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      Brooke blinked, not exactly following all this, but she needed a job, and she sensed that Mr. Green Peas was getting impatient. “I really need a job. My brother Austen will vouch for me.”

      Gladys’s gray brows rose to an astounding height. “Nothing but trouble, that one. Stole from Zeke…” Then she sighed. “He’s doing good things now, with the railroad and all, but I don’t know.”

      “That was a long time ago.” Henry chimed in, apparently more forgiving.

      “It’s getting even longer,” complained the man behind her.

      Gladys shook her kindly head. “We’re not looking to hire anybody, and you being a stranger and all. No references, except for your brother…”

      “I’m new in town,” Brooke repeated in a small voice, feeling the door of opportunity about to hit her in both her posterior and her face, as well. Doors of opportunity could sometimes be painful.

      “I’ll vouch for her.”

      At first, Brooke was sure she had misheard. It had happened before. But no, not this time. Brooke turned, profoundly grateful that the goodness of small-town America was not overrated. She’d lived in Atlantic City, Detroit, Chicago, Indianapolis and six freezing weeks in St. Paul. She’d dreamed of a little town with bakeries and cobblestone streets and hand-painted signs and people who smiled at you when you walked past. She’d prayed for a little town, and finally she was about to live in one. “Thank you,” she told the man behind her.

      He was tall, in his mid-thirties, with chestnut brown hair badly in need of a cut. There wasn’t a lot of small-town goodness emanating from the rigid lines of his face. A black patch covered his left eye and he had a thin scar along his left cheek. In fact, he looked anything but friendly, but Brooke didn’t believe in judging a book by its cover, so her smile was genuine and warm.

      “You know her, Captain?” Gladys asked.

      Mr. Green Peas nodded curtly. “It seems like forever.”

      “It’s about time you’re making some friends in town. We were worried when you moved out to the old farmstead, not knowing a soul in town and all. I’ll tell Sonya, she’ll be happy to hear that.”

      Not sure who Sonya was, but sensing that Captain’s opinion counted with these two, Brooke faced the couple. “Please, give me a job,” she urged. “You won’t regret it.”

      From somewhere in the tiny grocery, Brooke could hear a relentless pounding. A rapid-fire thump that seemed oddly out of place in the sleepy locale. Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa.

      Gladys and Henry didn’t hear the loud noise.

      No one did.

      Because, duh, it was her own heart.

      She told herself it didn’t matter if she didn’t land this job with this homespun couple. It didn’t matter if her brothers didn’t welcome her with open arms. It didn’t matter if the lawyer had made a mistake.

      She told herself that none of it mattered.

      All her life Brooke had told herself that none of it mattered, but it always did.

      Her hands grasped the counter, locking on the small tin can. “What do you say?”

      Gladys patted her cheek for a second time. Soft, warm…sorrowful.

      “I’m sorry, honey. We just can’t.”

      As rejections went, it was very pleasant, but Brooke’s heart still crawled somewhere below the floor. They had been so friendly, the store was so cute with its handpainted Hinkle’s Grocery sign over the door. She’d been so sure. Realizing that there was nothing left for her in this place, Brooke walked out the door, opportunity slamming her in the butt.

      Her first day in Tin Cup. No job, no lawyer, an uneasy brother who didn’t know she was here, and—she glanced down at the can of peas still stuck in her hand—she’d just shoplifted a can of peas. Brooke fished in her jeans pocket for some cash, brought out two crumbled dollars, an old Metro Card and a lint-covered peppermint—slightly used.

      Two dollars. It was her last two dollars, until she found a job, of course. All she had to do was go back inside, slap the money on the counter and leave as if she didn’t care. As if they hadn’t shouted down her best “Pick me!” plea.

      Brooke turned away from the store with its cute homespun sign and restashed her money. Better to be branded a thief than a reject. It wasn’t the most honorable decision, but Brooke had more pride than many would expect from a homeless woman that lived out of her car.

      Once she was gainfully employed, she’d pay back Gladys and Henry. They’d understand.

      And was that really, truly how she wanted to kick off her new life in her new home? As some light-fingered Lulu, which apparently all the Harts were supposed to be, anyway?

      After taking another peek through the window, she sighed. No, she wasn’t going to be a light-fingered Lulu, no matter how tempting it might be. And especially not for a can of peas.

      In the distance a freckle-faced little girl on a skateboard careened down the sidewalk. Eagerly, Brooke waved her down, hoping to recruit an unwitting accomplice so that Brooke Hart wouldn’t be another unflattering mug shot on the Post Office wall.

      “Hello,” she said, when the little girl skidded to a stop and then Brooke held out her hand. “Can you give this to Gladys? Tell her it’s for the peas.”

      The girl examined the proffered money, then Brooke, innocent eyes alight with purpose. “You going to tip me for the delivery?”

      Yes, the entrepreneurial spirit was strong in this one. Who knew that honesty was such a huge pain in the butt? And expensive, too. After jamming her hand in her pocket, Brooke pulled out her last seventeen cents. Reluctantly, she handed it to the kid, who stood there, apparently expecting more.

      “Please?” asked Brooke, still wearing her non-stranger-danger smile. At last, the little girl sighed.

      “Whatever,” she said and kicked a foot at the end of the skateboard, flipping it up into her hand.

      “That’s pretty cool,” Brooke told her, and the girl rolled her eyes, but her mouth curled up a bit and Brooke knew that she’d made her first friend in Tin Cup. Sure, she’d had to pay for the privilege, but still, a friend was a friend, no matter how pricey, no matter how small.

      “Whatever,” the girl repeated, then pulled open the screen door.

      Now that Brooke’s fledging reputation was somewhat restored, or about to be, her job here was done. She dashed across the street, leaping into her eyesore of a car before anyone could see. She had big plans before she showed up on Austen’s doorstep, and it wasn’t going to be without a job, without any money and in a car that should be condemned.

      Once safely behind the wheel, she tossed the can of peas onto the backseat, the afternoon sun winking happily on the metal. It fit right in with the hodge-podge of things. A portable cooler, one beat-up gym bag, her collection of real estate magazines, the plastic water jug and now peas.

      Peas.

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