Their Wander Canyon Wish. Allie Pleiter

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       I’m thankful to have found an honest mechanic.

       I’m thankful to have a morning to myself.

       I’m thankful the girls are excited about starting school here.

       I need to feel like I have a plan—or even just the start of one.

       I need a job. Or maybe even just an interview.

       I need a friend.

      Right there was perhaps the reason Wyatt Walker had unnerved her so. He was being friendly, and she desperately needed a friend. Of course, one could never count on Wyatt’s friendliness as just that. Did the man even know how to be friends with a woman? Even a definitely not-in-the-market widow with children in tow? The absurdity of that thought almost made her laugh.

      A plan. This morning’s solitude was exactly what she needed to get started on one. Opening her eyes, Marilyn chose her next step. Lunch and planning. She rose resolutely off the bench and began walking away from the garage and the unnerving Wyatt Walker and toward The Depot. The little railroad car diner that sat next to the carousel felt like the perfect place to ponder her next steps. A quiet lunch where she didn’t have to cut the crusts off anyone’s sandwich seemed as good a place to start as any.

      She ordered a lovely, grown-up salad and iced tea, and reached into her handbag for the notebook she always kept with her. Marilyn had just uncapped her pen when she noticed a woman standing beside her table.

      “Mari?” A vaguely familiar face popped into view. The bright-eyed, curvy woman in a brightly colored scarf peered down at her, a to-go container balanced in one hand with an enormous cup of soda in the other. “Is that you?”

      Marilyn was surprised and grateful the woman’s name popped up out of her memory. “Tessa?”

      “It is you. I heard someone at church say you were back.” Tessa Kennedy glanced at the empty place setting opposite Marilyn at the small table. “You all by yourself here? Want some company?”

      She did. Desperately. “Oh, I don’t want to keep you.”

      Tessa sat down immediately, as if it were no big deal. “You’re not. I keep telling myself not to eat at my desk anyway.”

      God’s little provisions. They never failed, did they?

      Tessa flipped open the cardboard container to reveal a heap of deliciously rich-looking macaroni and cheese. With a generous portion of barbecued pork piled on top. The delectable smell suddenly made Marilyn’s salad look far too sensible.

      Tessa smirked and leaned in. “The fast-breaking news at the Wander Gazette really isn’t that fast-breaking, if you know what I mean.”

      “That’s right, you were a journalism major.” Marilyn hadn’t known Tessa that well in high school, but they’d kept up a bit over the years. She’d always been friendly, and clearly that hadn’t changed.

      Tessa stirred ice in her drink. Mari remembered she drank vats of diet cola in school, and evidently that hadn’t changed, either. “Yes, well, it’d be a stretch to call me a journalist now. Small-town reporter struggling my way through single parenthood of a teenage boy comes a bit closer.” She paused to let Marilyn’s memory catch up while she tackled the mound of food with her fork. “Nick and I split a year after Gregory was born. Mr. Right hasn’t shown up yet, so it’s just me.” Her hand stilled and her face changed. “Oops. Me and my mouth. It’s just you now with your girls—twins, isn’t it?—I’m so sorry.”

      “Landon’s been gone nine months.”

      “I remember reading about that accident. We ran a story on it, seeing as how you were from here and everything. He seemed like a great man and a huge loss.”

      She never knew how to respond to statements like that. To lots of people, Landon was a great man. For her, he’d stopped being that well before he died, and that never seemed like the kind of thing to say out loud, ever. “Yes,” she replied.

      “The single-mom thing. No easy road, is it? At least you’ve got cute little girls. Teenage boys defy explanation, let me tell you.”

      “The girls are a terrific comfort to me.” It sounded corny and poetic, but it was true. Maddie and Margie were absolute lifelines to her right now. “A real blessing.”

      Tess grinned. “I try to remember that Greg’s a blessing. Some days it’s harder than others. Where are your girls?”

      “Mom took the girls to the grocery store and shopping for school backpacks so I could bring the car in for service and have a morning to myself. They start first grade here in the fall.”

      “Little pink backpacks,” Tess practically mewled. “They probably have sparkles and kittens on them, huh?”

      “Margie’s never been the pink sparkly type. Maddie will come home with something girlie, but Margie is just as likely to pick out camo.”

      Tessa’s laugh was warm and welcoming. “Hey, I’ve seen pink-and-purple camo.”

      Marilyn thought of the bedspread from home Margie insisted come to Grandma and Grandpa’s with them. “Oh, believe me, so have I.”

      Tessa’s face lit up with a thought. “Hey, you should come to Solos. It’s the single-moms Bible study at our church. Decent baked goods—Yvonne over at the bakery donates them, and that woman knows her stuff—and free babysitting. Spiritual fulfillment aside, it’s the cheapest girls’ night out in town. You free Tuesday evening?”

      Marilyn was nothing but free. Her calendar held more open space than all of Colorado’s state parks combined. “As a matter of fact I am.”

      “Well—” Tessa dug back into her meal “—that settles that.” She lifted a heaping forkful of the incredible-smelling dish. “I’ll never finish this. I shouldn’t finish this. Want to share?”

      Marilyn felt a little of the weight slide off her shoulders. “Sure.”

      Wyatt gripped the phone handset, ready to hurl it through the garage wall. “No, I don’t want to hold, I want you to ship me the right part now and...” He fought the urge to growl as he heard the telltale click, then syrupy instrumental music echoed from the other end of the line. Not again.

      He stared at the parts catalog page and back to the packing slip inside the box he’d just opened. Why didn’t anyone use plain English for these things? Car parts, truck parts, even carousel motor parts—why use such a complicated code of letters and numbers? Why couldn’t a six-inch pinion gear be a “six-inch pinion gear” instead of Part #XH770? All that nonsense made it hard to tell parts apart—and almost impossible to make sure the part you wanted was the one that showed up in the shipping box.

      Case in point? The much-needed gear he’d ordered for the carousel. The one that was too small. Again.

      “I just need the next size up!” he grumbled uselessly into the receiver, fully aware that the awful СКАЧАТЬ