Chapter 12
Saturday morning was busy, with people in and out all morning. “I wish this wasn’t the one day we didn’t close for lunch,” she mentioned to Janet, as the store cleared of customers.
Janet nodded and stopped to straighten a decorative stalk of corn that had fallen over. “Alta and I thought it was worth it, since we close early.”
Macy grinned and opened a granola bar from the box under the counter. Reaching back down, she pulled out another and tossed it to Janet. “Enjoy, before someone else comes through that door.”
“Too late,” Janet grinned, slipping the snack into her apron pocket, as the bell rang again.
“Can I help you?” Macy asked, swallowing her bite of snack bar.
***
At three o’clock, Macy locked the doors of the shop. Janet pulled down the shades that were behind the front windows, while Macy rechecked the deposit she had made to drop in the deposit box at the bank on her way out to the Henson place.
Just the thought of spending the evening out there sent a shiver of nervousness down her spine. It was a silly way to feel. It wasn’t a date, just a ride on a horse. With the most handsome man in town, she reminded herself.
She shook her head. What was wrong with her? She’d met plenty of handsome men in Oklahoma City. Had dinners with them, gone to plays, concerts. And none had made her this nervous.
While Janet finished with the sweeping and checked the lights upstairs, she headed to the office to change out of her calico skirt and into her jeans and boots. With daylight getting shorter by the day, there wouldn’t be time to go home and change.
“Have a good time,” Janet called after her as they made their way to their cars parked in the back of the store.
***
After dropping the bag in the overnight deposit at the bank, the drive to Scott’s place took her about five minutes. Ahead, she could see that he had set the scaffolding back up in place under the sign, which now read Henson’s Red Rooster Christmas Tree Farm. She grinned. Had Sammie made him keep the Red Rooster part of the name?
She turned into the driveway and drove a short distance to the white frame farmhouse, porches on three sides. She sighed. It was a perfect little house. As much as she loved her little Victorian house, farmhouses were her favorite.
The screen door opened, and Sammie emerged, dressed in jeans, boots, a brown jacket, and cowboy boots, her arms waving in excitement. Macy parked under a big oak and got out of the car. “Good afternoon,” she called to the girl.
Sammie was next to her at once, taking her hand and all but dragging her toward the farmhouse. “Daddy’s on the telephone with his boss. He said to bring you in and give you some coffee.”
Inside, Scott was standing next to a desk, his ear covered by a phone receiver with a short cord. He waved to her. “Go ahead and get some coffee. Bring me a cup, too, if you don’t mind. I’m on hold,” he explained, pointing at the phone receiver.
Macy glanced around the old house. It had been years since she’d been inside, but it looked much the same. Except that all of Granny’s ‘stuff’ had been removed and it was now a nice, neat space. She followed Sammie into the kitchen and observed that the tall, glass-fronted cabinets were still in place, along with the old Formica countertops. She breathed a sigh of relief. A real farmhouse. No granite in sight.
“I made the coffee myself,” Sammie told her, standing on a chair and retrieving two brown coffee mugs from the open cabinet above the sink. “Daddy likes his with a little bit of milk,” she added, watching Macy pour the dark liquid. “And we have cookies, if you want one.”
Macy reached for the small pitcher of cream. It was cold, so obviously just out of the refrigerator. “It looks like you help your daddy a lot around here,” she grinned at Sammie. “Did you make the cookies?”
Sammie shook her head and laughed. “Mrs. Miller made them. They’re her special sorghum cookies. She comes in and cleans the house while Daddy writes and I’m at school.”
Macy smiled. The Miller place was just next door to Scott and Sammie. And Mrs. Miller was known for her cookie baking “I think I’ve had these cookies before,” she said, taking one off of the plate.
Sammie smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Guess what?”
“What?” Macy asked, popping the small cookie into her mouth and adding some cream to her cup.
“Look!”
She laughed. Sammie’s mouth was wide open and her little finger pointing to the empty space in the front of her mouth.
“You lost a tooth!”
Sammie nodded and pushed the sugar bowl toward her. “Last night. And the tooth fairy brought me a dollar.”
“A whole dollar? I don’t think I ever got more than a quarter,” Macy said, dropping a cube of sugar in her cup.
