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ChapterOne
Jesse
I love my son Nate, but he’s a damn fool.
He had a chance to go out with a nice girl, and he blew it.
Let me rephrase that. Mariam Webb is more than a “nice girl.”
She’s a grown woman with a good head on her shoulders. While a newcomer to Darling Creek, Mariam started a successful new bakery in our tiny Montana ranching town before the age of 30. I only know all this because of the article in the Darling Creek Daily a while back. That alone makes her out of Nate’s league.
And so, to make up for my son wasting her time last night, I’m on my way to the bakery today to buy up every last bit of Mariam’s inventory.
On my way in, I stop to grab today’s paper from the metal box outside, then take a moment to read the front page. “Annual Cowboy Auction Tonight,” reads the top headline, making me smirk. I can’t believe that pushy downtown booster Violetta Reed talked me into participating in that damn auction. She knows I’ll do anything she needs for charity, even if it means humiliating myself on a stage at the local bar.
Why is this story the biggest news of the day? Better question: why does a town with a population of 2,000 residents have a daily paper?
I like it, though. I prefer keeping up on local happenings on paper rather than on Facebook. The less I know about other people’s opinions, the better. I hear the new speed bump on the way into town got ten thousand online comments. People have too much time on their hands.
The door chime to the bakery plays a loud Chewbacca noise when I walk in, which confuses me. I scan the room and set the paper on an empty table, leaving it there for someone else to read. Stepping up to the empty counter, a baby Yoda bobblehead stares at me. Okay. On the wall behind the register is a photograph of a dimpled young woman smiling ecstatically while receiving a hug from an actor who stars in one of the newerStar Warsmovies. I think. I don’t know anything about the franchise beyond teenage memories of Carrie Fisher in a space-slave bikini.
Did I walk into a bakery or a gaming store?
“Good morning! Welcome to Sweetie Pies; what can I get you?”
A swinging kitchen door has swung open, and the same dimpled woman from the photo on the wall appears in front of me. She moves behind the display case, beaming at me expectantly.
I remove my Stetson and nod at the young, perky woman with the round, pink cheeks behind the counter.
“You Mariam?”
She blinks, and the deep dimples in her cheeks soften as her smile turns slightly cautious. “Yes?”
Of course, she’s cautious around a random cowboy walking in and asking for her by name. She’s all alone in here. I’m not sure I like that for her.
Be less creepy, Jesse.
My throat closes up for some reason as I make eye contact. Mariam’s hair is tucked under a pink ball cap with the bakery name on it, and under the bill is a pair of curious, coppery eyes. I can tell immediately that Mariam is a smart cookie.
Cookie. Hardy-har-har. I’ll keep that to myself and laugh about it later.
Nate should have latched on to this Mariam and never let go. Even if the relationship didn’t last, maybe some of her common sense could have rubbed off on him. And okay, it’s selfish of me, but I was hoping to get some free sweets out of the deal.
Instead, Nate’s never satisfied. Rather than choose a career, he jumps from one get-rich-quick scheme to the next. In dating, Nate eschews anything serious with the women he meets on dating apps.
Now that I see Mariam and the wide-open soul behind those eyes, it seems odd that Nate matched on that dating site with her in the first place.
“My son is an idiot,” I blurt out with no explanation.
Oh yeah. Totally less creepy now. What’s wrong with me?
“I’m sorry?”
Dang, it’s been too long since I’ve talked to someone outside of Jesse J Ranch. Better take care of this awkward shit before tonight’s bachelor auction.
“Don’t be sorry. Nate should be sorry,” I say.
Mariam’s eyes widen in understanding. “Oh. Nate’s your son? Nate Jones?”
