The Long Road Home 22 - Home Changes, page 2
part #22 of The Long Road Home Series
“You talking about Blessing?” Tyler asked.
Dean nodded, and Tyler sighed. “Yeah … she told me … well, just quoted some author and thought it would mean something to me. I have no clue what the hell she was referring to. Although she seemed to know why I needed to get on my flight.”
Seth let out a short laugh. Man, he was right. The woman was a psychic or something. “No kidding. She told me the name of the vet in the town I’m going to. There are maybe three hundred people in that town, and she knows two of them. What are the chances of that?”
Dean widened his eyes. “So, she’s like …”
“Psychic?” Code asked.
Seth nodded. “Woo-woo.” That was his word for it. Call it what you want, but that woman had it in spades.
Tyler looked at his phone. “A witch?”
They all laughed at that. Granted, it was a nervous laugh because … yeah. Seth looked at his watch. “Gomer and I are going to take a walk so he can find some grass. We’ll be back unless I get a text telling me he has to be loaded.”
He stood, and Gomer was immediately at his heel. Tyler rubbed his head. “Thanks for the therapy, Gomer.”
Seth smiled and grabbed his backpack just in case that text came in. “Come on, bud,” he said to Gomer, and they headed out to the fresh air.
“Don’t forget to say hi to my friend Kate for me,” Blessing said as he walked out of the USO.
He stopped and smiled at her. “I’ll be back. I’m just taking him for a comfort break.”
Blessing just smiled. “Sure.” She leaned down and stroked Gomer’s fur. “Goodbye, Gomer. You’ve got a good home now,” Blessing said to the dog and then winked at him before spinning around and picking up the phone. “Hello?”
He looked at Gomer. “Did that phone ring?”
The dog’s head cocked as he looked at the woman. Seth shook his head. “Yeah, I didn’t think so either.”
Twenty minutes later, as he and Gomer reentered the terminal, his phone buzzed. It was a text from the service counter. His plane was loading for departure. He shook his head. Woo-woo didn’t even scratch the surface of that woman’s ability.
CHAPTER 2
Allison Sanderson no longer grimaced when Sheriff Ken Zorn’s cruiser pulled up in front of her bakery. The familiar thrum of his engine didn’t twist her stomach with dread the way it used to. It had been almost two years, more than that, actually, since the disaster that was their so-called on-and-off-but-mostly-off-again relationship had finally imploded.
She chuckled under her breath as she wiped down the counter, remembering the countless sessions with Dr. Wheeler. They’d tried to piece together the reasons she’d held onto Ken long after the feelings were gone. It had been a selfish kind of tethering, and she wasn’t proud. If she couldn’t have him, she didn’t want anyone else to, either.
The trouble was, she hadn’t even wanted him.
She let him dangle, caught on the hook of her indecision, for far too long. The guilt of it had swamped her once the truth had settled in, and it was another ugly knot she’d worked out. It had taken time, but the past two years had been productive. Lonely, maybe, but as she’d discovered, growth often was.
There’d been a brief connection with a motorcycle mechanic from Rapid City. Nail had been everything she’d thought she needed. Big. Burly. Unapologetically blunt. And yet, while he had no trouble telling her exactly what he thought, their priorities had never quite lined up. And the three-hour drive between them hadn’t helped.
He was a good man, and she didn’t regret the time they’d spent together. But the slow, steady clarity she’d gained through her work with Dr. Wheeler had taught her that alignment mattered. It mattered more than chemistry. It mattered more than comfort.
Outside, Ken lingered on his phone before walking in, the jingle of the bell above the door pulling her from her thoughts. Allison reached beneath the counter and pulled out a brown paper bag, already packed with his usual order. She placed it on top of the display case and offered a smile.
“Hey, Ken. How’s life treating you today?”
He slid off his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. “Things are good. People are behaving themselves. No UFOs or Bigfoot sightings lately.”
They both laughed, the shared amusement warm and familiar. It was an unspoken reference to Edna Michaelson, Hollister’s most enthusiastic believer in all things unexplained.
