“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Darcy gave the dog another pat and was rewarded with a warm tongue licking her hand.
Ms. Travelsham blinked, much like a sleepy owl, behind her thick lenses. “Wait a minute--Darcy Norman! My goodness!” She rustled over and enveloped her in a hug.
Darcy returned the hug, and for a moment the world became paisley material and celebrity perfume. “Yes. It’s me.” She laughed and drew back.
“I was sad when your grandma passed, God rest her soul.” Ms. Travelsham glanced toward the heavens. “Went to the funeral. Saw your parents there and they told me about your operation. I’m guessing you’re well now?” Ms. Travelsham looked her up and down as if to reassure herself. “You look good to me. All grown up.”
Darcy hesitated, confused about which part of the woman’s speech to address first. “I’m better now. It was sad to miss the funeral. I’m glad you were able to come.”
Ms. Travelsham turned back to her stack of books and began sorting them into piles. “Nice to see you here. Is your family down to arrange the sale of the building? I wonder if the new owner will keep the antiques or do something else? If there’s a sidewalk sale, will you tell me, dear? I’ve had my eye on a certain teapot for quite some time.”
A sidewalk sale--wouldn’t be a bad idea. Darcy filed the suggestion away for future consideration. “Actually, Gran left the shop to me. I’ll be taking over, and for the most part, leaving everything the same.”
Ms. Travelsham’s face lit up like a Christmas parade. “That’s wonderful news! But you’ll be painting the outside, won’t you, dear?” She lowered her voice, as though Gran was in the room. “I don’t mean to be rude, but a girl with your taste,” she waved her hand at Darcy, “has to realize the place is an eyesore. Your grandma was always promising. We’d remind her every month at the meeting, but she put it off, like folks will do. Nothing peps up a shop more’n a fresh coat of paint.”
Would she recommend candy apple green or bright blue? “It’s definitely on my to-do list. Which gets longer every day.” Darcy leaned against the counter. “What were you saying about a meeting? Kayla mentioned something.”
Ms. Travelsham beamed. “All the business ladies get together twice a month to swap shop talk. Well, everyone but Vera Greer, who is welcome, mind you, but doesn’t associate with us commoners. She owns the hoity-toity clothing store down the street.”
Darcy wrinkled her nose. “Yes, I met her.”
“The good Lord doesn’t like us to speak ill of our neighbors.” Ms. Travelsham smacked a fly that had been buzzing through the shelves. “But most of us shop ladies think those clothes are overpriced. Only the rich folks go in there.”
“You’ll have to give me more details about the get-togethers. Goodness knows I can use the wisdom. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the first month.” Darcy covered her face with her hands.
Ms. Travelsham patted her arm. “You’ll figure it out. We all do. Except the ones that don’t, of course. They end up going back to work at chain stores and insurance agencies. Not to be negative. If you want it badly enough, you’ll make it. And we’re here if you need us.”
“I’ll take any help I can get.” Darcy scanned the shelf of paperbacks closest to her. “I also want a good book to get my mind off the stress.”
“I can supply one for you.” Ms. Travelsham padded through a row of shelves, and Darcy remembered she had never seen the woman wear shoes, even when she’d met her on the street. The dog followed his mistress, his stump of a tail wagging. The older woman looked over her shoulder. “If I remember correctly, you liked mystery and suspense best.”
Darcy’s eyes widened. “You have a good memory. But I think I’ve graduated past Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden.”
Ms. Travelsham stopped in front of a shelf full of paperbacks and pulled her reading glasses down the bridge of her nose. “Let’s see . . . we have Agatha Christie, Sue Grafton, Mary Higgins Clark . . .”
Darcy nodded. “I’ve read books by all of them.”
“Well, how about this one?” Ms. Travelsham pulled out a paperback with a creased and battered cover. “Mary Stewart.”
“Someone enjoyed it.” Darcy turned it over to read the back. “Nine Coaches Waiting. It sounds interesting.”
Ms. Travelsham nodded. “Mary Stewart is one of my favorites, and she has lots of books if you like this one.” She tapped the book. “It’s a bargain at 99 cents.”
