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She laughed. “The sheriff doesn’t get out much. He was going with Dana Conyers until she set her cap at Dal Blake.” She grimaced. “Jeff’s got a nice ranch, but he can’t match bankbooks with Dal. Nasty piece of work, that woman. She puts on a good act—goes to church, teaches Sunday School, does volunteer work. She sells flowers, but she doesn’t like them, you know?” she added suddenly.
Meadow frowned.
“You don’t understand, do you?” Mrs. Pitts asked kindly. “You see, people who grow flowers fall into sort of a category. They’re nurturing people, the sort who would stop to save a drowning person or help a little animal out of the road. Dana inherited the shop from her aunt. She overprices everything and cheats on vases and substitutes less expensive flowers when people call in something exotic. Got called down for it by the pastor of our Methodist church after the patron who bought the flowers told him that Dana hadn’t delivered what he ordered.”
“She doesn’t strike me as a typical florist,” Meadow had to admit. “But she’s very pretty.”
“Pretty on the outside, I guess,” the older woman agreed. “I’d rather have pretty on the inside. A kind heart is more important than the packaging it comes in, you know.”
She smiled. “I guess.”
“You’ve known Dal Blake a long time.”
“Since I was about thirteen,” she agreed. “He and my dad shared bulls. He came over to the house sometimes when I was visiting.”
“Your dad liked him,” she said. “But he didn’t want him around you when you were in high school. Even in college. He said you could do a lot better than a man who collected hearts.”
“You knew Dad?”
She nodded, smiling. “We went through school together. He was a fine man. Your mother wasn’t from here. We hoped she’d settle and stay with him, but we were too rural to suit her. Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You didn’t,” Meadow replied. “I loved my mother, but she really was something of a snob.”
“Your dad wasn’t. He never judged people by what they had. Hurt us all to lose him,” she added. “We were glad when you moved back here. The ranch has been part of our community since his own dad founded it, way back when.”
“I wish I knew how to run it properly,” Meadow confessed. “I wasn’t around enough to learn the ropes. Now it’s too late. I have to depend on the men to know what to do. But that won’t save it. We need an experienced manager. Those are thin on the ground.”
“You should marry Jeff and let him manage it for you,” Mrs. Pitts said wickedly.
She laughed. “He’s a very nice man, but . . .” She shrugged. “I know what you mean. He’s still stuck on Dana, regardless.” She shook her head. “Never ceases to amaze me how much some men love being badly treated by a woman. She snapped at him, stood him up, called him names, and he kept going back.” She sat down at her desk. “That won’t work with Dal Blake. He’ll set her down and walk out the door. Never has been a woman he couldn’t walk away from. Not even when he was younger.”
The thought made Meadow sad, but she concealed it. She went to her own desk. “Well, I’ve got work to do. Best I get to it before I’m out the door looking for a new job.” She laughed.
“Jeff won’t fire you. He’s too grateful for the help.” She shook her head. “It’s been hard on him since our investigator left.”
“I’m not making much headway on the antique lamp.”
“You will,” Mrs. Pitts told her. “You’ve got a good head on those shoulders. All you need is a little self-esteem.”
Meadow’s eyebrows arched in a question.
“Don’t you let Dal Blake run you down,” came the unexpected comment. “He’ll walk all over you if you let him.”
“He’d better be wearing thick boots, then,” she returned.
Mrs. Pitts just laughed.
* * *
Meadow went to the town’s one convenience store to investigate the theft of a jacket and a pair of boots that belonged to the owner. Nobody locked doors around here. Somebody had just walked in the back door while the proprietor was waiting on a customer and took off with the items.
The odd thing was that the thief had put on the boots. The owner recognized the tread pattern as they walked out back where fresh snow was falling.
“Now doesn’t that beat all?” the man said, exasperated. “He steals my best snow boots and just walks off in them! Doesn’t he know about tracks?”
“I think he may be a couple of beers short of a six-pack.” Meadow chuckled. “I’ll see if I can run him down.”
“You be careful. Easy to get lost in them woods when snow’s coming down like this.”
