by Carol Devine
"I appreciate the offer but what I really need is your internet connection. The one at the library isn't available and the research I have to do on the web is pretty detailed, making it difficult to read on my phone."
"You'd pay for a cup of coffee in order to use my store's internet?"
He sounded startled by the idea. "Uh… yes. As a matter of fact, I would."
"Will wonders never cease."
"How much?"
"Well, I don't know. If you want to work, I suppose you'd want a chair to sit in."
"A chair would be helpful, yes. Thank you, Sam."
He gestured toward the coffee urn. "Would you like to use this table, too? If you're going to buy coffee, I probably should provide some room for you to work, move the pot closer to the cash registers."
Mariah settled her lap top on the table. "This is an ideal set-up for me. Much better than the dusty old library."
"County can't afford extras these days. Me, I like to keep my store free of dust and dirt. Kind of a stickler that way. My wife calls me a germophobe. But I learned in the Army, neat and clean is the only way to go."
"I appreciate your service," Mariah said. Schmoozing Sam might help in her quest to find office space in Grizzly Springs.
"I was stationed at Fort Carson. Met my wife in Colorado Springs. She made me leave after two tours of duty. Couldn't stand the worrying. I couldn't blame her."
"Yes, that's understandable." Mariah glanced around the store, trying to be complimentary. "You certainly have plenty of space in the middle of your store."
"Have to for when hunting and fishing licenses come up for renewal. Sometimes the line fills the whole place and snakes out the door."
"How often does that happen?"
"Depends on the season. Five, six times a year."
"In that case, maybe you should think about…" She paused, making it overly long and dramatic. "No, never mind."
"Maybe I should think about what?"
"Oh, no, I can't. Obviously, you know much more about customer service than I do. This store has been around for a long time, hasn't it? I'm sure those two gentlemen outside in the front drinking your coffee, I'm sure they came in early. What sports equipment did they buy?"
Sam shook his head sadly. "They work construction. Every morning, they come in for the free coffee. I'm thinking about cutting them off but I've done that with other guys and they won't come in anymore, even if they do need something. I don't understand why they got angry. It's my store, but I like my coffee. I'm trying to attract more people to come in. Seems to me it's a fine gesture of goodwill to offer it to my customers. I'm learning the economic importance of goodwill from some business books I'm reading. Truth is, I inherited this store from my dad a few months ago. I'm actually Sam Junior. Retired after 30 years as a prison guard. I've been learning the best way to run a retail store ever since. Goodwill is a critical concept when it comes to owning your own business."
"You're absolutely right. That's why I appreciate free access to your internet while I spend my money on your delicious coffee." Mariah circled the coffee urn. "Do you use a high-priced brand?"
"Don't tell anyone but I grind my own out of three different kinds of beans. It's not as expensive as buying the high priced stuff. I add them together so the beans have a chance to mix and bring out the flavor."
Mariah pulled out her wallet. "How much do I owe you?"
Sam carried the urn to the cash register area. "I have no idea what to charge you."
Mariah consulted her phone. "Let me check the going rate at Starbucks."
"Starbucks! That's big time."
"Economics is all about supply and demand, isn't it? The only other place around here with coffee this early is the diner. If you decide to sell your own, your advantage will be convenience. Provide a quick cup of coffee with maybe a few chairs and small tables to sit at. Most people won't be interested in the Wi-Fi, as your construction worker friends are clearly proving." Mariah checked the Starbucks website. "Looks like I owe you at least a couple of dollars."
"For one cup of coffee?"
"That's for the regular cup of plain coffee. Of course, if you offered an extra large cup of something special, you could charge as much as…" Mariah peered at her phone, calculating. "Five times that."
"Ten bucks?" His voice had risen two octaves.
"For a triple espresso super gigantic specialty drink. But if you just wanted to have a larger size of your special blend available, three or four dollars seems like a fair price to me."
"Even if I only got two bucks a pop, the beans to make a whole urn cost at most, three or four dollars."
"Is that a decent return on investment compared to the other things you sell?"
"Compared to retail goods? It blows the top off. Even if I only made twenty bucks each morning, that's twenty bucks more than I would have made otherwise. Pays for my coffee. And it'll give me something to do when it's slow. I'm an early riser and I like to get here at seven."
"Seems to me there are plenty of people who like drinking coffee at seven in the morning."
"Tell you what. Since you want to stay for a couple of hours, you can have three cups of coffee for three dollars. How's that for an instant deal?"
Mariah handed over three dollars. "As long as it comes with free Wi-Fi, you can write your own ticket, my friend."
"I'll fetch that chair so you can sit down and get to work."
"Thank you, Sam."
"Thank you, Mariah. You gave me a great idea."
Sam carried the cups and cream and sugar canisters to the cash register area, then bustled into the back room before returning with a wooden folding chair. He set it up and Mariah seated herself, and inputted the password he gave her.