“In that case, I can’t possibly turn it down.”
Ms. Travelsham’s smile spread to her cheeks, which rounded and turned a deep shade of pink. “My friends and I would comb this very store for Mary Stewart books when we were teenagers. We’d pool our money and draw straws to see who would get to read the book first. The shop’s been here for thirty-five years.”
“I had no idea.” Darcy spun around, taking in the details of the store. The ceiling was made of long-leaf pine, with ornate crown molding trim. The bookshelves were made of sturdy, two-inch thick braces, set in the wall. “Was this store built on location, or did they bring it in from somewhere else?”
“Built here.” The shop lady stomped the floor with a bare foot. “On a cement foundation. Not like your grandma’s shop. I remember when they moved in the building, when I was a wee thing. Before your grandma lived here, though.” She pulled out a book that had been put in the wrong way, turned it around, and placed it back. “What else can I find for you?”
Darcy brought the book to the counter and plunked it down. “This’ll be all for today. It will probably take me a month to read it with all the work I have to do. When I was a girl, I could devour a book this size in no time.”
“I know.” Ms. Travelsham laughed. “You kept me in business here during the summertime.” She lumbered to a stool behind the counter and began to ring up the purchase on an ancient machine. “You mentioned stress. What’s going on? Opening day jitters?”
Darcy gave a short laugh. “Right now I’m not even sure I’ll get the place ready. There’s so much to do. I still haven’t even figured out which accountant Gran used.”
The shop owner paused, book hovering over the teal plastic bag she was about to place it in. “Are you sure she had one?”
Darcy rubbed her forehead. “No, and that’s what I’m worried about.”
Ms. Travelsham’s lips flattened out, and she tapped her chin. “Your Gran was pretty thrifty and if she thought she could manage without spending money on something, she usually did.”
Darcy’s shoulders sagged. “I have a business minor, but math was never my strong point. Do you have an accountant you can recommend?”
After folding the bag and sealing it with a gold heart sticker, Ms. Travelsham handed it to Darcy. “I go to Mr. Blott. Most of us ladies do. He has the little office around the corner. The one with the dreadful marigolds planted out front.” She shuddered. “Of all the flowers! Marigolds!”
Darcy decided not to give her opinion on what she considered to be a cheerful enough bloom. “Thank you for the information. And the book. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”
Ms. Travelsham waved. “I’ll be over to visit my teapot soon!”
Darcy took the bag and left the shop. Once outside, she pulled open the seal and looked at her book. Hopefully I’ll get a chance to read you soon. Perhaps she’d have to take up her girlhood habit of reading in the bathtub again. With the condition of the store, she was bound to be in a state of filth for the next several days.
###
“How much is this?”
Darcy sighed. Even though the merchandise was clearly marked, and her sidewalk sale had only been going for two hours, she’d already heard that question dozens of times. She made her way through the ancient card tables.
Vera Greer tapped an orange and milk-white glass cruet, her ring clinking against the surface. “How much?” Her pink polished nails gleamed in the sun.
“Hello, Vera, nice to see you again.” Darcy picked up the faded tag hanging from
the side, thankful her work gloves covered her own broken and peeling nails. “It’s a Thomas Webb. This one’s one hundred and fifty, but everything on this table is half off, so I’ll give it to you for seventy-five.”
“Are you serious?” Vera puckered her mauve lips. “It’s lovely, but it can’t possibly be worth so much.”
Darcy looked at the tag again. She didn’t want to offend her new neighbor, but at the same time, she couldn’t afford to lose money this soon in the game. “I’m pretty sure it is. The maker’s mark is right on the bottom, and it’s in perfect condition.”
Vera glared. “What kind of a sidewalk sale is this, anyway? I can go to a department store and get something much nicer for less.”
Skirts rustled behind her, and a petite woman with bobbed brown hair appeared at Darcy’s elbow.
“Vera Greer, you know very well that cruet’s worth three hundred dollars.” The newcomer picked up the glass container and held it to the light. “And with an original cut-glass stopper. Almost impossible to find.” She turned to Darcy. “I’m interested if Vera doesn’t want it.”