Edna was a local institution. Her beliefs were as loud as her personality, and neither had ever met a boundary they respected. She butted into everyone’s lives without apology and somehow managed to make people love her for it. She’d once been dubbed the town gossip and still held the title, although time and her innate kindness had softened the edges of her title. Her heart was always in the right place.
Ken tilted his head, his eyes dropping to Allison’s bandaged hand. “How’s your hand doing?”
She glanced down, flexing her fingers slowly. The bandage wrapped around her wound shifted as the muscles moved beneath the healing skin.
“It’s doing good,” she said. “There for a while, after the surgery, everything I made looked like a pile of cow dung. But it got easier once I got used to using my left hand more. Now I can use my right just as well. I go back in two days for the final follow-up and hopefully to get cleared from any restrictions.”
He nodded. “That’s good. That was the most excitement we’ve had in a while. Well, aside from the … Barry thing last year.”
Allison narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms. “You know the entire town knows exactly what happened.”
Ken shrugged, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Absolutely no comment.”
It was his go-to response whenever someone mentioned the incident. Everyone in Hollister had heard something, and speculation had run rampant. Guardian Security had been involved; of that much, everyone was certain. Yet nobody spoke openly about what had gone down, and no one would.
That was the way of things in Hollister. The townspeople knew Guardian existed and that they operated out of the Marshall Ranch on the edge of town. Every person in town had some kind of connection to the ranch and understood the people who rotated through weren’t just a bunch of horse trainers and ranch hands.
Allison suspected there was far more going on out there than anyone let on. She also knew better than to ask. But then again, Allison liked that there was law enforcement close by. Not that she didn’t trust Ken or the work he and his deputies did. Ken Zorn was a good sheriff, steady and fair. She wouldn’t take anything away from him. But knowing that when he needed backup, there were people at the Marshall Ranch who could be there in minutes?
That made life in Hollister feel a whole lot safer.
She changed the subject, tilting her head toward the large front window. “It does seem quiet today. Delbert’s out front of the store without Chester. Do you know what happened to him?” Concern tugged at her expression as she turned fully to Ken. “I know he was having a hard time. Is he sick?”
Ken shook his head. “No. He’s at home. Seth came back a few weeks ago.
Her brow furrowed. “Seth? His son? He was older than us, right? Sarah’s brother?”
“Yeah. Only he had to make a quick trip back east. He’ll be gone a couple of days,” Ken explained. “Before he left, he took Chester’s keys and disconnected the battery on the old tractor. There’s no way for him to make it into town. Deputies swing by every two to three hours or so just to make sure he’s still safe and at home.”
Allison frowned. “Why would he do that? Strand his father and leave?”
Ken sighed. “You know Chester. He’s always been a cantankerous old fool, but lately … he’s mean. We all saw it that day at the diner. Gen told the girls to let him know he wasn’t welcome there anymore.” He paused, voice quieting. “When that happened, I called Sarah. Seth was with her. He drove out here, talked to his dad, and … well, he saw it. Realized just how bad Chester’s confusion had gotten.”
Allison folded her arms and bit her lower lip, gaze drifting toward the general store at the far end of the street. Chester and Delbert had been fixtures in that spot for as long as she could remember. They were always sitting on that wooden bench, solving the world’s problems one comment at a time.
“It’s sad, seeing them get that old,” she murmured. “It just means we’re getting that much older, too.” Ken chuckled softly, nodding his head in agreement.
“At least you’ve got a family now,” she added, offering a soft smile. “Congratulations, by the way. Gen told me Sam and you were adopting.”
Ken’s grin widened, and he slapped his palm lightly against his thigh. “News travels faster than sunlight through a window in this town.”
Allison laughed. “Well, if you’re gonna tell one person, you might as well tell them all. When’s the baby going to get here?”
“End of April. Maybe early May. We’re doing a private adoption and it is the woman’s first, so it could be a bit later than the due date.” Ken said proudly. “I can tell you, I’m about as happy as I can get. I never thought I’d have a family.”
