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“Don’t be. I respect his honesty and drive.”
“Neither buys him the right to bypass your grief.”
“To be honest, I was as surprised to see him as he was to see me—I think we both probably weren’t our best selves. I just hope we can still be civil if I don’t sell right now.”
“Oh, you can bet he’ll be the picture of kindness, my dear. I’ll speak to him tonight at dinner. Speaking of, we’d love to have you join us if you’re able.”
Maggie shook her head, nerves fluttering around her stomach like barn swallows. She hadn’t stepped onto the Marshalls’ land since the morning Bennett left. She’d shown up to confront him about what her dad had seen the night before, and right there, for God and all of Deer Creek to see, was the back of Bennett’s sandy-blond hair, the barrel racer’s fingers twisted in the curls. Their bodies—and lips and hands—were fused together in an embrace that’d been all the confirmation and confrontation Maggie needed.
She bit her lip, the shame of Bennett’s indiscretion flushing her cheeks with warmth. “Um, thanks, but I should spend more time getting things in order at my dad’s. Rain check?”
“Of course. We’ll make a plan once you’ve had some time to settle in. Please reach out if you need anything. Not everyone is a Neanderthal like Bennett. We’re happy you’re back, Margaret.”
“Maggie?” the young man behind the counter called. “Grilled cheese and unsweetened tea.”
Maggie gestured back to the pick-up window. “I’d better get that. But it was great to see you.”
“You, too. Take care of yourself, okay?”
Maggie nodded and went to pick up her food. She might have had designs on eating at a table, but since she’d been talking to the town’s matriarch, the number of eyes on her had doubled.
“That’s Newman’s daughter,” she overheard a man tell his wife. “Probably here to sell the ranch. Better not be to those hotel folks that came by last month.”
Hotel guys? Who would want to build out here when Austin proper was only half an hour away?
“I heard she didn’t come back, even for the holidays. It’s a wonder his heart held out as long as it did,” the wife replied in a whisper that God himself could overhear.
Maggie swallowed a wave of grief. Small towns had as much politeness as patience, it seemed. Well, she’d just have to watch what she said and did while she was back; the last thing she needed was gossip getting in the way of business.
The truck it is, then.
Maggie scarfed her sandwich in the cab, agreeing with Bennett on one point at least. Mae had outdone herself. Taking the tea with her, she headed into Harvey’s Feed and Supply, hopeful her list covered all her bases. Steel Born had the heavy machinery and equipment she needed, but the small stuff was Harvey’s specialty.
The bells overhead chimed as she walked into Harvey’s and the trill rolled over her like wind through grain fields. It was the sound of every Sunday of her childhood. While the rest of the town would meet under the roof of the Unitarian church on the corner of Maple and Brown, Maggie and her dad would fill up on supplies for the week.
“Easier without half Deer Creek clamoring for the same things we need. Plus, they stock on Saturday nights, so we’ll have first pick.”
Her dad’s advice had seemed sound, but as Maggie walked through an empty Harvey’s at ten in the morning, halfway through the minister’s sermon on acceptance or loving one’s neighbor or something similar, she rethought her dad’s motivations. For years after Mom died, Maggie and her dad made a routine of Sunday breakfast at Martanne’s, then Harvey’s, then an afternoon by the creek or on a trail ride.
But it hadn’t always been that way. Until Martha Newman’s passing, her dad used to join the rest of the town in the pews.
Having just seen the inquisitive—and dare she say judgy—neighbors at Mae’s, Maggie understood why he’d stopped attending church. A quiet man like Carl Newman would need some space to grieve out from under the watchful eyes of the town. Even Maggie relished the hushed rows of ranching and crop supplies without anyone asking her about her father’s death or what she planned to do with his land and operation. It reminded her of the anonymity of the city. A person deserved to be alone with their grief.
She picked up a galvanized waterer and added it to her flatbed cart along with a cattle siren and bucket strap. Even with fifteen years away from this life, working ranching-adjacent meant she hadn’t lost her touch. Similarly, so many things had changed in town, yet all the stuff she wished would have, hadn’t. An image of Bennett comfortably sitting on her couch flashed through her thoughts. It wasn’t so much the adult version of the man that plagued her but the feelings he drudged up.
“Hey, there, ma’am. Sorry I wasn’t here to greet ya—” Harvey, the owner came around the corner and stopped in his tracks.
She smiled. “Hi, Harvey.”
“Well, I’ll be darned.” Tears rimmed the man’s eyes, which looked like they’d seen some life since she’d last looked into them. “Margaret Newman, as I live and breathe.”
“It’s good to see you, Harvey.” She bypassed his extended hand and went in for an embrace.
“You, too, darlin’. It’s just odd to see ya here, without… without—” His voice cracked, and she nodded.
“I know. I miss him, too.”
Harvey sniffled and wiped his cheeks dry. “I just guess I didn’t realize how your pops was the only one I’d really talk to about life and love and all that mess. But, Margaret, you’re back. He’d be so pleased.”