Sammie shrugged and leaned in, whispering, “It’s really just my daddy giving me the money.”
“I won’t tell him you know that,” Macy whispered back, picking up the cups of coffee.
She set Scott’s on the desk beside him and he nodded. “Yes, sir. I do know that, and I appreciate all that you’re doing about it.” He paused, listening, and took a sip from his cup. “I see. . .I see. . .well —”
Sammie tugged at her hand. “Come see my room,” she begged.
Macy nodded and followed her through the living room. A large Christmas tree, decorated in what appeared to be mostly home-made ornaments, dominated the corner near the back door. She allowed her eyes to glance up to the whitewashed board ceiling. She had always loved the old wrought-iron chandelier that hung from the middle of the ceiling, its prisms catching colors in the afternoon light, as well as from the twinkling colored lights on the tall tree. She paused to admire the large stone fireplace, flanked by long tall windows on each side. It would be lovely to sit in front of a fire on cold, winter nights. On the plain mantle were various framed pictures of Scott and Sammie. And one of the two of them with a lovely young woman.
Was it a photograph of Scott’s wife? She gave a quick glance at Scott, then followed his daughter up the stairs. There would be time for looking at those pictures later.
“Here it is!” Sammie exclaimed, rushing to her canopied bed and grabbing a pillow.
Macy gasped. “You’ve already finished?” How was that possible? But the little gray cat with the ball of blue yarn was perfect. And someone had even sewed a calico print back to complete the pillow.
Sammie laughed. “Daddy did most of it. He said it’s good. . .good theppy. Or something like that.”
Therapy. She smiled. “I guess it probably is. I think I’ll have to start one myself. It turned out very nice, Sammie.”
The girl nodded and took the pillow, arranging it back on her bed. Macy looked around the room. It was obvious that great pains had been taken to make it a very nice room for Sammie. The pink on the walls was echoed in the rose colored spread, and the numerous pictures that covered the wall ran the gamut of flowers to cats.
“You have a very pretty room, Sammie,” she complimented.
“Thank you,” the girl beamed, her dark eyes shining with happiness. “And next week there will be a picture of me in the parade up on the wall. Daddy is making a special cowgirl frame for it.”
“Well now, I can’t wait to see it. Or, to see you in the parade. I’ll be watching right outside my store.”
“I’ll be sure and wave at you,” Sammie grinned.
“And I’ll wave back,” Macy promised. “I’ll be looking for your pretty red cowgirl skirt and shirt.”
“Would you like to see Dooley?” Sammie asked, changing the subject.
“I’d love to. I’m always up for meeting cats.”
***
The barn wasn’t far behind the house and Scott led the way. Macy glanced behind and saw that Dooley was coming, too. He was a large, fat cat, and had loved the attention Macy had given him a few moments before. No doubt the boy would climb into her lap and let her scratch his ears for a couple of hours, if she was to sit down.
“Does he ride, too?” she winked at Scott.
He threw his head back and laughed. “Not that I know of. But he pretty much can do anything he wants, so you never know what’s next with him. He even eats my popcorn at night, if he wants to.”
They stepped into the barn and Macy breathed in the old familiar scents from childhood. She had spent every day with her horse, Shorty, until he passed away when she was fourteen. After that, she had seemed to lose interest in riding.
“Dooley wouldn’t like to ride,” Sammie countered. “He really doesn’t like the horses.”
“If I was that short, I don’t think I would, either,” Macy grinned.
“Now, let’s decide which one you’re going to ride,” Scott smiled at her. “I was thinking maybe you might like Wildfire. What do you think?”
Wildfire? Macy shook her head. “Not if he lives up to his name.”
Scott laughed again. It was a laugh she could get used to hearing.
“Peaches, Daddy. She should ride Peaches,” Sammie insisted, running past them.
He nodded and headed toward the stall of a pretty palomino, near the back of the barn. “Good choice, Sammie.”
“Peaches was my momma’s horse,” Sammie added, reaching up to touch the horse’s face.
Macy felt her smile waver. How would Scott feel about another woman riding his wife’s horse?
Scott nodded and reached for a bridle. “She likes women best. She’ll be a good ride for you,” he added. “And she doesn’t get ridden nearly as much as she should.”