Page 9

Chapter Five

“ T hat one!” little Harper Henderson cried out, pointing to a goldfish with dramatic black patches on its side and a long, sweeping tail.

It was definitely the showiest fish in the tank, so I wasn’t too surprised Harper had pointed it out.

Dutifully, I scooped out the fish with a long-handled net, then placed it in a waiting bag. Even though Silver Hollow Feathers and Fur had long since stopped selling mammals, we still offered fish.

Freshwater varieties only, though, and nothing too difficult to keep alive.

Goldfish and bettas and tetras were pretty low-maintenance, luckily, so even though my mother and grandmother and I had discussed liquidating our fish inventory from time to time, nothing had ever come of those conversations.

Which I was sure made Harper very happy. The baby of the family, she wouldn’t be starting kindergarten until the fall, which meant her mother Patty usually brought her into the store at least once a week just to give her a fun little outing.

Because I knew they already had a rough baker’s dozen of fish at home, I didn’t ask if they needed food. No, I just waited for Patty to pull a couple of dollar bills out of her wallet and hand them over, and then told Harper to have fun with her goldfish and that I’d see her next week.

She beamed as she trotted out of the store at her mother’s side, brown ponytail bouncing against her back.

Patty and John Henderson were organic farmers who had a big spread on the western edge of Silver Hollow, and Patty often brought me preserves from their orchards or fresh-baked bread made from wheat she’d ground herself.

Even though she was a good ten years older than I, she seemed to think of me as her surrogate little sister, and I got the feeling that sometimes she came into the store just to make sure I was still doing okay.

Once upon a time, such protectiveness might have felt a little cloying. Right now, I thought I could use as many people in my corner as possible.

A few minutes later, though, Sam Tucker, one of the rangers who worked at the local station, came in, and I had to revise my thinking on that particular point.

If I’d had any brothers and sisters, they might have teased me about Sam’s unrequited crush on me. As it was, I found myself always stepping delicately around him, not wanting to be actively rude but at the same time doing my utmost not to say anything that might encourage the guy.

“Hi, Sam,” I said, essaying my best neutral but hopefully still friendly smile. “What’s up?”

He came over to the cash register where I’d been standing. Most people would have thought he was good-looking enough, with his blond hair and blue eyes and year-round tan, but something about him had never clicked for me.

Too bad, because being hooked up with a forest ranger might have offered its own set of dividends. He was in the forest all day and might see things that other people had overlooked.

Then again, I was pretty sure the unicorn wouldn’t be careless enough to allow himself to be seen by a human being who wasn’t a descendant of Mary Welling, and I doubted any of the other creatures that came and went in the forest would be that nonchalant about their situation, either.

“Not much,” Sam replied. “I just came in for a new bag of cat food.”

Considering he picked up a bag at least once a week, rain or shine, I thought that poor cat must be swimming in the stuff by now.

I knew better than to say anything, though. For all I knew, he donated the excess to the local animal shelter. However, since I volunteered there about twenty hours a month, I guessed that someone probably would have mentioned it to me by now if he actually was donating to them regularly.

“Coming right up,” I said, and headed over to the Blue Buffalo section, then picked up a bag of his cat Cleo’s favorite salmon and ocean fish variety. After I returned to the cash register, I added, “Anything else?”

“No, that’ll do it,” Sam replied immediately. A flush touched his cheeks that might or might not have been a fresh sunburn.

Not for the first time, I asked myself what a man in his late twenties was doing, acting like we were back in junior high or something. Then again, some people were just naturally shy.

In this particular case, that was a lucky thing for me. The more reticent Sam was, the less chance of him finally gathering the courage to ask me out.

I rang up the cat food, and he put his Visa in the little machine on the countertop. Not too long ago, my mother had still been ringing things up the old-fashioned way, but I’d finally convinced her a few years ago to switch over to a real, honest-to-God credit card processor.

However, I didn’t want to think about all our conversations on the subject, or the way she’d been so stubborn about something that should have been a no-brainer.

