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Shehadwanted them. They were definitely a Sassy choice, and she normally would have taken the boring black, but the pink felt right.
“Did you bring Gladys with you?” Emma asked.
“No Gladys today.”
“She and Cooper were zonked out on the floor when we left for town,” Luke said, coming from the same direction Emma’s father just had. “We had a pretty busy morning.” He ruffled the girl’s hair. “What are you guys up to?”
“We came in to get our shirts for Summer Celebration,” Emma said. “I’m supposed to wear mine for the parade. Are they here yet?”
“Just arrived an hour ago.” Luke gestured to Emma’s dad. “Kaylee, this is Dean Austin, he’s been my best friend since the second grade when his family bought the farm down the road from ours. And it looks like you already met his daughter, Emma.”
Kaylee smiled. “Oh yeah. We go wayyy back too.” She patted the box with the pink boots inside. “And she just helped me pick out a new pair of cowboy boots.”
“Let me know if you need help with any other odd jobs,” the girl said. “I’ve already been doing tons of babysitting, lawn mowing, and dog-walking. I’m trying to make enough money to buy a new bike.” She pointed to the front of the store. “It’s the purple one in the front window. I’ve been saving up for it all summer.”
“Good for you. How close are you?”
“About halfway. It’s areallynice bike.” She leaned closer to Kaylee. “So if you think of anything you’d like to pay a ten-year-old to do, be sure to call me. Luke has my number.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kaylee said, already racking her brain for a job to give her. She tapped her finger to her chin then grinned at Emma. “You know, Gladys really does need an extra walk, and my car got awful dusty driving here and could use a vacuum.” She looked up at Dean. “If it’s all right with your dad, I’m sure I could find some things for you to do.”
Dean grinned and nodded. “Just name the time, and I’ll drop her off.”
Emma clapped her hands together as the door of the shop opened, and two women around Pearl’s age walked in, their arms laden with books.
“There she is,” one of the women said as they headed toward Kaylee.
“Yoo hoo!” the shorter of the two called, juggling the books into one arm so she could wave with the other. “We’re so excited to meet you, Kaylee. We were wondering if you wouldn’t mind signing our books.”
Kaylee looked from the women to Luke, as if unsure if she was the one they were asking. Obviously they were. She could see copies of her books in their hands, but she wasn’t used to being recognized. She had met readers at signings before, but she wasn’t often approached in public. “Um, yes, sure. Of course.”
“We saw Pearl at the hospital, and she told us you were helping out over here,” the taller woman said, dropping the books into the chair next to Kaylee. “I’m Rita Mullins, and this is Carol Carson. We’re in Pearl’s book club.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“That’s so nice of you,” Carol said, handing Kaylee one of her books and a marker. “Helping out here and all.”
“Hey, what about me?” Luke said, offering the woman a teasing grin. “Don’t I get any credit for helping out? I’m the one who just carried in all those boxes and put that T-shirt display together?”
Rita patted his arm. “I’m sure your cardboard assembling skills are excellent, dear, but you’re not a famous author. Or the writer who has taken us on wild adventures and made us swoon over our favorite hunky hero, Duke Ramsey.”
Luke shook his head. “I should hope not.” He gestured to Dean and Emma. “Come on, you two. I’ll help you get those shirts while we leave the famous writer to her adoring fans.”
Had Kaylee caught a hint of derision in Luke’s voice? She never thought of herself as a famous author. Just the opposite, in fact. She lived in fear that at any moment someone would figure out she had no idea what she was doing and had just gotten away with writing the last sixteen books.
“I also brought you some of my famous strawberry jam,” Carol said, ignoring Luke as she pulled a small Mason jar from her purse. The jar had a cheery pink ribbon tied around the top with a tag hanging from it that claimed,Carol Carson’s Award-Winning Strawberry Jam.
“Wow. Award-winning, huh?”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Rita said. “She took first place at the county fair.”
Carol lifted her chin with a huff. “Three years in a row.”
“Oh, alert the media. Somebody better call Betty Crocker to warn her she’s in danger of losing her apron.”
“You’re just jealous because my jam beat yours.”
“I can’t wait to try it. I’m sure it will be delicious,” Kaylee said, not sure how to diffuse the argument. Then she held up the book she was holding. “Who should I make this out to?”
