Seated in the recliner on Saturday afternoon, the quiet house warmed by the sunshine falling against the windows, Ruth felt herself grow drowsy. That was one of the worst things about her broken ankle. It left her sitting too much of the time and taking more than one nap per day.
“Gran.”
Her eyes managed to open again. “In here.” As if Samantha didn’t know where to find her.
Her granddaughter appeared in the doorway, carrying a couple of file folders and a small notebook. “Can I talk to you about something?”
Ruth answered a question with a question. “Have you been working in the office on a Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“For heaven’s sake, why? There’s nothing that’s so urgent it can’t wait until Monday.”
Samantha walked to the sofa. “I felt like working.” She sat on the end closest to Ruth. “I was going through past inventory reports, and I wondered if you shouldn’t change some of the items you carry in the gift shop.”
“Like what?”
“Well, you’ve given a lot of retail space to those scented candles you like so much. I know they’re why you used ‘Scentimentals’ in the business name and why you spelled the word that particular way. But if you look at the sales from the past two years, the candles aren’t your bestsellers. Not even close.” She opened one of the folders and passed it to her.
Ruth obediently studied the papers inside, but what interested her wasn’t written on them. What intrigued her was a new enthusiasm in her granddaughter’s voice. She read for as much time as she felt it required, then closed the folder and lifted her gaze. “So, what are your ideas, Sam?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Her granddaughter grinned as she presented another open folder. “You already know that you get lots of customers who are headed for the vineyards and to the Snake River, especially in the summer months. People out for a fun weekend drive. You also get customers from the bed-and-breakfast, thanks to Brooklyn. Instead of what they can buy anywhere, like the candles, you should have more specialty items on your shelves. Made-in-Idaho kinds of things.” She pointed at the top paper in the folder. “I pulled some suggestions from the Internet that I think you should consider. Including nonfiction books about Idaho and novels set in Idaho and books by Idaho authors. Did you know that the author who won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction two or three years ago lives in Boise? What if you could get some signed copies in here? Or maybe you could do an author signing on a Saturday.”
“Gracious,” Ruth whispered.
“You could sell so much more than candles, Gran.”
“Have you talked to Camila about any of this?”
Samantha leaned against the back of the sofa. “A little. She said to talk to you, but she likes my suggestions. I’m sure I could get you some catalogs to thumb through. Or I could let you use my laptop so that you wouldn’t have to wheel yourself into the office.”
“The catalogs would be nice.”
Grinning, her granddaughter stood. “I’ll get right on it.” She took a few steps toward the entrance to the kitchen, then stopped and looked back. “And if you decide to focus on Idaho for your gift items, maybe we could come up with some appropriate Idaho names for your beverages as well. You know. Something more original than a caramel latte or a chai tea. Something like a Bogus Basin Latte or a Gold Rush Chai. That kind of thing.”
As Ruth watched Samantha leave the room, she had an idea of her own. For the first time she wondered if, deep down, her granddaughter didn’t want to return to Oregon at all. And if that were true, she wondered, how might she help Samantha discover what it was she did want?
Nick stared at the finished canvas he’d brought home with him. He’d set it on the kitchen counter as he came in the door last night, leaning it against the wall beneath the cabinets. Now the afternoon light falling through the window seemed to spotlight it. Which, of course, his artistic endeavor didn’t deserve.
He picked up his phone and opened the photo app. There he was, standing between Brooklyn and Samantha in the back row, the five teenaged girls kneeling in front of them. Everyone held their paintings, all of the artwork alike and yet different at the same time.
His doctor had been right. The evening had been good for him, but the positive result had little to do with acrylic paints and a twenty-by-sixteen-inch canvas. Laughter had been his much-needed tonic. Lots and lots of laughter. And the company of the woman who made him feel whole and connected.
He moved closer to the painting, studying it but imagining Samantha. Hope and caution warred within him. Hope wanted him to take out his phone and call her. Caution told him to take it slow, not to rush.
He turned away from the painting, and his gaze swept the small kitchen. He’d long since completed his Saturday housekeeping and laundry chores. The thought of hanging around the house for the remainder of the day left him feeling claustrophobic.
