ring up.

“Yes, I will,” Hildy agreed.

The transaction completed, she and Darla made their way through
the throng of shoppers toward the door.

“Sorry you didn’t get a chance at the necklace,” Stacy said to
Dot.

“I’m so broken up,” Dot said with a wink.

Well, duh. Of course, Dot had simply been goading Hildy into
that purchase. “Thanks,” Stacy said.

“Paying full price isn’t always a sin. Here.” She handed over a
vintage Log Cabin Syrup tin. “Thought this might look cute on my counter at
Breakfast Haus.”

“It would,” Stacy said, and handed it back. “On the house.”

Dot shook her head and shoved it back at Stacy. “Oh, no. You’re
a business, not a charity.”

“But, like I keep saying, the whole purpose of this business is
matching things up with people who’ll appreciate them.”

“And paying the bills. Don’t you have kids in college? Ring it
up, kiddo.”

Stacy opened her mouth to protest but Dean took the tin out of
her hands, saying, “The customer is always right, babe.”

With people like Dot for customers, how could she lose?

Her daughter had wandered over to the jewelry counter now.
“That’s pretty,” Autumn said, pointing to the filigree necklace Darla had tried
on earlier.

It would look beautiful on her daughter. “Try it on,” Stacy
said.

Autumn did and the necklace lay perfectly on her chest. It was
stunning with her fair skin and blond hair. She picked up the antique mirror to
check out her reflection, and smiled.

“Happy birthday early,” Stacy said.

Autumn’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh, Mom, thanks!” She leaned across the counter and hugged her
mother.

“You know, someone else almost bought that,” Stacy said.

Autumn touched her fingers to it. “I’m glad she changed her
mind.”

“Obviously, it was just waiting for you,” Stacy said.

She said the same thing to several other customers as they
brought their treasures up to the cash register. It was so thrilling to see
objects she’d saved from Nana’s place or had picked up at thrift stores finding
new homes.

“At this rate you’re going to have to go look for more
merchandise,” Dean said.

More trips to thrift stores. Gee, what a shame.

By the end of the day, Stacy was exhausted and if feet could
cry hers would have been howling. She said goodbye to Cass and Chita and turned
the sign on the door to Closed. “I’m pooped,” she told Dean.

“Me, too. And I thought teaching was hard work.”

“All I want to do is go home, take a bubble bath and then flop
on the couch and read,” she said.

“Except we’ve got the kids staying overnight,” Dean reminded
her. “And
they
want to go to Bavarian Alps for pizza
and then come home and play Hearts till all hours.”

Spending time with her kids? She’d rally.

Their family evening was the perfect ending to a perfect day,
and Stacy was smiling when she went to bed. Her shop was a success. This had
been a great idea.

* * *

This had been a dumb idea. On Monday only half a dozen
people had come into Timeless Treasures.

One of them had been Tina Swift, who owned the lace shop next
door. Tina had oohed and ahhed over everything and had purchased Nana’s
chocolate set. Stacy had been delighted that the antique Limoges china had gone
to someone who would appreciate it—until she saw it on display in Tina’s shop
window, marked up to three times what Stacy had charged. Horrified, she’d
marched right in and bought it back. So much for that day’s profits.

The next day she’d had three customers, all lookie-loos who
didn’t buy anything. And on Wednesday it was just her and her timeless
treasures. She closed up early, went to the Sweet Dreams gift shop and bought a
pound of salted caramels.

At least she wasn’t buying stuff, she told herself.
Consumables, that was the way to go. Nothing you could keep.

The problem was, she would end up keeping this candy—on her
hips. She ate it all and by the time Dean got home from work she felt sick.

“How’d it go at the shop?” he asked, and that made her feel
even sicker.

She should have bought two pounds of chocolate.

Chapter Eighteen

We all make missteps. Even those can lead
to something good, although we don’t always see it at first.

—Muriel Sterling, author of
Simplicity

“D
idn’t you write an article at
Thanksgiving about baking bread?” Jen asked her sister.

Toni abandoned her computer to go search for more coffee.
“Yeah. Don’t tell me, now you’re baking bread.”

“Well, I
was
baking bread. But it
didn’t rise very much. Why do you think that was?”

“Hey, I’m no expert,” Toni protested.

“You’ve got to know more than me. Come on, take a guess.”

“I really don’t know. Maybe you killed your yeast. How hot was
the water you dissolved it in?”

“Hot enough to dissolve it. I boiled it.”

“Good Lord. There’s your problem. It should’ve been lukewarm.
Otherwise, you’ll kill the yeast.”

There was a moment of silence while her sister took in this
information, followed by, “I guess that explains it. I’ll have to try
again.”