After the little bump in the road at the library, Sam had been as friendly as could be. The possibility of cultivating other store owners around town made her wonder if she should reconnect with Shane Youngblood. If she kept things strictly about commercial space, she could schmooze him like she did Sam.
Maybe folks around here had better things to do than watch C-span and the national news. Since Sam had taken charge recently, maybe he hadn't had a run-in with Bird.
The bottom line was, the sooner she found her own place, the better.
* * * * *
The next morning, Mariah met with Angel Furman, a part-time real-estate agent who was also a full-time ICU nurse. She worked 12-hour shifts three days a week at Aspen Hospital, leaving time to indulge in her second passion, tracking properties she could invest in. Mariah was happy to learn her FBI problems and relationship to Bird were of little interest to Angel. She was far more focused on making money, enough money to move to Aspen and escape her long commute.
If Mariah could pick a role model for dickboy in the library, Angel would be it. Her hair was styled short, crisply edged, handsome in a feminine way, curling over her brow. She was medium height and weight, a well-muscled woman in her mid 20s. Outfitted in running tights and fluorescent tank top, she exuded plenty of bright-eyed energy, certainly enough to bring off exercise attire in Cowtown, USA. Mariah felt totally over-dressed in a pinstriped pant suit and white blouse. But spending her dwindling cash on clothes was the last thing on her list.
The first place she was ushered into by Angel was a vacated space above the General Store. McNally's was the centerpiece of town, housed in a century-old brick building, opposite the old railroad depot, which was once the site of prodigious activity from Colorado's gold rush days. McNally's sold a wide variety of merchandise, from groceries to touristy knick-knacks.
When Mariah was a child, the store was half the size, selling only groceries and limited ones at that. It had been founded by two brothers, both butchers by trade. The store started as a meat market, with slabs of beef, bison, elk and headless grouse and chickens hanging on display behind glass partitions, separating the refrigerated section from the rest of the space. The only fish for sale was fresh trout.
Bas
ic fruits and vegetables were the rule. Varieties of apples, onions, potatoes and assorted citrus complemented most meats, and the brothers' stocked them year-round. In summer there was corn, cantaloupe and peaches grown on the Western Slope. The closest she came to tasting those was school lunches. The head of the school district happened to be married to the patriarch of Winslow Farms, an early supplier to farmers markets. When in season, the fresh stuff was cheaper than canned.
Mariah learned from Angel that a husband and wife team, the Cabrillo's had recently taken over. She filed the information away as a possible client source. The place was lacking security cameras and merchandise locks on the high end goods most attractive to shoplifters.
The second floor, once home to the bachelor McNally brothers, had been divided into office space. Angel unlocked the door that opened into a three room suite, recently vacated by a dentist. He hadn't been able to attract enough patients to support his practice in town. Mariah decided it was a bad omen. The space was much too spacious and expensive for a one-woman operation done on the cheapest of the cheap.
It was flanked by two other businesses, which seemed to be doing okay, judging by the number of people waiting in the hall. One was a CPA tax specialist; the other a General Attorney. His name was stenciled on the old-fashioned door: Emilio Whitehorse, Esq. Spelled out underneath was 'No Divorces'.
Mariah was glad to move on to the next possibility, which was more to her liking, at least as far as rent was concerned. Once Angel had done her thing, and promised to email the leasing contract, Mariah returned to her SUV. She'd parked it at the old train depot which aligned with the town park. Behind her vehicle, a Greyhound bus was chugging smoke, blocking it in.
She circled to avoid it. A black garbage bag flew out the bus door, landing on the sidewalk with a plop. A boy followed, jumping straight from the platform to the pavement. His cowboy hat fell off and rolled, coming to rest at Mariah's feet.
"'Scuse me, ma'am."
He scooped the hat, jammed it on his head and smiled at her. He had a mouthful of braces. Mariah had the distinct feeling that she'd seen him before. It was that leap off the bus, the black hat, the cool swagger in his step. Unlike Shane, though, he was short, husky, built low to the ground, more boy than man.
The rest of him was pretty sharp--dark jeans, a tight black t-shirt, LeBron James high-tops. Most incongruous was the cowboy hat, the wide brim, sombrero-like. It didn't have that urban vibe.
"Welcome to Grizzly Springs," she said.
He squinted. "Do I know you?"
"Small town, we say hello. I'm Mariah McBride."
"I'm Kelly Shane Travers."
"Kelly Shane?"
"I don't use my middle name. You can call me Kelly."
"Are you related to Kelly Shane Youngblood?"
"I sure am. He's my dad."
Mariah blinked. "Dad?"
"I'm headed to his house. Which way is Main Street?"
Questions flitted through Mariah's mind. Never been here before? Too young to have a phone and the directional apps that went with it? And Shane definitely did not give off a fatherly vibe. His was more about living-on-the-edge as the ultimate cowboy.
