Merry Anna waited until Tara walked inside. She thought of all the drop cloths and scaffolding filling Tara’s house. It was a huge renovation undertaking for just one person.I thought painting an old boat was a big deal. That’s nothing compared to what Tara is doing at more than twice my age.
Merry Anna walked up the hill to her house. The gentle sounds of the night cloaked her in comforting peace. There were so many things about living in this small town that she’d never have experienced had she not stopped for gas that day.
She sat on her stoop, looking down the hill toward the manor house. The lights shone through the glass. Was Tara still working on something? All Merry Anna had the energyleft for was going to bed. She looked to the sky, hoping for a shooting star, until the chill chased her inside.
It didn’t take her long to change into her pajamas and crawl into bed.
Noise woke her from a deep slumber. Since she was disoriented, it took her a moment to realize that the commotion was coming from outside. She jumped up and raced to the window. Pickup trucks filed onto Adam’s property. The whooping and hollering got louder and louder, and the celebrating went on into the wee hours. She watched from the bunkhouse, passing judgment and making assumptions about Adam and his friends.
Just my luck to have a rowdy neighbor.
It was all she could do not to call the police.
She loved Garth Brooks as much as the next girl, but if she heard them belt out “To the oasis” one more time, she was going to march right down there and tell them to stop or she’d knock them to that oasis—and not in a friendly sort of way.
She went back to bed but just lay there staring at the ceiling. She had shut the windows an hour ago, and she hated missing out on the fresh country air and frogs’ banjo sounds bouncing off the mountain, but enough was enough.
She got up again and peered out the window. In the middle of the field, a man danced on top of a round bale in the horse pasture, probably about ready to break a leg. Then again, those rodeo types probably weren’t afraid of that. Hopefully, it wasn’t Adam acting a fool up on that hay. That would be even more disappointing.
And he seemed so nice.
4
Monday morning rolled around, andMerry Anna didn’t have to work until noon, so she drove down to the Feed & Seed to see what kind of plants they had. It was the first time she’d started her car in two weeks. It was just so easy to walk or ride the bicycle Krissy had given her to use while she was in town.
Tara had called yesterday to see if Merry Anna wanted a couple of old barstools that she found in one of her storage closets. They’d seen better days, but Tara suggested taking the backs off them and setting the boat up on the stools. They seemed like the perfect height, and with just a little effort, she was able to remove the backs, just as Tara had recommended.
Merry Anna wished she had that kind of vision. Who looks at a couple of dusty, rusty, broken barstools and imagines that transition? She swept a quick coat of paint on them to give them a little makeover. They looked great, and she couldn’t wait to get her little garden growing in the makeshift planter.
She’d known Tara only two days, but they seemed like old pals.
Merry Anna wheeled her cart through the Feed & Seed. A huge stack of birdseed filled one endcap. She’d noticed thatTara’s bird feeders were low on feed when she was there, so she put a five-pound bag in the cart to give her as a thank-you for the barstools. In the garden area, staggered bleacher-like shelves were filled with all kinds of herbs, flowers, and vegetables. Tomatoes were at the top of her list. She read the tags, but she wasn’t sure what the difference was between a Better Boy and a beefsteak tomato, even after reading the little sticks in each container. She was practically cross-eyed, when Adam walked up and asked if he could help.
“I sure hope so. I don’t know anything about growing vegetables or herbs, but I thought it would be fun to give it a try. Fair warning—these plants may die in the process.”
“I’m not sure if it’s in my best interest as the owner of this establishment to tell you that we guarantee our plants. If they die, you can bring them back and we’ll replace them. But murder—that’s another story.”
“I plan to do my best.”
“I’d suggest cherry tomatoes. They are the easiest to grow, and they’ll serve up a load of fruit.”
“Perfect. Tara said she loves cherry tomatoes. Definitely one of those.”
“Glad y’all are hitting it off. She’s a nice lady.” He turned the pots, scanning them for the best one, she presumed, but they all looked the same to her. He placed a sturdy-looking short plant on her cart. “And here’s a good regular-sized tomato that is pretty disease resistant. I sell a ton of these.” He placed one of those in her cart too.
“What about herbs?” she asked. “Any suggestions?”
“What are you going to cook?”
“I don’t cook,” she admitted sheepishly.
“You don’t cook? Then why do you want to grow your own herbs?”
“I don’t know. They smell good? Maybe I’ll learn to cook something with them or dry them maybe? I could infuse them with olive oil and use them on salads. I do know how to make salad.” Truth was, she usually bought the bagged kind and just tossed in a few other ingredients to fancy it up, but that counted for something, didn’t it?
“Nothing wrong with that. Herbs are over there.”
“Great. I’ll pick some out.”