“So, other than failed bread experiments, how’s the idyllic
simple life?”

“Great. It’s been a little cold, though.”

“In the mountains? Gosh, what a surprise.”

“Ha-ha. Anyway, it’s supposed to warm up over the weekend and
on Saturday after I’m done at the bakery I’m renting a Rototiller and tilling my
garden plot.”

“All by yourself?” Weren’t those things heavy to lug
around?

“Not exactly. I’ve got help coming.”

“So you’re finally making progress with Mr. Hot Britches?” Toni
asked.

“No,” Jen said, some of the happiness slipping out of her
voice.

“Oh. Then, who?”

“One of the local boys.”

“As in teenager?”

“No.”

“Okay, so a possible boyfriend?”

“Not really.”

“This is harder than trying to pull teeth out of a goldfish.
Are you going to spill or what?”

“There’s really nothing to spill. It’s just Billy Williams, the
cowboy you met at the chocolate festival.”

“Mr. Dreamy? Oh, rough life.” How she’d love to be in her
sister’s shoes right now, living in a romantic little mountain town, baking
bread, working part-time in a bakery and hanging out with sexy cowboys. The
grass was sure looking greener up there in Icicle Falls. “Sometimes I think you
had the right idea,” she said with a sigh. “I wish I could transplant my family
to a new location. And a different time,” she added grumpily. “Before computers
and cell phones.” She was willing to bet Wayne would’ve had more energy working
on a farm every day than he did working on computer software programs.

“But think what a pain
your
job
would be without a computer,” Jen said.

Her job would be more of a pain, but her life would be a heck
of a lot easier.

“Anyway, feel free to transplant yourself up here for a visit
anytime. When
are
you coming up to see me again, by
the way?”

Their summer vacation seemed aeons away. “Next week,” Toni
decided.

Why not? She was almost done with her article for
Family Circle,
then she just had to finish the
research for one she was proposing to
Parents
magazine on the newest teen party drugs to watch out for. After that she
could take a break.

Her family wouldn’t miss her if she was gone for a couple of
days. They probably wouldn’t miss her if she was gone for a couple of weeks.
Well, except as a chauffeur and cook. But they could manage on their own. In
fact, it would do them good to have to manage on their own.

“I can’t wait! You can come to my book club with me. And we can
shop and eat chocolate and hike.”

“Since when do you hike?” Toni scoffed.

“Since I moved up here. I want to, anyway. I hear there are
Indian petroglyphs on a trail by Icicle Creek. That would be good to blog
about.”

“How’s the blog coming? I read your last post about waiting for
spring in the mountains. Very cute.”

“I saw that you left a comment.”

“And I wasn’t the only one.”

”Yeah, I’m up to a whopping thirty-four followers,” Jen said.
“And five of them are in my book club.”

“You’ll get more,” Toni assured her.

“I hope so. Meanwhile, I’m enjoying it. I still haven’t come up
with an idea for a book, though.”

Toni couldn’t help smiling. This book would prove to be yet
another harebrained plan of her sister’s that would come to nothing.

Of course, she’d thought the same thing when Jen announced her
determination to move, and that was turning out fine. Everything seemed to be
going smoothly for her sister up in Icicle Falls. Toni was glad that after all
the emotional upheaval Jen had endured, the road was finally leveling out for
her and she was happy. And having fun.

Fun sounded like an excellent idea to Toni. She decided she was
going to hang out with someone who wanted to do something other than text or
play video games or work long hours. She was going to get sister time and Sweet
Dreams chocolates and home-baked bread. She was going back for a second helping
of life in Icicle Falls.

* * *

Saturday brought blue sky and sunshine, a perfect day
for Jen to put in a garden. Life was good.

Pat at the bookstore had cautioned her not to plant until the
end of the month, but she figured since it was now April she could at least get
the ground ready. The book she’d been reading stressed the importance of having
rich soil, primed with fertilizer, so she’d start by getting everything dug up
and fertilized.

She’d just arrived home from her morning shift at Gingerbread
Haus and had the coffee on when a big red truck driven by a man in a cowboy hat
pulled up in the driveway. Bill Will had his window down and she could hear the
country music blasting all the way into the house. He opened the door and hopped
out, a vision in boots, jeans and a tight T-shirt with a denim jacket thrown
over it, his Stetson low over his face.

He looked as if he belonged on a romance novel, but Bill Will
was proof that you couldn’t always judge a book by its cover. It hadn’t taken
Jen long to realize that the man was more of a lovable doof than a romance
hero.

Of course, look who she was measuring him against. How could he
compete with a man who raced into burning buildings to save people?

