Authors: Cara Ellison
At the mention of a biscuit, May began to wag her tail. May followed her into the kitchen, her nails tapping lightly on the hardwood floors. Aimee explored the pantries and cabinets and found the dog treats in a slim side cabinet. She commanded, “Sit.” May sat instantly, and Aimee gave the pup the treat.
Aimee clapped. “Good puppy. Okay lay down.”
May tilted her head.
“Lay down,” Aimee said, and gently moved the puppy’s paws in front of her to demonstrate what she wanted. “Good May!”
Aimee gave her another small treat, then noticed Mark watching from the corner of the kitchen.
She felt suddenly self-conscious. “I…um… I was just teaching a new puppy old tricks.”
“Looks like you’re a good trainer.”
“I love animals,” she said. She had hated that Seth had forbid dogs and cats in the house in Adams Morgan.
Mark walked closer and looked at her oddly. “You okay?”
“Sure.”
He lifted his hand to her hair and picked a piece of hay. He looked at it and then at her.
She stared at it for one panicked second, then smiled broadly. “I’m turning into a cowgirl.”
“I suppose,” he said and dropped it into the trash.
Please don’t ask me about that
, she silently pleaded. To cut off any questions, she said, “I gave May a couple of biscuits. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it is.” His eyes were really searching her, but she forced herself not to flinch. “Ready?”
He grabbed the keys from a bowl by the door and they walked out to the garage.
Mark opened the passenger door for her, and then, seeing that was a very big step into the SUV with her bruises and surgical wounds, he lifted her up and placed her in the bucket seat. She had to restrain herself from sighing with pleasure. She felt so safe and protected around him. In his arms, she felt precious.
She focused on that feeling; it helped combat the fear of Seth. It gave her confidence that there were good things in life, as well as oppression and fear. And here in Spanner, that proof was everywhere.
As they drove into town, she noticed that wildflowers flanked both sides of the road in carpets of blue, canary yellow and tangerine. To the west, white-tipped mountains jagged across a bright, cloudless blue sky. All human panic was drowned out by a sense of placid, brilliant foreverness.
The small town opened before her like a National Geographic program. Central Avenue was a broad lane with quaint storefronts on either side and directly in front of her were more enormous, towering mountains.
“Wow,” she murmured, feeling slightly battered by all the beauty.
“It’s got charm, doesn’t it?” Mark said as he parked in front of the Spanner Feed Store. He got out to open her door and help her down. “How do you feel?” he asked.
“I feel great. I took some Tylenol before we left.”
“Good. We won’t stay too long.”
As they walked toward the horse fe
ed store, Aimee spotted a sign for Carrie’s Apothecary. “Hey, I’ll meet you back here,” she said, gripping his arm. “I’m just going to the pharmacy.”
“Okay. I’ll come find you if I finish first.”
“Great.”
She left him on the sidewalk and walked to the curb. A woman in a battered red pickup smiled and waved her across the road. Aimee waved back, and crossed to the pharmacy. The heady scent of chocolate chip cookies welcomed her. The source of the delicious smell was a platter of the cookies beside the cash register.
“Good afternoon,” a woman about her age called from around the corner. Aimee was a little surprised to see a young person here in this town, but realized that was her own personal prejudice rearing its head – a prejudice she didn’t even realize she had. Spanner wasn’t a town of retired ranchers, she realized.
She glanced around and saw a radiant pregnant woman holding the hand of a three year old, and a teenager checking out a bookshelf of sci-fi.
“Help yourself to a cookie. I pulled them out of the oven about three minutes ago,” the woman said.
Aimee tasted a nibble. Warm, melty, chocolaty Heaven. She almost groaned aloud with pleasure. “These are amazing.”
“Thanks. My other shop, Carried Away Sweets, is right next door. I make all kinds of pastries, cookies, cakes.”
“Oh! You made the ice cream.”
Carrie looked puzzled.
“My um.. friend gave me some mint chocolate chip ice cream earlier this week and said you made it. It was divine.”
“I’m glad you liked it. I’m going to stop selling it in two weeks. The weather’s turning.”
“I’ll stock up then.”
“Can I help you with anything?”
“Oh, I’m just browsing,” she answered and took a look around. Displays of t-shirts, trinkets, key chains, were in the front. Aimee looked around, picking up a little silver bell. “Spanner, Montana: Home Is Where The Heart Is” was engraved on the side. She put it down and went to look for toiletries. Mark’s shampoo was not exactly the best stuff she’d ever used. She picked up a basket and filled it with a locally made lilac-scented shampoo, some French-milled honey soap, a razor to shave her legs, moisturizer, hair bands to hold her hair in a ponytail, and some lipgloss. Then she made her way to the postcards.
