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MARI DIDN’T UNDERSTAND. She thought Travis liked her, that they were friends. He’d held her hand and kissed her cheek. He let her see him cry. They had shared very personal stories with each other; she revealed parts of her deepest self to him that no one else knew. The seeds of trust long buried inside of her had sprouted, and—with just one word—he tore them out by their fragile roots.
After his rejection, she didn’t speak another word to him. Upon reflection, it was a childish thing to do: storming out of his cabin and slamming the door behind her. He shouted her name, asked her to come back, but she ignored him. On the drive to town, she muttered criticisms at him and herself. She should have known better, sticking her neck out like that. After a lifetime of rejection, of being told she didn’t belong, she should have known to keep her mouth shut, to keep to her own little corner.
On Tuesday morning, she stayed in her room until Jonathan and Pam left. They’d told her yesterday they were spending part of their day with Pam’s parents to make party favors for the baby shower Angela was hosting the Saturday after Easter. When Mari heard the front door close, she forced herself to get out of bed and take a shower. If life had taught her anything this far, it was the futility of wallowing in unhappy thoughts.
An hour later, she arrived at the Reading Room to return Shawna’s crock pot. At Mari’s approach, Shawna glanced up from her typewriter. “Perfect timing,” she said. “I’m ready for a coffee break. Join me?”
Mari set the crock pot on the desk. “Sure.” She followed Shawna to the kitchenette area. “Just black coffee for me today.”
“Straight? I’ll have the same. I’m cutting back on sugar.” Shawna slapped one rounded hip, a teasing smile lighting her plump, mauve mouth. Her figure was pleasingly curvy, and she knew it. The woman made no apologies for anything.
Sage had told Mari that Shawna once hosted a popular cooking show. When the network canceled the show, Shawna traveled the country before choosing to live in Hollister.
“There’s something I need to ask you,” Mari said, tamping down her nervousness.
“Sure thing, honey.” Shawna slid a mug of coffee across the counter then flapped a hand at the two barstools. “Pull up a chair.”
Mari perched on the edge of one stool and cradled the mug in her hands. She watched while Shawna prepared a second cup, her eyes sweeping over the woman’s attire. Today, Shawna wore a tangerine-colored knit caftan that brought out the warm undertones of her terracotta skin. Purple and gold beaded costume jewelry draped around her long neck and dangled from her ears. Her loose hair framed her cheerful face in shiny, soft black curls.
“Why do you live here?” Mari blurted. Then she winced; she’d intended a more tactful approach.
Shawna arched one elegant eyebrow. “Funny. I’ve wondered when you’d ask me that question. I see it in your eyes whenever you visit the Reading Room: why is a thirty-something Black woman living in this tiny, homogeneous town in Montana? Am I right?”
“I don’t mean to sound rude...”
“Oh, honey, it’s not rude. I’m glad you asked. Let me rephrase that. I’m glad you asked. The first time I spotted you at the café, my heart jumped with joy. Hollister needs more color. In more ways that one.” She waved her arm at the vivid fabrics and artwork decorating the walls.
“You like it here.”
“I love it here.” Shawna came around the counter to sit beside Mari. “I’ve yet to find the best words to explain, but I sensed a connection to this place the first time I visited. It stirs my soul. Once I experienced that sensation, nothing else mattered.”
“But, don’t you sometimes feel...weird being the only Black person here?”
“Not at all. If I cared what people thought about me, I would never have gone on television. You heard about that, right?” Shawna took a sip of coffee. A shadow fell across her features. “My parents died when I was five, and my father’s sister took me in; she lives in an Atlanta suburb. I’m sure she did her best to raise me right and show me love, but I never sensed I truly belonged.” She cast Mari a sideways glance. “Understand what I mean?”
Mari nodded her head.
“I had a good education. I studied communications in college while working as a server at a popular restaurant in downtown Atlanta. One day, a television network executive stopped in for dinner. My vibrant personality caught his eye, and, before you can blink, I was hosting a cooking show.” She chortled. “Well, it was actually five years later after working various jobs at the production studio, but I was having so much fun, time sped by. I didn’t know much more than the simple southern recipes my aunt taught me, but that’s what the network wanted. But I honed my skills and learned from my guests. Got that chicken soup recipe from one.”
“Sage told me the network canceled the show after five seasons?”
“Yes. In hindsight, I’m sure my growing boredom began to tell. I enjoyed hosting the show, but I soon believed I’d become a parody of what the network and fans expected me to be: the curvy, soul-food cooking, Black woman with the exaggerated southern drawl.” She added extra inflection to her voice to emphasize that last remark.
Mari laughed.
“You see?” Shawna said. “I grew to dislike that woman. She wasn’t me. All my life, I wanted to travel. Most people in my neighborhood back home never venture over five miles from their front door. They stay within the secure circle of their comfort zones. I felt boxed in. So, when my very generous severance package arrived, I told myself, it’s now or never, girl. It’s time I discover what those fly-over states are like for real. Since I made that decision, so many wonderful things have happened in my life. This place, my writing... Samuel.”
