LITMIR.BIZ

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is the usual time period.”

      She groaned and dropped her head into her hand. “Let me explain again, Jeff. I want to reopen the shop this Saturday. That’s five days from now. I need the merchandise no later than Friday to stock the bins. I cannot wait two weeks for approval of credit.”

      “It often takes three weeks, ma’am.”

      Holding the phone away from her ear, and holding her temper in check, she looked up at the ceiling. She drew a steadying breath and brought the phone back to her ear.

      “What do you suggest I do in the interim while you check our credit?”

      “You could charge the merchandise to a personal credit card. We’d ship this afternoon and you’d have the delivery by Wednesday.”

      “A personal credit card.” The words landed with a thud in her midsection. Since declaring bankruptcy, she’d been living on a cash basis. She didn’t want to run up any personal debt. The one credit card she possessed had a very low limit, which she’d almost exceeded buying the airline ticket to Bozeman and hadn’t paid that off yet. “I don’t have my card handy,” she hedged. “I’ll have to check with the shop owner.”

      “I’d be happy to wait, ma’am.”

      That wasn’t likely to help much. Aunt Martha seemed to be living on her Social Security, which was less than munificent. Assuming she had a credit card, Melinda doubted it had a high enough limit to cover the cost of the merchandise she’d ordered.

      Daniel crossed the shop to the counter and handed her his credit card.

      Gaping, she stared at the silver card embossed with Daniel’s name and O’Brien Ranch. She shook her head.

      “Ma’am, are you still there?”

      “Uh, hang on a minute, Jeff.” She covered the phone with her hand. “I can’t use your card, Daniel,” she whispered.

      “Why not? You need the merchandise. When you get the shop open and doing business, you can pay me back.”

      “I’m buying more than a thousand dollars’ worth of yarn and notions.”

      He lifted his shoulders in an easy shrug. “That’s fine. Think of it as a loan.”

      “I may not be able to pay you back right away.”

      He touched her hair, twirling a finger through one of her curls. His lips curved ever so slightly with the hint of a smile. “We’ll work it out.”

      Goose bumps sped down her spine and her knees went weak. She definitely shouldn’t let him do this. It wasn’t right for him to pay for what she couldn’t afford. But if she didn’t, how could she reopen the shop without a decent selection of yarn?

      “Ma’am, did you want to call me back when you work something out?”

      “No, I, uh…”

      Daniel slipped the cell phone from her hand. “Hi, Jeff. I’m Daniel O’Brien, a friend of the shop owner. We’ll put the charges on my card. How does that sound?” He winked at Melinda.

      While she stood staring at him dumbstruck, Daniel reeled off all the necessary information to charge his card over a thousand dollars.

      When he finished, he handed the phone back to her. “You’re all set. Everything should arrive Wednesday and you’ll be ready for Saturday’s opening.”

      “You shouldn’t have…” she stammered, her face flushing. “I mean, I shouldn’t have let you—”

      “The proper response is, ‘Thank you, Daniel.’”

      She closed her eyes to block out the intensity, the caring, she saw in his. Self-consciously, she fiddled with the same strand of hair that he’d twirled over his finger. “Thank you, Daniel.”

      “Good girl. Now what have we got to do to get ready for Saturday?”

      She stepped back, trying to think, trying to blot out the gratitude that was making her act stupid and jumbled her thoughts as completely as a kitten could unwind a ball of yarn. She didn’t deserve his kindness.

      “I need to make up some flyers to post around town. A big sign for the shop’s window.” The gears in her brain that had stalled under Daniel’s determined assault began clicking again. “Place an ad in the newspaper. Get a reporter to cover the opening.”

      “Sounds good. You get the flyers made and I’ll deliver them to the stores in town, get the owners to post them in their windows.”

      “You don’t have to do that.”

      “Sure I do. I need you to be a big success so I’ll get my money back.”

      That sounded ever so logical except for one little problem: Melinda was pretty sure Daniel had a totally different agenda in mind.

      Chapter Four

      Freshly printed flyers and advertising copy in hand, Melinda headed on foot toward the office of the Potter Creek Courier, the town’s semiweekly newspaper.

      Aunt Martha’s physical therapist had cut her back to one appointment per week, telling her she should keep up her daily exercises at home. Thoughtfully, a church friend of Martha’s had volunteered to take her to the therapist this morning.

      On a Monday, Main Street was quiet. Two preadolescent boys went racing by on their bikes, whooping and hollering, their baseball caps worn backward on their heads. By afternoon, they’d probably join other youngsters at the municipal pool at the far end of town.

      Most of the vehicles on the road were pickups, often with a bale of hay in the back. Older women seemed to have a preference for cars rather than trucks, their gray heads barely high enough to see over the steering wheels, their speed a few miles per hour slower than the youthful bicyclists.

      Older teens and young adults who had jobs or chores to do gathered later, near sundown, at the picnic area at Riverside Park. They’d swim in the wide spot in the river, listen to music played on boom boxes or from car stereos, make out behind the bushes.

      Melinda’s face warmed and her steps slowed at the memory of being with Daniel at the park. If she had known about DeeDee Pickens, she never would have gone to the park with him. Not even once.

      She reached the building that housed the Courier, a one-story stucco structure with wooden siding that mimicked an old Western town. The headline on the most recent edition of the newspaper, which was posted in the front window, announced VFW Elects New Officers.

      Hard to imagine any news more exciting than that in Potter Creek. Her lips twisted into a wry smile. Finding excitement hadn’t been her goal by coming west.

      Finding inner peace and starting over were closer to the truth.

      The cowbell over the door clanked as she stepped inside and got a whiff of printer’s ink and old newsprint. A stack of newspapers sat at one end of a long counter along with racks of Potter Creek postcards and area maps. The two desks behind the counter were both piled high with papers that threatened to topple over with the least provocation.

      A woman appeared from the back room. Probably in her early fifties, she wore a bright, friendly smile.

      “Morning. What can I do for you, hon?” she asked.

      Melinda introduced herself and placed one of her fuchsia flyers on the counter. “I’m Martha Raybin’s great-niece. I’m going to be reopening Aunt Martha’s Knitting and Notions, and I’d like to place an ad in the paper.”

      “Oh, I’d heard Martha’s niece was in town helping her out. I’m Amy Thurgood, editor of the Courier.” She moved her glasses from the top of her head, where they’d been perched, and slipped them on to study the flyer. The banner on the flyer read Grand Reopening on a background that resembled a knitted scarf with needles and yarn bordering the pertinent information. “Martha’s a dear lady.

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