Free Carolina Mist by Mariah Stewart Page B

leaving the room.
    Next stop, the hardware store, Abby decided as she skipped jauntily down the bank’s wide steps. She drew her jacket closed against the sudden breeze and stopped on the sidewalk to orient herself. Phelps’s Hardware was to her left a few doors down from the bank. She would treat herself to a coffee maker.
    Buoyed by the knowledge that the contents of the safe deposit box would more than replenish her cash, she added a toaster to the pile of light bulbs she had stacked on the counter as she introduced herself to the tall man in the plaid flannel shirt who stood behind it.
    “Pete Phelps,” he told her cordially.
    “Oh, then you’re the father of the carpenter.” She recalled her conversation with the gas station attendant.
    “That’s right.” He nodded.
    “Mr. Phel ps… ”
    “Pete.” He smiled.
    “Pete, do you think your son could come out to my house—the Cassidy home—and maybe give me an idea of what needs to be fixed and how much it might cost?”
    “Sure thing. I expect him back in about an hour, Miz McKenna.”
    “Abby.” She returned the friendly gesture.
    “I can see if he can maybe stop out late this afternoon, if that’s a good time for you, Abby.”
    “I have all the time in the world, Pete,” she said as she loaded her arms with her purchases.
    This is great, she cheerfully mused as she strolled back to her car. I can get an estimate and pay for some—maybe even all—of the work. I can pay off Leila's debt to Belle …
    Not really, she knew, her heart sinking as she started the engine of the small car. How can Belle ever be repaid for all she did for Aunt Leila? Abby wondered, recalling Tillman’s tale of how it had been Belle who had welcomed Leila into a strange town and offered her friendship to the newcomer.
    How difficult it must have been for Aunt Leila, coming east with her new husband, a man who was years older than she, to a new town and a new lifestyle, so different from the ranch and the small town in the valleys of Montana. Leila had been close to her family, and yet she had left them all behind for Thomas’s sake. And Belle had been the one to reach out to her, to help her find her place in Primrose.
    And I want to pay her back by pitching her out on her elderly little butt. Abby grimaced. Not pitch her out, not really, but, God, am I supposed to stay in Primrose for the rest of my natural life? Belle could outlive me and her family …
    Not that I wish her ill, Abby hastened to add. I just wish there was someone else to take her in, so that I can get on with my life.
    Not a very gracious way to treat Leila’s best friend. And Leila did promise Belle she could stay in that house.
    Forever. She sighed as she pulled into the driveway. I will be in Primrose forever.
    But that’s just what you prayed for, years ago, her little inner voice piped up mischievously.
    That was then, and this is now, she growled back. That was when I was young and didn’t know any better.
    And when you were in love with Alex Kane. The little voice pricked at her.
    I was sixteen years old, she grumbled. What does a sixteen-year-old know about love?
    Seems that was as close as you ever really got, the voice jeered.
    “Enough,” she snarled aloud through clenched teeth, silencing the little whisperings inside her head as she got out of the car and slammed the door vigorously.
    Forcing a cheerful tone, she called to Belle from the kitchen.
    “What in heaven’s name are you doing, Abigail?” Belle watched in alarm as Abby pitched the old toaster out the back door and into the open trash can at the bottom of the steps.
    “Reducing our risk of death by fire,” Abby told Belle, handing her the box containing the new appliance.
    “Oh my, isn’t that handsome?” Belle admired the new toaster.
    Abby drew the new coffee maker from the bag. “And something to make my morning coffee in.”
    “Coffee is for heathens,” Belle sniffed. “Ladies drink tea.”
    Abby laughed as she