didn’t miss that she checked her watch with a brush of her finger. She’d probably stay a minute or two, no more, but it seemed a gift just the same.
Wes thought of saying that he wasn’t likely to attack Maria Davis, or anyone else for that matter. The only weapon he’d ever handled was a broom. Owners of grocery stores usually didn’t show up on wanted posters in the post office.
Maybe she still thought of him as an outsider. After all, he’d only lived in Crossroads for seven years. She’d been living in Dallas when he moved to town, so he’d never known her before her accident. Small-town people are sometimes slow to accept strangers, and maybe her being blind made it harder still.
But Wes sat across the aisle from her in church every Sunday and they sometimes ate at the same cafeteria table during the potluck suppers for singles. That didn’t exactly make them friends, he guessed.
He set a cup of coffee down in front of her but didn’t move around to his desk.
“We sold out of the apple jelly last week,” he said, proud of himself for thinking of some way to start the conversation. “With Christmas coming, you might want to think about restocking on Saturday, or you could leave a case and I’ll take care of it.”
“I will.” Her slim fingers brushed the heavy mug and circled the handle. “I could wrap a few gift baskets. They’d be expensive, but people might buy them as Christmas gifts.”
“It wouldn’t hurt. Last-minute shoppers are always looking for something unique.” That was it, he thought. The limit of their conversation.
He didn’t blame her for not wanting to know him better. They were simply polite acquaintances. Both too quiet. And even though she couldn’t see him, someone had probably told her he was homely. He might be only thirty-four now and considered himself passable, but in a few years he’d get that buzzard look his father and grandfather had aged into. Too tall, too thin, hawk-nosed and big-eared. The few women he had dated years ago must have seen the future the moment he took them home.
A rattle sounded at his open office door.
The Franklin sisters, who owned the bed-and-breakfast down the street, poked their heads in and interrupted his torture. They used to brag that they put up their own jams, but since Maria had started selling her jams and jellies, the sisters had decided to buy from Wes.
“Morning, Maria,” Rose Franklin said as she waddled past Wes like he was a post in the center of the office. “You got any of the apricot jam? I make a great chicken bake with it.”
“Yes ma’am, I made some more up from the apricots I froze this fall. You might want to stock up because what’s on the shelf will be the last until next summer.”
Maria grinned for the Franklins. Something she never did for him. She had a sunbeam smile, he thought, a slice of beauty peeping through her normally cloudy-day expression.
Daisy Franklin leaned close to Maria. “We’d buy it from you wholesale, Maria, if you’d let us.” She glanced over at the six-foot-two post named Whitman and must have decided he wasn’t listening in. “Cut out the middleman, you see.”
Wes didn’t move or comment. He’d heard the sisters try this trick before. Maria’s jars might not bring in much income for him, but her product brought in customers. All it took was one jar and they stopped by for more every time they passed Crossroads.
“No, thank you, Miss Franklin,” Maria said as she carefully sipped her coffee. “I have an agreement with Wes. He buys all I can make and I sell only to Whitman Grocery.”
Wes smiled. She’d said his first name in front of someone. Like they were friends. They’d made a deal and she’d stuck to it.
Half the store was regular supplies, but the other half was specialty items, all locally grown or canned or baked or brewed. She’d walked in with her sister leading the way and asked if he wanted to stock her jellies. Wes couldn’t have said no even if he’d had to eat every jar.
Now folks stopped in to buy the small jars that had red bandannas tied with ribbons on the lids. Every week, Wes watched her stock empty off the shelf, counting down the days until she’d be back.
Rose Franklin frowned as she looked around his office. Two chairs. Walls lined with boxes and Wes standing at the door. “I understand if you two have some kind of private agreement, just between you.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ve had a few of those myself over the years.”
Neither Wes nor Maria looked up. Arguing with Rose was like fighting a case at the Supreme Court. You’d better be ready to brawl, or stay out of the court.
Wes saw Maria’s cheeks redden. Rose seemed to be hinting there might be more between them. Much as he wished there could be, he knew the chances were zero.
“Everyone who has your peach preserves on our famous nut bread at breakfast wants to buy both. If the bed-and-breakfast carried a stock of the preserves, it would save them a trip over here.” Rose straightened, prepared to wait it out for the answer she wanted. “You’d only up your sales.”
Wes stepped into the line of fire. “Now, Miss Franklin, I’ve heard of that homemade bread of yours. Folks say it’s straight from heaven. Have you ever thought of marketing it? I think it would be cute with both of you ladies’ pictures on the label. Franklin Sisters Famous Breads. I can see it on the shelf.”
Daisy clicked her tongue almost like a little drumroll. “Oh, no, no, we can’t do that. We’ve got far bigger irons in the fire.” She glanced at her sister for permission. With Rose’s slight nod, Daisy continued, “Rose and I have decided to open another business. What with the town growing, we’re going to become wedding planners. And though our first clients are keeping it a secret, we’re planning a huge wedding, bigger than this town has ever seen.”
Rose nodded. “Once we establish our name, folks from big cities like Amarillo or Lubbock, or even Abilene, can call us. We’ll put the wedding party up in the bed-and-breakfast, plan the wedding, bake the cake, and all they’ll have to do is show up.”
Daisy giggled. “It’s called a destination wedding.”
“Imagine that,” Wes said politely. He’d never thought of Crossroads as a destination, more like a potty stop where two highways crossed.
“That sounds grand, ladies. Let me know if I can help.” Wes considered asking how two ladies who’d never married had suddenly become experts on wedding planning, but he didn’t want to hurt their feelings.
Rose straightened. “Well, as a matter of fact, you can help. If you’d find a bride, we’d give you half off for being our first local customer. We could work you in before the big wedding in June.”
Both women laughed when Wes backed away.
“It’s all right, dear.” Daisy Franklin waved him back. “We know you’re like us, Mr. Whitman. Some folks just aren’t meant to ever marry.”
Wes was thankful when one of his employees stepped up with the sisters’ bags.
The Franklins waddled off and Maria handed him her empty cup. His time alone with her was over.
She moved away without a word.
Wes sat down