A quiet pause settled between them, a shade of something unspoken stretching across the space. “Speaking of pie, I added one to your order as a congratulations.” Allison sighed, her voice softer. “I’m sorry about what happened between us, Ken.”
He shrugged. “That situation was two-sided. It took both of us to make that mess. You worked on you; I worked on me. I’d say that’s water under the bridge. And I’ve told you that before. You’ve got to stop dragging it back up and beating yourself up over it.”
Allison gave a breathy laugh. “But it’s my favorite thing to beat myself up about. What will I do if I don’t have that?”
Ken laughed as he reached for his wallet. “I don’t know. But you’ll have to find something else to use as your lash and whip.”
She rang him up for the bread and handed him his change. Ken tipped an imaginary hat, gave her a grin, then walked out to his SUV.
It was nearly one-thirty, and Allison moved into her closing routine. She wiped down all the counters and sanitized the workstations for tomorrow. Pulling a few expired items from the fridge, she dropped them into a compostable bag, then walked out the back door to toss them in the trash.
The alley was quiet. But she heard something scrape. Her head jerked toward the left.
“Hello?” she called, squinting down the narrow space between buildings. Stepping to the side, she glanced toward the front, but nothing moved. With a huff, Allison mumbled, “Could’ve sworn I heard someone walking.” She shook her head. “Girl, you’ve spent so much time alone, now you’re talking to yourself.”
She laughed and tossed the bag into the trash can. “And now you’re answering yourself. Perfect.”
With that, she dropped the lid, brushed off her hands, and skipped lightly up the steps. There was still cash to count and books to balance before the day ended.
The daily total wasn’t fantastic, but it wasn’t catastrophic either. She’d weathered worse.
There were days she hadn’t made a single sale and weeks when business had boomed unexpectedly. She was slowly learning the town's rhythm, how to gauge her customers and adjust her expectations with the seasons.
Winter was the hardest. The snow made travel difficult, and people stayed indoors. Most women baked at home during those colder months, filling their kitchens with the warmth and smells of their own homemade goods. But come summer, when the air was thick with heat and no one wanted their oven on, her sales soared. Plus, she had her regulars.
The Hollisters and the Marshalls were her backbone. The folks training at the Marshall Ranch accounted for most of her steady income. The ranch had a dining hall for them, and Allison supplied the bread, cakes, and pies. The Hollisters placed weekly orders, too, keeping their ranch hands well fed. The rest came in sporadically. Locals popping in for a muffin, a Danish, or fresh bread and soup rolls.
Her sourdough bread was a staple. People who used to buy it at the general store when she sold the bread there now strolled a little farther down the street to get it directly from her. It was a small thing, but it meant everything. She’d made something of her own. She was successful. Not rich, not by any stretch, but self-sustaining.
She made enough to pay the modest rent Mr. Hollister charged her. She covered her utilities, kept her pantry and fridge stocked with ingredients, and even managed to tuck a bit into savings.
She was comfortable. But comfort wasn’t quite the same as fulfilled. Something was still missing, a quiet ache she couldn’t quite name that lived deep inside her. She’d spoken to Dr. Wheeler about it more than once. He always reminded her that her future was unwritten and that anything was possible. But deep down, Allison had accepted she might spend the rest of her life single. She wasn’t bitter about it. Some people just weren’t meant to be attached, and she refused to wallow in self-pity.
Every weekday at two fifteen sharp, Kathy Marks jogged by the bakery. Allison joined her for their afternoon jog without fail. They’d started running together in August when Kathy had started prepping for the school year. Kathy had her last period free, and the two women had fallen into an easy routine. Allison had dropped forty pounds in the last two years, and the run was something she did for herself, too. She felt good, stronger, lighter, and for the first time, she wasn’t trying to change her body to please or entice a man.
She was doing it for herself. That was liberating. And maybe, she thought with a grin, so she could justify sampling her own treats … and occasionally indulge in one of Gen Hollister’s legendary cinnamon rolls.