That last shared confidence surprised Mari. Her mouth curved in response to Shawna’s coy smile. “I’ve wondered about you two. You sure spend a lot of time in the Merc chatting with him.”
Shawna sighed. “Well, to be honest, I sometimes wonder myself. Samuel went through a horrible divorce the year before I moved to Hollister, and he’s sworn never to tie the knot again. Which poses a problem, because I’m the marrying kind.”
She appeared lost in thought for a moment, then she shook her head. “But that’s a whole other topic. Now, listen, I’ve seen you—everybody’s seen you—hiding in corners and avoiding people. It’s helped some since you started waiting tables, but you don’t look most people in the eye. What do you suppose folks say about you when you don’t look at them? They wonder what you’re afraid of, what you’re hiding. That’s all. Their stares have nothing to do with the color of your skin, unless to admire how pretty you are.” She wagged a finger, her expression compassionate but firm. “Now don’t roll your eyes at me. It’s true. If any bigots live in Hollister, they’re hiding under rocks. So, what do you suppose folks say about me?”
Mari squared her shoulders, some of her self-confidence returning. “Going just by my opinion, I bet they say you are a sassy, beautiful and generous woman.”
Shawna beamed. “Right. They see what I want them to see. Everything else is nobody’s business but my own and the people I trust. Project to the world the woman you desire to be, Mari Jones. It doesn’t matter if you’re still afraid on the inside. Then watch what happens.”
***
MARI TOOK SHAWNA’S advice to heart and did her best to apply it at the café the following day. If her smiles felt a little forced, no one appeared to notice. She even started conversations with a few regulars, expanding her basic repertoire to ask about their day and when they thought the rain would end.
Outside, the snow in the lower elevations had melted, but the previous week’s warm chinook winds had yielded to rain clouds that dumped buckets of water on the region. Water flooded creek banks, saturated fields, and formed massive puddles on the roads. It was a muddy mess. An old-timer named Sim Smiley told Mari the rain would last another week or two. “It greens the grass. A mighty pretty sight. You won’t mind the rain once you see a Sweet Grass spring.”
At nine o’clock, Spence Hollister strode into the café with Mack and Kane Tanner, and Noah Olstad, who was Spence’s foreman and Hedda’s husband. Most Wednesdays, the men had coffee and pie at the café while they talked ranch business, but Mari hadn’t seen them in several weeks. The calving season must be tapering off, an assumption Spence confirmed when she came to take the men’s orders. Sage preferred serving their table, but she was elbows deep in pie making and asked Mari to do it. “Tell my fiancé I put some extra sugar in his pie.” She smirked. “He knows what to do if he needs more.”
Spence chuckled when Mari delivered Sage’s message. The tips of his ears reddened, and his face glowed.
Mack snorted with mock derision. “I don’t recognize you anymore,” he said to Spence. “Love’s turned you upside down and sideways.”
Spence punched Mack’s shoulder. “Fine with me, old man. Wait until it happens to you one day.”
“Never gonna happen. Love’s for the birds.”
“Mack just wants a strong ranch woman who can lasso a cow, sew buttons on his shirts, and grill him a steak—all at the same time,” his younger brother Kane said.
Mack shrugged his big shoulders. “You hit the nail on the head.”
Mari hid a smile. “I’ll be back with your orders.”
While she plated slices of pie in the kitchen, her thoughts turned to Travis. He had a similar bone structure to Spence, and the men shared the same straight nose and high forehead. But, as open and relaxed as Spence had become since proposing to Sage, his demeanor was more reserved. Even in his darkest moment, when she consoled him over the death of his horse, there was a lightness, a...vitality inside Travis that ignited a corresponding sensation inside herself. Maybe it was his dimpled cheeks, the soft glint in his eyes, or the gentle way he treated his animals. Whatever that spark might be, it drew her towards him and made her want to tell him everything about herself. This both alarmed and intrigued her.
Well, it didn’t matter anymore. He had rejected her offer to work for him. She’d apply for a housekeeping position at the Tanner’s ranch and move forward with her plans to buy a used car...
“Which of those plates is Spence’s?” Sage asked.
“This one.” Mari pointed at a plate holding a generous slice of lemon meringue pie.
Sage wiped her hands on a towel before reaching into her apron pocket. She handed Mari a folded slip of pink paper. “Slide this under his pie.”
Mari grinned. “Is it a love note?”
“Yep. A little poem I wrote. He likes poetry.” The glow in Sage’s eyes matched the one Mari witnessed in Spence’s. “It’s funny how the simplest gesture means the most to him,” Sage said. “You remember that when you find your man, Mari. They love this kind of stuff.”
Wistfulness followed Mari to the Wednesday Ranchers’ table. She watched Spence’s face as he spied the note peeking from beneath the pie. It must feel wonderful to make a man look so totally smitten.
As she swung away from the table, Spence said as if in afterthought, “I stopped by my brother’s place yesterday, and he seems to be on the mend. That’s a credit to you, Mari.”
She avoided his eyes at first, then she recalled Shawna’s advice and offered Spence direct eye contact. “I wasn’t the only one who helped,” she said.
Spence winked. “Well, you’re the only one he talks about.”