She picked up one with a sweeping picture of the Bitterroot Mountains and a heard of caribou grazing in the grass. She hoped Bryan had been able to call Kimberly and Kimberly was at least a little comforted, even though she had such little information. A postcard should help, she thought. If nothing else, it was proof of life.
She picked up a Montana-themed pen, and took the items to the counter.
As Carrie began to ring her up, Aimee glanced at the rack of newspapers near the window. A picture of an airplane on the cover of the Bozeman Chronicle startled her. She drifted closer, scanning the article. Nothing about a missing girl.
“Ma’am? That’ll be four dollars even.”
“Oh, sorry, I need a stamp too.” Aimee gave her a hundred from the wad in her pocket. “Sorry, I don’t have anything smaller.”
“No problem,” Carrie replied and counted out her change. “There’s a mail box right outside,” she said, handing her the money and a stamp. Funny, it was the search for a postage stamp that had led her to the money, and now it was the money paying for a postage stamp.
Aimee walked out to the mailbox. She glanced next door to Carried Away Sweets, charmed by the small town ambition, and the woman who had set up shop.
She flipped over the postcard and wrote:
Dear K,
All is well. Be in touch soon.
No need for a signature. Kimberly would know her handwriting. As she reached into the mailbox, she hesitated. If Bryan called her, she would already know that Aimee was okay. Maybe this card would just torment Kimberly.
She spotted a tall, swaggering figure in her peripheral vision and looked up. Mark was walking toward her. She dropped the postcard into the mailbox.
She tried not to stare at his broad shoulders and long legs as he sauntered over to her. As her body had healed, she’d become ever more aware of his rather unmistakable physical presence. Up close, she could see the intensity of his eyes and the smooth, square jaw. Rugged and gorgeous. The force of his masculinity emanated from him in a way that made her a little dizzy. Even the masculine smell of him was almost too much for her starved libido.
“Got what you need?” he asked.
Aimee smiled. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Did you meet Carrie?”
“Yep. She gave me a cookie that was to die for.”
“Chocolate chip?”
“Yep.”
“The secret is cinnamon,” Mark said. “But don’t tell anyone else.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have my ways,” he said with a smile.
Aimee smiled, not doubting that he did indeed have his ways. “She says she’s not selling the ice cream after two weeks.”
“We’ll need to pick some up before we leave town then.”
They began to walk aimlessly down the sidewalk. Across the street, a rhinestone sign that read Flowers Vintage caught her eye. “Do you mind if I stop in?” Aimee asked.
“Sure, let’s go.”
As soon as she opened the door, Aimee was dazed with all the flea market finds, vintage clothes, kitschy bagatelles, costume jewelry and sparkly objects that vied for attention.
“Mark Spanner, what on earth are you doing here?”
Aimee looked up from an authentic 1959 Chanel silk scarf to see a vibrant, slim woman in her fifties walking toward them. She arrived in a cloud of perfume and a flowing tunic over wide-legged pants and hugged Mark. After delivering pink lipsticked kisses to his cheeks, she turned to Aimee.
“This is Lauren, she’s a friend visiting from Boise,” Mark said. “And Lauren, this is Jane Flowers.”
Aimee shook her bejeweled hand, admiring the heavy rings. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, hon. Mark, I thought you would be gone back to D.C. by now.”
“I’m staying late this summer,” he replied evenly.
“How is your mom?”
“Both mom and dad are terrific. They’re still in Hawaii. I think they’ll be coming back for Christmas.”
“Oh I hope so.” The woman looked at Aimee. “I haven’t seen Kathleen Spanner all year. She did send me a nice letter for my birthday in April though.”
Aimee smiled politely.
“She and dad are golfing and goofing off,” Mark said.
Aimee’s attention was diverted to a tray of baubles and she picked up a necklace, admiring the large green and blue stones. She wandered off to a rack of clothing, delighting in the big lacy skirts and satin bodices, velvet blouses and Pucci print dresses. Seth had despised any kind of interesting clothing, accusing Aimee of attempting to attract other men if she wore anything sexier than jeans and a t-shirt.
But she loved vintage clothing. She delighted in the 1950s poodle skirts and the sexy 1970s wrap dresses, the sweetheart necklines of bustiers. She found a black shirt made of lace and a silver shirt with black bead embellishment on the neckline, and carried them over to the shoe selection, where she quickly spotted some granny boots that were – jackpot! – in her size.
She carried her load to the cash register, and then grabbed a black envelope purse and the colorful necklace.
“Big date?” Mark asked behind her as Jane Flowers reached the cash register.
Aimee grinned. “I know its silly. I just really wanted these things.”
“Then you should have them.” He opened his wallet, but Aimee quickly stopped him.
“No, I have some cash. I had it in my pants pocket.”
Mark looked surprised, but watched her pull out a wad of cash.