LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter One

      “Justin! Get down from there!”

      At the sound of the baritone voice spiked with irritation, Angie Edwards looked up from the cash register, stopped totaling her mother’s grocery purchases and looked across the Superette to see a little red-haired boy high atop the stock clerk’s ladder.

      She was just about to rush over to the child before he fell when she spotted Toby Fortune Jones standing near the bottom rung, waiting for the little imp to climb down.

      Toby, who owned a small ranch just outside of town and volunteered his time as a coach at the YMCA in nearby Vicker’s Corners, had become a foster parent to the three Hemings children last fall.

      Who would have guessed that the hunky rancher had such a paternal side? Just seeing him with those kids each time they came into the Superette gave Angie pause. And it warmed her heart, too.

      What didn’t warm her heart, however, was her mother checking up on her. Again.

      “Don’t forget that you’re always welcome to come stay at my house if you need to,” Angie’s mother said, drawing her back to the task and the conversation at hand.

      Angie loved her mom—she truly did—but there was no way she’d ever consider living with the woman again. There were times she couldn’t get her mom off the telephone or, in this case, through the Superette checkout line fast enough for comfort.

      “That’ll be fourteen dollars and seventeen cents,” Angie said, after she’d finished totaling her mother’s purchases.

      Why would Doris Edwards, who now lived and worked in Lubbock as a real-estate agent, drive all the way into Horseback Hollow to buy fifteen dollars’ worth of groceries?

      To check up on Angie and give her another lecture, no doubt. Thank goodness no one had gotten into line behind her yet.

      “You’re twenty-four and you can’t work at the Superette forever.” Her mother reached into her purse for her wallet. “Not that you’ve worked anywhere longer than a few months, but how are you ever going to make ends meet if you’re only putting in four hours a day? Your rent will be due soon. I hope you have enough money set aside to cover it.”

      She did, but just barely. However, she’d learned early in life that it was best not to share her worries or concerns with her mom. The woman stressed about things entirely too much as it was. And nothing Angie did would ever be good enough for a hardworking powerhouse like Doris Edwards.

      “I’ll be fine. Really.” Angie glanced around the grocery store, hoping the owners—Julia Tierney or her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Tierney—weren’t within earshot. When she saw that they weren’t, she slowly released a sigh of relief. “I knew this was a part-time position when I accepted it.”

      “You put in your application at The Hollows Cantina like I told you to, right?” As Doris pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, Angie nodded her confirmation that she had reluctantly applied.

      “Well, at least that’s something promising. From what I’ve heard, it’s going to be an upscale place to eat.”

      If truth be told, Angie really had no interest in waiting tables. She’d already done that gig and, as much as Angie liked to cook, the restaurant business wasn’t for her. Unfortunately, working part-time at the Superette and filling in as a receptionist at the flight school and charter service barely enabled her to make ends meet. Thank goodness she’d moved recently and had worked out a deal with her new landlord.

      “You realize,” Doris added, “that with the Fortune name behind the cantina, and with Jeanne Marie Fortune Jones being related to royalty and all... Well, you know what that means. People with money will be eating there. So it’ll be a good place for you to network and make some connections. Then again, if it’s a husband you want, your prospects will be better there than here. After all, if you want to catch a big fish, you have to go where they’re swimming.”

      Angie blew out a sigh. Her mother had been pushing her to get the college degree she’d never gotten for herself. And since Angie usually found jobs through friends or through a temp agency in Vicker’s Corners, her mother had decided she lacked the ambition to succeed in life. So Doris had recently started pushing a white-lace and gold-band solution.

      But Angie wasn’t looking for love. Not until she had a good idea of who she really was and where she was going in life.

      She just wished her mother’s voice wasn’t so loud, and that she wouldn’t make those kinds of comments in public.

      “Why don’t you come over for supper tonight,” her mother said, as she reached for her grocery bag. “If you do, I’ll fix meat loaf.”

      Angie would rather have a root canal than spend the evening with her mom, especially if she was making meat loaf. The woman had never been known for her domestic skills. Or her parenting skills, for that matter. In fact, Angie had probably cooked more of the family meals growing up than she had.

      But it wasn’t the quality of the food that would keep her away. It was the heartburn and the headache she expected to get from the mealtime conversation. As usual, her mom was sure to point out that Angie’s only hope—at least, as far as Doris could see—was for Angie to snag a gainfully employed husband. And there was no reason to believe tonight would be any different. They’d had this conversation at least twenty times in the past couple of months.

      To be honest, Angie feared that at least some of what her mother believed might be true. Not that she needed a man to rescue her. That certainly wasn’t the case. But for some reason, Angie just couldn’t seem to get fired up about anything, which she found troubling. Because at twenty-four, you’d think she’d know what she wanted to do with her life.

      Angie had never been good with decisions of any kind, as was evident by her résumé, which read like a copy of the Yellow Pages. But why pour herself into something when her heart wasn’t in it? She always figured she’d know what she was meant to do with her life when she felt some sort of spark or passion. Until then, she’d just keep trying a little bit of everything and commit to nothing.

      The sound of broken glass sounded from the first aisle, followed by a little girl’s shriek.

      “I’m sorry!” This came from a boy—maybe the one who’d been on the ladder. “But it wasn’t my fault, Toby. Kylie pushed me into the stack of mayonnaise. I didn’t mean to knock the jars over.”

      Angie reached for the small microphone to the right of her register. “Ralph? We’ll need a cleanup at the front of aisle one.”

      Poor Toby. His foster kids were usually pretty well-mannered,

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