Page 19 of Josephine and Clay

“I’m here for an order Dr. Harris called in,” I say. “Calf formula, electrolyte packets, and wormer?”

“Yep.” She props both palms on the counter. “Grandpa set it aside in the back because apparently nobody else in this town can be trusted to leave anything where it belongs.” She squints at me. “You look like the sort of person who agrees with that.”

“I have no idea what gave me away.”

Her grin widens. “The fact that your jacket’s zipped exactly halfway and your hair doesn’t have a single piece out of place.”

I lift a hand to my bun instinctively.

She notices and laughs. “See? Knew it.”

“This is a terrible first impression.”

“No, it’s great.” She points her pen at me. “It means if I ever need help organizing my life, I know who to call.”

“That depends on the rate.”

“I can pay in diner fries and local scandal.”

“Tempting.”

She leans in conspiratorially. “Honestly, the scandal here isn’t as glamorous as people imagine. Half the time it’s just someone buying fertilizer from the wrong cousin.”

“That does sound devastating.”

“I know. We’re very brave about it.”

A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it.

Penny looks faintly triumphant.

She ducks into the back room before I can say more, calling, “Don’t leave, I have opinions about half the people in town and no one to inflict them on yet.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It’s friendship!” she calls back.

I glance around while she’s gone, taking in the store more properly. Feed sacks stacked by brand and size, coils of rope, shelves of canned goods and work gloves, and a spinning rack of candy sticks by the register that feels almost aggressively nostalgic.

Penny reappears a minute later carrying one box and dragging another with the toe of her boot. “Do you have a truck?”

“Not with me. But I can carry it.”

She gives me a doubtful look.

“Trust me, I’m stronger than I look.”

“Okay.” She eyes me suspiciously as I grab everything with ease. “So how are you liking Buckhorn?”

I pause. The truthful answer is more complicated than people usually want.

“I like the work,” I say first, which is easy. True. “And the town is…” I glance toward Main Street. “Different than what I’m used to.”

“Nosier,” Penny supplies helpfully.

“Yes.”

She laughs. “You get used to it. Or you don’t, but by then everybody already knows your coffee order and who you waved at in the post office, so it’s too late to leave.”