Vera snatched it out of the brown-haired woman’s hands, almost dropping the stopper. “No, that’s fine. I’ll take it.” She gave Darcy a half smile. “But only because you’re new in town and I want to support your business.”
Darcy took the woman’s money, counted out her change, and wrapped the cruet carefully.
Vera scooped up her package and left without another word.
The brown-haired woman came up with a silver candle snuffer. “Just the thing for my sister’s birthday. She collects these and I’m positive she doesn’t have this one yet.”
Darcy admired the trinket, a lily that would snuff out a candle with its petals. “It’s very pretty. I almost wanted it for myself, but I can’t keep everything.”
The woman smiled. “Isn’t that the truth?” She held out her hand. “I’m Lorinda Phillips, by the way. Everyone calls me Miss Lorinda. I own the Pine Woods Bed and Breakfast.”
Darcy shook her hand. “I’m sure Gran mentioned you a few times.”
Miss Lorinda’s tortoiseshell glasses rattled as she nodded. “Oh yes. I’ve owned my business for over twenty-five years, the longest of any woman in town. Your grandma was next with fifteen years. We have meetings, you know.”
“Ms. Travelsham mentioned something about that. I would love to come sometime.”
Miss Lorinda winked. “Of course you should. Every other Thursday at my B&B.”
The frost that had settled into Darcy’s soul after Vera’s cold comments began to thaw a bit. “I’ll put it on my calendar.”
“All right then, see you next week.”
Darcy’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she glanced at the screen. It wasn’t a number she recognized. She swiped the green button anyway. “Hello?”
“Hello, Darcy, I got your number from Kayla,” said a male voice.
She blinked. “Who . . . oh, Ramsey, hello.”
“Hello,” he said. “Well, we could do this all day.”
Darcy glanced at the tables. More and more shoppers were stopping by. “Actually, we can’t. I’m having a sidewalk sale.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Ramsey said in a cheerful tone. “Won’t be long, I wanted to see if you’d come to the folk’s house for dinner Wednesday night. Maybe six?”
Darcy sank down into her folding chair. A man with a thin moustache and a leather vest came toward her, a pair of rusty spurs dangling from his hand. His glance shifted to her phone and his eyes narrowed.
“I have to get off the phone. Um. Yes, I’d love to come.”
“Great. Mom and Dad will be thrilled.”
“Me too. I mean, I’ll be glad to see them too.”
Leather Vest Man was joined by two women who were most likely sisters due to matching perms and similar builds. They both held wooden music boxes.
“Okay, really do have to go. See you on Wednesday.”
Darcy set down the phone and took the spurs. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the happy buzz settling over her. This is your business. It’s more important than some guy you don’t even know anymore. But the rest of the day, whenever she had a moment to breathe, she’d find her cheeks were sore from smiling.
5 The Johnsons’ House
C rickets chirped a welcoming chorus as Darcy opened the door of Gran’s black ’97 Silverado and stepped out on the white chalk driveway. The path to Ramsey’s parents’ house gleamed in the moonlight, and snaked around to the front patio. Lights in the windows beckoned to her.
The spring air was still a bit cool, so she reached back into the truck to find her thin shawl. Leaning against the vehicle, she took a deep breath. So many memories. Sunday dinners, picnics, afternoons floating in the cow tank on inner tubes. Every one of them spent with Ramsey. His smile flashed in her mind and she hurried toward the sprawling ranch house. She couldn’t shake the notion; seven years later her lips still tingled with that single kiss.
“Hey, Darcy.” Ramsey strode towards her in a white button-up shirt and blue jeans. His eyes caught the light. “Come on in, Mom and Dad are almost finished getting dinner ready.”
“Don’t tell me . . . your dad got out the grill.” Darcy’s mouth watered. “I thought I’d caught a hint of mesquite smoke.”
Ramsey nodded. “Yep. He also made dessert. For the last few years he’s switched from car shows to cooking tutorials. This month he’s been experimenting with chocolate. Not sure what he has in store for us tonight, but I can promise it’ll be good.” He crooked his elbow towards her. Even soap and cologne couldn’t cover the faint scent of oil that always hung over him, but Darcy never minded. It was a part of him.
