“We’re supposed to stay home,” I said, showing him the text. “But we’re not going to.”
“So we’re rebels.”
“That we are.”
We weren’t the only rebels on the road disobeying a direct text from Young Tommy, but there weren’t that many of us either. I passed one truck on Bauer Road, and then, in town, I passed two trucks on Taylor Road going the other way.
The roads in town were plowed and gritted, but a tad slick, so I went slowly, grateful that I’d paid out the extra cash for tires with teeth. When I parked in front of her small gray house, Mabel was waiting on her top step, wrapped up for a hike through the arctic. In her arms, Mister Rocket had on a red puffycoat with little holes for his legs; his happy pants creating clouds around his head.
“Hello sweetness,” I said to him, scratching his neck. He allowed this, gave me a differential sniff to the back of my hand, and then wiggled to be let down. “Hello, Mabel.”
“Come in,” she said, squeezing my arm, letting me know she was glad I was there.
I had left the truck running so Blue wouldn’t get cold, and though she glanced at the truck, she didn’t seem to notice him, which was a good thing because he was a secret I was keeping until he was comfortable having it told. Following Mabel inside, I wiped my boots on the mat just inside the door and inhaled the warm baking smells and the lemon oil, and the sense of care. She unzipped Mister Rocket out of his coat, and I realized he’d only been put into it so I could admire him in it.
“That’s a cute coat,” I said, watching her fuss. “Where did you get it?”
“Special order from Malone Feed & Grain,” she said. “But this was before Oralee passed away, you know.”
“I see,” I said. “It goes well with his spots.”
“I thought so, too,” she said. “Now, into the kitchen with you. Are those my sketches?”
We sat at the kitchen table and looked at the three sketches that I’d made. Each showed the wide leather collar from a different angle: the thick brass buckle, the loop for a leash clip, and the brass tag that fit flat against the leather.
“He’ll be so dressed up when I take him for walks,” she said, holding the sketches at arm’s length. “I say, go ahead. How much?”
“Twenty-five?” I asked.
“Nonsense,” she said. “It’s worth seventy-five, maybe even a hundred. I went on Etsy to look at some, so I know.”
I had two choices. Argue with an old lady who only wanted to be kind, or take too much money from an old lady who only wanted to be kind.
“Mabel,” I said, gathering my explanation about my desire to build a business without overcharging. I could use the money, sure, but not at the expense of people in a small town who were already struggling. “Fifty.”
“Seventy-five,” she said, her chin going up in the air. “And you’ll take the pecan brownies I made for you and the thermos of good tea without an argument, or the deal is off.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, defeated as any soldier would be in the face of that face, that smile.
“And these are the lanyards,” she said, tipping the bag so they slid out and onto the table. For a quiet moment, she turned them in her hands, making approving noises. “They’re sonice. They’ll be perfect for the bazaar. I approve of the designs. How long did they take to make?”
“They’d take me an hour or so per,” I said. “They’re not very long; plus, I have help.” I shut my mouth after that last statement, not wanting to open the door about Blue. “How many will you need?”
“How many can you make?” she asked. “I especially like this one that looks like a candy cane.”
She got up and went over to the counter and set in front of me an antique-looking thermos in blue plaid. It was tall and looked heavy. She handed me a gallon plastic baggie full of cut squares of the densest pecan brownies I’d ever seen.
The timer on her stovetop went off, and I watched as she put on huge oven mitts and pulled out a metal pan. She tipped the pan so I could see the contents: a bubbling peach cobbler. She set this on the stove and smiled at me as she took off the oven mitts.
“Who’s that for?” I asked, a little jealous though I knew I shouldn’t be. Mabel knew I loved her brownies, and she’d made them especially for me.
“My friend Jack,” she said. She tipped her head as if pointing to where Jack was. “He’s at the feed and grain helping Morgan deal with the stock and back orders, and driving Morgan around.”
“Oh, I see,” I said. Mabel had all kinds of friends in town, though I’d never heard of one named Jack before this. “Well, I best be going if I want to get to Billings and back.”
“Drive safely,” she said, waiting until I’d zipped up my parka before kissing my cheek and loading my arms with the thermos and baggie of brownies. “Blizzards can be tricky, but you should have good weather today.”
CHAPTER 10