She was halfway to the front door, keys in hand, when Edna Michaelson popped up on the boardwalk, breathless and hurrying toward the entrance. Her gray hair frizzled and flopped erratically around her face.
“Am I too late? Can I still pick up my order?”
Allison stepped back and held the door open. “Nope, you’re not too late. I’ve got your order right here. I’ve already cleared out the till, but I’ll add it to tomorrow’s sales.”
She walked behind the counter and grabbed the box she’d packed earlier: two cream horns, one sourdough baguette, and three blueberry hand pies.
Edna pulled the exact amount from her worn leather coin purse. It was the same standing order she’d picked up every week for the past year and a half.
Edna hesitated, brow knitting. “We still have an arrangement, right?”
Allison responded with a solemn nod. “No one knows what’s in your order. No one needs to know.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “If a lady wants a cream horn with her morning coffee, she deserves to have one.”
Edna nodded, her chin lifting with pride. “You’re correct. It’s nobody’s business.”
As she took the box, she sighed heavily, and Allison tilted her head, picking up the shift in Edna’s mood. “What’s the matter?”
The older woman looked at her, lips pursed, like she was weighing a decision.
Allison placed her hands on her hips. “Edna Michaelson, you know you can talk to me. I haven’t told a soul what’s in your order for over a year. You can tell me anything.”
Edna looked from left to right, then sighed heavily again. “I’m thinking about selling my place.”
Allison’s head snapped up, her frown forming instantly as she jerked back as if someone had physically shoved her. “What do you mean? The ranch?”
Edna nodded. “Yep. I have the small cottage here that I’m renting. That ranch house is just too darn big for me by myself. And it’s getting harder and harder to make the drive in winter to check on it. Belinda’s got a room for me in her house here in town, and she’d love for me to move in. Her boys are grown and out of the house, you know. But I’m just not sure I’m ready for a permanent roommate, female at least. I mean, independence is something I’ve fought for all my life. Maybe I could build a little house in town instead of renting.” Edna shook her head. “Bah, don’t let this old woman’s rattling on bother you, sweetie. Thanks for the order.”
“You never have to worry about talking with me, Edna. Unless it’s about Bigfoot or a UFO, I won’t say anything.” Allison smiled at her friend.
Edna laughed. “I know what everyone thinks. You think I’m touched in the head, but I’m not. One day, I’ll prove it to you.” She shifted the box in her hand, and her voice softened, weighted with emotion. “You know my husband worked so hard on that place. I don’t want to see it fall into disrepair. It’s just a small spread. I know Mr. Hollister would buy it. Or Mr. Marshall, if I asked. But …” She shook her head slowly. “I’d kinda like to see a family there. You know what I’m saying?”
Allison did. She leaned forward, braced her hands against the glass display case, and watched Edna’s face closely.
“But Kathy and Barry are settled,” Edna continued, “and I don’t know of any other newlyweds around here. Especially not any who could afford the place.”
Allison gave her a soft smile. “Do you need to sell for financial reasons?”
Edna rolled her eyes. “Oh, heavens no. That place has been paid off forever. Taxes aren’t a problem either, I’ve got the permanent homestead exemption.” She shrugged. “It’s not about the money. It’s just … It’s a big house. And a lot of work.” She sighed. “As I said, Belinda has room for me, and we’re good enough friends.” She glanced at Allison. “I’d like to keep it that way, so I’m not inclined to move in with her.” She laughed and then said, “It’s getting hard taking care of that big old place all by myself.”
“Well, you’ve got plenty of time to figure it out,” Allison said gently. “It’s not like you’re in a rush, right?”
Edna shook her head. “Nope, not at all. I just figured I’d start putting the word out, slow-like, to people who might know people. You know what I mean? I don’t want this to turn into town gossip. You know how that goes.” She gave Allison a pointed look. “If Chester and Delbert over there got wind I was thinking about selling, the whole town would know. And next thing you know, people’d be saying I was going crazy, or I need to be carted off to an insane asylum. You know how stories grow around here.”
