Free Wishmakers by Dorothy Garlock Page A

although she wasn't quite sure what he'd meant.
    Chip pushed open a swinging door, and they entered a store unlike anything Margaret had ever seen before. The counters and tables were piled high with work clothes of all kinds. The aisles were narrow, and Chip had to release her arm so they could walk single file to the front of the store.
    “Hi, Roy.”
    “Hi, Chip. How ya doin'?”
    “Fine. Dottie around?”
    “Sure I am. I'm hiding behind this stack of coveralls.” A small, plump woman with short curly hair and a bright smile emerged from behind a center table.
    “Hello, Dottie. I want you to meet Maggie.” Was that pride in his voice? He put his arm around Margaret. “Darling, these are a couple of my best friends, Dottie and Roy Lemon.”
    Margaret held out her hand. “It's nice to meet you,” she murmured.
    “Same here. We were wondering when this devil was going to bring you in to meet us.” Dottie looked up at Chip fondly.
    “Maggie needs some clothes, Dottie. She brought all the wrong things because I forgot to tell her to bring outdoor clothing. Fix her up with some jeans and shirts, boots, socks, and a warm mackinaw.” He still had his arm tightly about Margaret, as if he were reluctant to let her leave his side.
    “Sure thing. Come on, Maggie. There's nothing I like better than to run up a bill on Chip.”
    “Oh, no! I'll pay for my things.”
    Chip took her purse from her hand. “They don't take credit cards here, sweetheart.”
    “Yes, they do. The sign beside the cash register says so.”
    “Not yours,” Chip said firmly. “Run along with Dottie. Or would you rather I helped you?” He grinned down at her, but his eyes were not smiling.
    When Margaret came out of the cubbyhole of a dressing room she found Chip waiting with Dottie. She paused, uncertain, while he eyed her critically. The jeans were a little big at the waist, but otherwise they fit perfectly. The soft cotton shirt with the snap fasteners was tucked smoothly into the waistband.
    “Now that's more like it.” Chip reached for her hand and fastened the cuffs of the shirt, then inserted his finger into the waistband of the jeans. “You need a belt. How do they feel?”
    Margaret looked up at him. He seemed taller than ever because she had left her shoes in the dressing room, but his eyes were warm. “They're a little stiff,” she admitted; “I'm sure they'll be okay after they're washed a few times.” She tossed him a teasing glance.
    He was standing very close, and he bent toward her and murmured in her ear, “Sure. I'll wash them for you like you did mine.”
    It was the kind of patter that passed between people who had known each other a long time, Margaret reflected. She tilted her face up to his and felt more alive than she ever had before. This sweet, comfortable familiarity was like heady wine.
    “I want a shirt like yours.” She ran her fingertips over the soft flannel. “And some boots like Beth had on this morning.”
    “She's running up the bill on me, Dottie. Oh, well, I'm a sucker for a pretty face.”
    When they left the store Margaret was wearing jeans, a green cotton shirt Chip had insisted she buy, and comfortable rubber-soled running shoes, and she was carrying a red and black checked mackinaw similar to Chip's. The Jourdan suit was stuffed into a brown paper sack.
    Chip tossed the bundle containing her new wardrobe into the backseat of the car. They had bought sweatshirts, calf-high boots, more jeans and shirts, and at the last minute Chip had added a long flannel nightgown and fleece-lined slippers to the pile.
    “Okay. Now let's get something to eat.”
    Margaret dug into her purse for a comb. “I look a mess after trying on those clothes.” She combed through the soft waves brushing her cheeks, then smoothed her bangs.
    Chip grinned at her. “Some mess. Look at yourself.” He tilted the rearview mirror so she could see.
    “I don't have on any lipstick, and I forgot to bring it,” she