Wrapping her fingers around his toned forearm, Darcy allowed herself to be led down the path and into the home. The moment was surreal, like watching a movie she hadn’t seen since childhood, with all her favorite parts coming back to her mind as they replayed before her.
Mrs. Johnson, an attractive woman wearing a denim dress and a bandanna tied around her blond curls, met them at the door. “You’re here!” She hugged Darcy, and then stepped back. “I’m so glad you were able to come! I thought we’d have to eat this stack of chicken all by ourselves.”
Darcy immersed herself in the spicy, meaty scent that could only be found in the home of a true Texan. “You might have to fight me for it. It’s been way too long since I’ve had real Texas barbeque.”
“Don’t worry.” Mrs. Johnson tipped her head to one side. “We’ve got a big batch. Green beans and fresh biscuits too.”
Wonder what the girls in L.A. would think about this meal. I can hear them pulling up their phones to check their calorie counting apps right now. Darcy shrugged. I’ll jog an extra block tomorrow.
“Come on in.” Mrs. Johnson motioned for Darcy to follow her through the wide hall. “Everything’s almost ready.”
The kitchen was mostly open, with a large picture window and a granite-topped island in the center. Tall, bottles of herbs and oil decked the tops of the cabinets, and an ivy plant hung in jumbled glory from the corner of the room. They repainted. And the countertops are new.
Mr. Johnson turned from the stove where he had been spreading some sort of whipped topping over a pan of brown goo that smelled heavenly. “Darcy Norman in my house again! And all grown up.” He smiled. “I’m so glad you’re here. Haven’t fallen into any cactus patches lately, have you?”
“Dad, I’m sure Darcy doesn’t want to walk down that particular memory lane.” Ramsey came in from where he’d been setting the table and went to the counter. He picked up a bowl of mashed potatoes.
“Ouch, that was a crazy day.” Darcy’s back tingled with the thought. She grabbed a pot of beans and followed Ramsey into the dining room. “I’ll never forget your mom’s face when you led me in, bleeding and crying, with cactus prickles all over me.”
“Yep, that was bad. I would have carried you, but I didn’t want cactus on me too. I guess
I wasn’t that noble.” Ramsey grinned. “How many thorns did Mom and your gran pick off you?”
“Too many to count.” Darcy groaned. “But I’ll never forget how you sat outside the bathroom door and played my favorite CD so I would feel better.”
“The soundtrack to Winnie the Pooh would make anyone feel better,” Ramsey said. “I think I still might have that disc somewhere, though it’s probably too scratched to play.”
Mrs. Johnson came through the door. “Is everything ready?”
Darcy realized that she and Ramsey were still holding their dishes of food. Her cheeks reddened as she placed hers down on a potholder. Ramsey did the same.
Mrs. Johnson smiled and folded her arms.
“I think we got everything, Mom.” Ramsey gestured towards a chair. “Your usual place, Darcy?”
Darcy went to stand behind the ladder-backed chair she’d sat in so many times. She glanced around the room. A few trinkets had been replaced, and a new pair of wood prints hung on either side of the large picture window that looked out into the garden. Besides that, everything seemed exactly the same. Unlike her parents’ home, where her mom and dad always seemed to be redecorating according to the latest trends. Comfort, like drips of sweet honey, drizzled into her heart.
Mr. Johnson came in and pulled out a chair for his wife. Everyone sat down. After saying grace, they began the exciting task of passing the food.
Mr. Johnson admired a biscuit. “Melody, these biscuits are so light I’m surprised they don’t float right off the platter.”
“They did turn out quite nicely this time,” said Mrs. Johnson. “Darcy, how are things going down at the shop?”
“Better now that I got all my accounts figured out. I was worried Gran might not have been doing her taxes right, so I took my files to Mr. Blott and he looked them over. I guess Gran was better at math than I am, because he said everything was fine. Nothing to worry about.”
Tangled in Time, (Miss Main Street Book 1) Page 4