Page 47 of A Cowboy's Twinkling Lights Lasso
“Reindeer?” Flora looks at me.
“She refuses to wear her hearing aid,” I whisper to Flora.
She nods, understanding, and raises her voice for the brief chat with Alma. I watch as Flora reconnects with the past she’s terrified of. When they finish, Alma ducks behind the counter and pulls out a wicker picnic basket. She places two strawberry milkshakes beside the basket, and Flora’s eyes light up.
“You remembered?” She nudges my side.
“There’s nothing about you I forget.”
Her eyes darken, and she presses her lips together.
Our second stop is Betty’s Bakeshop. She stayed late just for me, so the lights are dim through the large pastel-green window frames. The bell above the door jangles our arrival.
“I know you love her Christmas cookies, but I also ordered two of her granddaughters Dreamy Monster Cookietreme’s.”
“Those sound delicious.”
“They are.”
Betty Hill’s green eyes twinkle when she sees Flora.
“It smells amazing in here, Betty.”
“You always had a sweet tooth.” Betty has candy sprinkles in her feathered snowflake white hair.
“Some things never change because I’m popping back in when these displays are full of your baking.”
“Don’t you worry. Thorn ordered enough to satisfy your sweet tooth for a week.”
Flora dives into a more extended chat with Betty as she delves into all the details of her granddaughter returning to town and running the bakery with her.
With a box of treats in hand, we head back outside. We stop in front of the two local bars.
“Are they still bickering like cats and dogs?” Flora sticks her hands in the pockets of her jean jacket.
“I reckon that ain’t something that’s ever going to change.”
“How do we choose which bar?”
The longstanding feud between the owners is the stuff of local legends.
“I’ll tell ya what. You take Kiwi’s. I’ll take Bucky’s and meet you in the middle.”
“What does that mean?”
“Head inside, and you’ll understand.”
Chapter Fourteen
FLORA
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I FIND A hole inside. A six-foot-wide hole between the two bars with a rough, unfinished edge of jagged bricks protruding at odd angles. Dim light spills through the opening as I walk closer.
Thorn smiles at me from the other side.
He tips his hat. “Evenin’ sweetheart.” He raises his voice above the conversation and live band belting out country rock.