If I made myself focus on what was right in front of me, then I wouldn’t lose myself in fears about what was happening to her and my grandmother, or anxious wondering about where they actually were.

“Here you go,” I said as I handed over the bag of cat food.

“Thanks,” Sam managed, and hurried out as if I’d just set his hair on fire or something.

I wouldn’t let myself be amused, though. Honestly, if I had an ounce of sense, I’d probably try to give him at least a little encouragement, would tell myself that maybe all this wouldn’t be so hard if I weren’t going through it alone.

On the other hand, dragging some poor schmuck into my drama didn’t seem like a very nice thing to do.

He was out of my hair for now, though, so that point was effectively rendered moot.

Sam had only been gone for a few minutes when the shop door opened again, this time letting in a man I knew I had never seen before.

He looked like he might be around thirty, with thick mid-brown hair and hazel eyes, and something about the way his gaze met mine made me very glad that I’d put forth the effort to apply some mascara and lip gloss before I left the house earlier today.

Objectively, it wasn’t as if the guy was a male model or anything close to it. He was tall, true, but slim and wiry rather than being muscular, and the black jacket he wore over a black shirt and those black lace-ups would have told me he wasn’t a local even if I hadn’t been looking at his face.

It was a good face, though, with a nice, strong chin and longish nose and emphatic brows just a little darker than his hair.

I realized I was staring and made myself say, “Can I help you with something?”

“I hope so,” he replied at once. He had a pleasant voice, too, not super deep, but smooth and friendly, the kind of voice I wouldn’t mind listening to for a good long while. “I was just at the outdoor shop down the street, and they told me I should come in here for bird-watching supplies.”

That comment made me raise an eyebrow. Sure, there wasn’t anything terribly strange about wanting to go birding in the woods, not when you could spy everything there from western tanagers to spotted owls to the feisty acorn woodpeckers.

Still, in my experience, when people came to Silver Hollow to go bird-watching, they were there to find a specific species and already had all the supplies they might need.

Then it clicked. This must be the guy Eliza had told me about the day before, the one who’d said he’d come to Silver Hollow to hike and who’d asked about any local folklore.

At once, my spine stiffened, even as I told myself maybe it was true that he wanted to go birdwatching, even though he sure wasn’t dressed for it.

On the other hand, it would be nice to finally unload a pair of the binoculars we’d bought for the store a while back when we thought we’d have more birders as customers than it actually turned out.

And a stack of local bird guides had been gathering dust on a shelf for months now, so it also seemed as if this was a good opportunity to get rid of a few less popular items.

As for the rest…well, Eliza had already warned me about the man, so I knew to be on my guard around him.

No matter how good-looking he was.

“Over here,” I said, then stepped out from behind the cash register so I could guide the stranger to the place where the bird identification books were located. “And the binoculars are on the shelf right behind you.”

His gaze moved over the items in question, and he picked up one of the books and leafed through it. Something about the way he was looking at the pages told me he wasn’t as interested in their contents as he was in making me think he had an entirely innocent reason for being in Silver Hollow.

But he said, “This looks good,” and then tucked the book under one arm so he could reach out with the other to lift the binoculars and give them a once-over.

I’d worked in retail long enough to recognize the way his gaze lingered on the price tag. Was he worried about spending a hundred bucks on something that might very well be a prop?

He nodded, though, and said, “I’ll take these, too.”

“Great,” I replied. “Anything else, or should I go ahead and ring you up?”

A smile touched his lips, one that reached his eyes and made a certain warmth awaken in me…one I really didn’t want to acknowledge.

“This should do it.”

Just as I was ringing up the man’s purchases — I noticed from his credit card that his name was Benjamin L.

Sanders — Tony Rivera burst through the front door.

On an average day, this wasn’t too unusual an occurrence, since the kid came by the store at least three or four times a week, doing odd jobs around the place for me, or just generally hanging out and asking questions.

He was fascinated by animals and a quick learner, and I had zero problems with him being around.