The Boss's Bride. Brenda Minton

pockets of the apron and waited.

      “I thought I might need lightbulbs. Do you carry lightbulbs?”

      “We do. What kind do you need?”

      “Oh, those expensive energy savers, I suppose. My niece told me they last forever.”

      “They do last awhile.” She took him by the arm and they walked through the store to the aisle with bulbs and other home items.

      “Are you doing okay, Gracie?” he asked, leaning in to whisper when they reached the lightbulbs.

      Gracie smiled and nodded, but she couldn’t answer because his kindness caused an immediate tightness in her throat and a sudden sting of tears behind her eyes.

      He patted her arm. “I know that people are being hard on you, but you’ll get through this. I’ve watched you grow up and you’ve always been a fighter.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Fibley.”

      “There, those are the lightbulbs.” He laughed a little as he reached for two boxes. “And you thought I just came in here to stick my nose in your business. You know, people ought to be shopping local. Prices might be a little higher, but with the price of gas, it doesn’t make sense to drive to the city for things we can get right here.”

      “I agree, Mr. Fibley. Hopefully, we can convince people that we’re right.”

      They walked back to the register and Gracie rang up the lightbulbs. Mr. Fibley took the paper bag and gave her another sweet smile.

      “You’ll be just fine, Gracie Wilson.”

      “Thank you, sir.”

      He winked and then he left, taking slow steps, examining the store as he went. At the door he stopped to admire bird feeders, and then, with a wave back at her, he walked out the door.

      A few minutes later she heard the rumble of a motorcycle. She walked to the front of the store and peeked out. The dog she’d been feeding for the past few days looked up from his place on the doormat and wagged his tail. She’d brought a food and water bowl today and she’d fed him at the back door. He seemed nice enough and didn’t even bother to get up when people walked past. Maybe he should have a name if he was going to stick around? She’d have to think about that.

      She opened the door and reached to pet his wiry head. He licked her hand and then lost interest. A few parking spaces down from the store, she spotted her brother Evan getting off his bike. He hooked the helmet over the handlebar and raked a hand through his unruly dark hair. Sunglasses hid the black eye he’d gotten the previous day when a bull tossed him and then slammed a horn into his cheek.