“Come on, Boomer. Let’s take a ride.”
The dog was waiting at the door before Nick could pick up his keys.
A short while later, when he drove his truck down the driveway, he didn’t have a destination in mind, but it seemed natural to turn right onto the road and follow it all the way into Thunder Creek. Once there, he turned onto Orchard Street and drove to the town park. When he got out of his pickup, Frisbee in hand, his gaze flicked to the back of Ruth Johnson’s home. Maybe after he and Boomer got some much-needed exercise, he would stroll over to the shop for a coffee or a cold beverage of some sort. He might even run into Samantha while there.
Maybe he’d had an actual destination in mind after all.
Samantha stepped outside, stopping on the back stoop to draw in a deep breath. The weather was perfect. She’d never grown used to the clouds and rain that were common in the Portland area. She much preferred the plentiful sunshine of southwest Idaho.
A sharp bark drew her gaze over the hedge and across the park. She looked just in time to see a dog sail high into the air to catch a Frisbee. “Good boy,” the unseen owner called.
But she recognized both dog and voice, and she was instantly drawn out of her grandmother’s backyard and onto a path into the park. She crossed the creek on the footbridge. Beneath her, the water was high on its banks, and she felt a coolness rising from its surface as it flowed by. Not long after, Nick and Boomer came into view. She saw Nick toss the Frisbee, and once again the border collie flew after it, catching it with ease. Boomer was twisting toward his master by the time his feet hit the ground. Samantha stopped and applauded. In unison they looked in her direction. Boomer wagged his tail while Nick smiled.
Her heart fluttered erratically. “Boomer’s amazing,” she said as she continued toward them. But it wasn’t the dog that had made her pulse quicken.
“Yeah. He is.”
“Have you thought of entering one of those Frisbee contests?”
“Nah. We do it for fun.”
She reached the pair and leaned down to stroke the dog’s head. When she glanced up, she said, “I haven’t seen the two of you in the park before.”
“We did this at home in the winter, but I can’t throw into the fields now. Crops have been planted. I’d be in trouble if I let Boomer tear things up.”
“I’m surprised how few people are using the park today. It’s gorgeous out.” She turned her face toward the sun and closed her eyes. “I love warm, sunny days like this.”
“I remember.”
His soft reply made her heart flutter a second time. Hoping she wouldn’t give herself away, she turned her attention to the dog. “You love the weather, too, don’t you, Boomer?”
“Do you want to throw the Frisbee for him?” Nick held the disc toward her.
“I’m not very good at throwing.”
He laughed softly. “Some things I forget, but I remember that too.” His tone seemed filled with affection.
“Do you also remember that line from the movie The Sandlot?” She smiled back at him, wanting to prolong the moment. “I really do ‘throw like a girl.’ ”
His laughter faded, but he continued to hold out the Frisbee. “Go ahead, Sam. Give it a try.”
She was unable to resist his urging. “All right.” She took the Frisbee. “But Boomer’s going to hold this against you since it’s your idea.”
“Nah. Not Boomer. He’s very forgiving.” He grinned. “At least he is of me.”
Samantha tried to feign irritation, but it was a hopeless attempt. Laughing again, she turned to throw the Frisbee. Boomer started running before Samantha straightened her arm.
“Come back, Boomer. I’ll never throw it that far.”
With all of her strength, she tossed the floppy disk into the air. But she was right. The dog had far outdistanced her effort. In fact, the Frisbee made a sharp turn to the right and collided with a tree. Then it bounced and cartwheeled across the grass.
Boomer’s expression seemed to say, What was that?
“Sorry, fella,” she called to him.
Nick pointed. “It’s over there, boy. Get it, Boomer.”
Wisely, when the dog retrieved the Frisbee, he took it to his master rather than to Samantha.
“I told you so,” she said.
“Can’t have you throwing like that for all of Thunder Creek to see.” He tossed the disk through the air. “I guess we’re going to have to work on that arm of yours this summer.”
A shiver of pleasure coursed through Samantha at his words. She had to fight the urge to ask when they could start.