Bill Will saw her as he trotted over to the front porch and
gave her a big smile and a wave. True, he was no Garrett Armstrong, but he was a
nice guy, and they’d have fun putting in this garden.

She swung the door wide and he greeted her with a half tip of
his Stetson. “The gardener’s here, ma’am.”

“Would the gardener like a cup of coffee before we get to
work?”

“Sure. Why not?” He sauntered inside and glanced around. “Hey,
this place isn’t half bad.”

“I like it,” she said. “Take anything in your coffee?”

“Nope. I’m tough.”

“I guess so,” she said, pouring him a cup. “It’s really sweet
of you to help me do this.”

She’d run into Bill Will in the grocery store earlier in the
week and had flirted with him in the frozen food aisle. When she’d told him
about her garden project, he’d been quick to offer his help, and she’d been
happy to accept.

At one point she’d entertained the idea of asking her landlord
for assistance, but then decided against it. Tilling part of a yard probably
wasn’t on the list of required landlord duties. Anyway, between having to show
her how to work a woodstove, rescuing her from a ditch and shoveling snow, he’d
undoubtedly had enough of helping her. She suspected that was why he collected
his rent and scrammed as fast as he could. (Well, that and Tilda, the so-called
girlfriend.) Jen was coming across as too high-maintenance. This—her
garden—would shatter that misconception. Yes, the woman bakes her own bread
and
tills her own soil. Nothing to it.

She and Bill Will chatted for a few minutes, mostly about him
and how he was saving up to buy a place of his own. “’Cept I only got about a
thousand in the bank,” he said. “I need to find me a rich woman. Got any money,
Jen?” he asked with a smile.

“Yeah. Tons. Can’t you tell?”

“Aw. Well, there’s more to life than money, right?” He set down
his mug. “Let’s get moving. I’m itchin’ to try out that machinery.”

She’d already marked the area where she wanted the garden. “I
thought I’d put it over there,” she said, pointing to a sunny corner of the yard
she’d set off with string and some small yard stakes.

“Okay,” he said with a nod.

She watched, feeling a tingle of excitement, as he let down the
tailgate of his truck and dragged out the tiller. Home-grown lettuce and spinach
and peas and carrots. This was going to be great.

Bill Will took the tiller over to the future home of Veggie
Central, started it and began to churn up the earth. She should plant
sunflowers, too, she decided.

She was so immersed in her garden daydream that it took her a
minute to realize the tilling had stopped. “I think we got a problem,” Bill Will
called.

Had he hit a rock? She hurried over to where he was squatting
in front of clumps of grass and sandy soil, examining a network of pipes.
“What’s that?” she asked. Whatever it was, something was wrong with it, she
thought, looking at the water gurgling from several that had been severed.

He pushed back his hat and scratched his head. “Well, I’m no
expert on stuff like this, but if I had to guess I’d say that’s your drain
field.”

“Drain field?”

“You know, your septic system. I think we just tore something
up.”

A sick feeling landed in the pit of her stomach. “Can you fix
it?”

He frowned at the mess in front of him and shook his head. “If
you need a horse broke or a fence mended I’m your man. This...well, you better
call your landlord.”

The sick feeling swelled. “Oh,” Jen said weakly.

Bill Will straightened up. “Sorry to ruin your day, Jen, but we
better not till any more until you know where all your drain field is. You don’t
want to do any more damage.”

She’d just done more damage—to her tenant-landlord
relationship. “Call Armstrong right away,” Bill Will advised.

She could hardly wait.

Her trepidation must have shown on her face because Bill Will
threw an arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. “It’ll be okay. He’s a
good guy. He’ll understand.”

Jen wasn’t so sure.

* * *

After finishing his shift at the fire station, Garrett
had gotten his groceries, stopped by his folks’ place and called his sister in
Yakima. That checked off everything on his to-do list. Timmy was with his
mother—so far, so good there—and the rest of the day was all his.

How to spend it? He could do some work on his house, go for a
hike, camp out for a while at Bavarian Brews with his laptop and surf the Net.
The possibilities were endless.

His cell phone rang.
Oh, God, please don’t
let it be Ashley.

It wasn’t. But seeing who was calling left him just as rattled
as if it had been. An image of a short little strawberry blonde with freckles
danced before his eyes. Jen Heath, aka Lucy Ricardo II. What did she want?

“Hello,” he answered warily. Every time Jen called it meant
trouble for him. Heck, just looking at her was trouble. Because he liked what he
saw. And he couldn’t afford to, not if he wanted to stay sane.

“Um, Garrett?”

Something in her voice told him he was going to be sorry he’d
taken the call. “Hi, Jen. What’s up?”

“Well, I have a small problem....”