Free Larkspur Road by Jill Gregory Page B

the basket on the small kitchen table and limped back out for the pie.
    Against her will, she had to admit it was a lovely pie. A bright circle of berries and golden crust, resting in a white box with red printing that said A BUN IN THE OVEN on the top and the side. A Bun in the Oven. That pretty little bakery everyone in Lonesome Way—even Abner—jabbered about all the time.
    She’d never stepped inside. Too many people. Some she knew from way back when, but she considered all of them strangers. Strangers who stared at her…
    These days she usually drove all the way to Livingston for her groceries and quilt supplies and whatnot so she wouldn’t have to see a soul in Lonesome Way.
    The pie did look wonderful, though. And the chicken smelled like heaven, if heaven smelled like lemon and garlic and oregano.
    She hadn’t eaten a bite since last night’s supper, before she took that spill.
    But the cat was there, a small shadow at her door.
    “Here, I’ve got your food,” she muttered, and she left the pie and the chicken on the table while she dug out the cat food bag. She rattled pellets into the bowl she kept on the corner of her old counter.
    The cat shot to the base of the porch and stood stock-still, watching warily as she limped outside and set the food down near the top of the steps.
    By the time she clumped back over the threshold, the orange tabby was up there, gobbling it down.
    Winny saw there was still water left in the other bowlshe put out for the creature. She didn’t know why she bothered.
    Maybe, she realized as she sank down onto a kitchen chair and stared at that bright, fresh blueberry pie, it was because next to Abner Floyd, who never bothered her by speaking more than about a dozen words a year, that pesky cat was the closest thing she had to a friend.
    A half hour later, she had polished off every bit of the chicken, washed and dried her plate, and sat at the kitchen table savoring a slice of pie with a hot cup of tea.
    Then, feeling better for no reason she could explain, she hobbled into her bedroom, set down the blasted cane, and sank down at her sewing machine with the Jubilee quilt she’d begun the week before. She pulled the colorful squares of calico onto her lap and, for the first time since her fall, experienced a small sense of peace. Blocking out the past, the memories, and the rest of the world, she set to work.

Chapter Eight
     

    One week later Mia combed through racks of jeans and shorts at Top to Toe on Main Street as Brittany scanned the shelves piled with folded tank tops and T’s.
    “Don’t worry, Aunt Mia, I promise I’ll pay you back from my next two paychecks,” Britt murmured, examining a turquoise tee with a paisley heart stitched on the center. Her sunglasses were perched on top of her head. “This one’s cute, isn’t it?”
    Setting down the khaki shorts she’d picked up, Mia glanced at her niece. “Wouldn’t it be easier to drive home and just pack up some more of your clothes? I don’t mind going with you. We could make a day of it. Have lunch on the deck of that nice restaurant we all went to for your birthday last year and—”
    “I’m not going all the way back to Butte for some clothes.” Brittany’s voice rang through the store and she quickly lowered her tone as several other customers and Erma Wilkins, the owner, turned to stare. “I’m s-sorry.” Shebit her lip. “I didn’t mean to sound rude. But we’d just be wasting gas to drive to Butte, wouldn’t we? Besides, I only need a few more things to get through the summer.”
    Flushing a little, she hurried to the sales counter and deposited a pink V-necked top and a pair of white shorts, as well as the turquoise tee, a purple tank, and a couple of colorful wispy thongs and bras.
    “I have my jeans and the top I wore yesterday. I’ll do my laundry every few days. It’s no big deal.”
    What teenaged girl doesn’t want her entire wardrobe of clothes at her disposal?
Mia wondered,