“When we go to town, can I add a few stops? We need groceries, I need to stop by Sue’s book club to drop off the muffins, and the stationery store. If I don’t replace this notebook, I’m going to end up writing notes on napkins. Don’t forget lunch, and maybe a quick look in the feed store. Sherlock chewed a hole in my sleeve.”
She rehearsed her errands out loud, and I caught myself smiling. “Let’s go.”
The drive in was blue skies and wide pastures, her humming threading through the truck cab like lace. She pointed out landmarks, rolled the window down, and let her hand ride the wind. She was carefree, looser than when she arrived.
“That’s the old mill Cassie swears is haunted. That’s where the fall festival sets up.”
She watched the world out the window, unburdened by the piling list of odd goings-on at home. The road unspooled easy.
Our first stop was Everwood Feed & Supply. I rolled my eyes as Milly insisted she could carry the fifty-pound sack of chicken feed herself. Chin tilted with stubborn pride. She lasted three steps before I lifted it out of her arms with one hand.
“Show-off,” she muttered, brushing feed dust off her jeans.
“Nope,” I corrected, winking as I slid the bag onto my shoulder.
Her eyes narrowed playfully, her mouth twitching like she wanted to hide her smile. “Fine. But I could have gotten it.”
She grabbed the same jacket she has now, with one less hole in it, and we were out of the store in 20 minutes.
“Next stop, Carl’s Hardware,” Milly sang when we got to the truck. Carl was behind the counter, ringing up Mr. Johnson, who was picking up barbed wire. Mason leaned casually against the wall. He greeted Milly with a bear hug that made her squeak, then clapped my shoulder with ease. One of the good ones. The kind you’d want beside you in a foxhole.
“Town’s been a bit jumpy,” Mason said when Milly wandered down an aisle for garden gloves. “Locks left open. Tools gone. You see anything off?” His look sharpened.
I hesitated just long enough to signal that I had. “A couple of things. Toolbox left open in the barn. Grain scattered, gates open, boot prints.” I glanced down the aisle Milly had disappeared into. “And this.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the photo of the note left under the wiper.
Mason’s jaw flexed. “Same up my way. Minus the letter. Feed bins emptied like someone scooped them with buckets. Tire tracks in the back field where no one should be driving. Folks are writing it off as kids, but I don’t buy it.” He nodded at my phone. “What are you going to do about that?”
“I filed it with the sheriff. Now I wait.”
He studied me. “You’ve got that look, always counting, always scanning. Thought I left that back overseas, but it feels different here. Closer. Someone’s testing fences before they make a real move.”
“Yep. And are we ready if they do?” I shook my head and glanced at Carl, who was pretending he wasn’t listening. “You trust your gut?” I asked.
“Always do. Kept me alive more than once.”
I nodded. “You should, too.”
That wasn’t advice. It was an offer. If I needed backup, Mason would show.
“Appreciate it,” I said, and meant it.
He gave one sharp nod. “Call if you need anything. Doesn’t matter when.”
“Same goes,” I told him as Milly reappeared holding gloves like a trophy. For us, it was enough said.
The stationery store was like Milly’s mothership: planners, Bibles, paper, pens, highlighters, printing, shipping. A one-stop shop for everything Milly. She took a deep breath and did a little shimmy. I made a mental note that she does that when she’s excited. She made a beeline for the planners, flipped through them, chose one, then grabbed a few more items on her way out, smiling like she’d found treasure. Fifteen minutes later, she was beaming.
Our final stop was the Everwood Grocery, a squat brick building with a tinkling door chime. Milly worked fast, starting at one end, following the perimeter, then cutting through pantrystaples. She paused at the tiny stationery section and made a strained, uncertain face at the sticky notes.
“Didn’t we just leave the stationery store?” I asked, already knowing she’d glare at me. She did.
“What if I need to organize?” she murmured, holding two up and comparing colors. “This teal feels hopeful, don’t you think?”
“They both look like paper,” I said.
Next, she grabbed a few frozen lasagnas and what she called “cardboard pizzas” because of the cardboard underneath. “Don’t judge.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I lifted my hands in mock surrender.