She pointed to where Main Street intersected with the feeder road to Highway 61. The east direction led to Aspen. To the west spread the wide open spaces of the Red River basin. The Youngblood ranch was on that side. "Half-mile up the hill, right side of the street."
"Thanks." He started off, then turned back and tipped his hat. Rather inexpertly, she noticed. "Nice to meet you, ma'am."
"You, too, Kelly."
He swung the garbage bag over his shoulder and jaywalked, following her directions. She followed him, heading for Sam's Hunt and Fish. There was a resemblance to Shane in that free-wheeling saunter and budding male confidence. The coloring was similar, too. Dark hair, easily tanned skin. But brown eyes, hard to read, unlike Shane's. Less impactful. Still growing, starting to spurt. She estimated he was in the twelve or thirteen year-old range.
He passed Sam's and halted, scoping it out. He ran his hand along the front window, examining the framing, back and forth, up and down, looking for all the world like he was casing the joint. He tilted back, checking the second story. His hat fell off. He cursed loud enough for Mariah to hear.
She sprinted, picked up the hat and handed it to him. He screwed it back on. "Thanks," he said.
"Can I help you with something?" she asked. "You look a little lost."
Wide-eyed with innocence, he juggled his belongings. "Nope. Window-shopping."
Mariah studied the half-filled garbage bag.
"It's my clothes and stuff," he said blithely. She cocked her head as if she didn't believe him. If he saw it, he ignored it and sauntered away, continuing up Main Street.
He had answered a question she didn't ask. A classic sign of deception. Watching his progress, Mariah had a sinking feeling that Shane was in for a helluva surprise.
* * * * *
Fifteen minutes later, Shane was experiencing that surprise. Kelly stood on his front porch, hat in hand.
"Hello, Mr. Youngblood, sir.
"Can I help you?"
"You're my dad."
Shane checked the sidewalk both ways, looking for an audience, suspicious of being punked. "Who says so?"
"Me. I'm Kelly Shane, same as you." He offered a handshake. Struck by the boy's sincerity, Shane shook it. He remained skeptical, though. "Do you have a last name?"
"Travers."
"That doesn't ring a bell."
"My mom is Jessie Mae Riverton Travers."
Shane recognized the name but tried not to show it. A man didn't forget a woman like Jessie Mae. "Where is she?"
"She couldn't come."
"How did you get here?"
"The bus."
"By yourself?"
"Yes, sir. Can I come in?"
Still skeptical, Shane checked up and down the street. Seeing no one, he decided he had to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. "I think you'd better. Hang your hat on the antlers by the door."
Kelly obeyed, craning his neck to peer upstairs to the second floor. "Do you have other kids?"
"No. How did you know where I live?"
"I looked you up on the internet. You're pretty famous."
Shane studied the garbage bag, looking like it was half-filled with clothes. "Does your mother know you're here?"
Kelly hung his head and shuffled his feet, guilty. "No. But I don't want to live with her anymore. I want to live with you."
"I bet she's worried sick about you. Don't you think?"
"She cries a lot. She misses my dad. The guy I thought was my dad. He died."
Shane nodded, unsure about how to handle the situation. Because of his fame and the size of his bank accounts, he was careful to make sure something like this wouldn't happen. Didn't mean it couldn't, though. Booting the kid out was premature. Too many details to discover. "I'm sorry about your dad. But we need to call your mom, straighten this whole thing out."
"Mom says I'm not old enough to have a phone."
"We'll use mine." Shane ushered Kelly to the kitchen. "If she's already feeling bad, you leaving home is going to make everything worse."
"She might give me a whupping for running away."
"She may be angry, yes. But I'm sure she'll feel better once she knows you're safe and sound. What's her number, son?"
Son. A minor slip of the tongue.
"Will you talk first?" Kelly asked anxiously.
"Yes, I'll talk first."
Sighing, Kelly rattled it off. "512-555-0187."
Shane dialed the number, assessing Kelly's looks. "How old are you?" Shane asked as the line connected.
"Twelve. Almost thirteen."
The timing was right. The phone started ringing. "What grade?"
"I'm starting 8th in the fall. Middle school."
The call transferred to voicemail.
"This is Jessie Mae Travers. Please leave a messa
ge and I will return your call as soon as I can."
"Jessie, this is Kellen Shane Youngblood calling about your son. Please get back to me as soon as possible." Shane ended the call.
"Maybe she's not answering cause she's looking for me."
"I'm sure she is."
Kelly eyed the large refrigerator. "Do you have any peanut butter and jelly?"
"What All-American cowboy doesn't have peanut butter and jelly?"
Shane slapped the sandwich together while Kelly dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, checking the room out, looking impressed. The kid did look a little bit like him. Brown hair, medium-toned skin, a sturdy build that was strong but boyish in stature, a late bloomer. To turn up here on his own initiative, took some cajones. Shane added chips to the plate and served it.
Kelly chomped happily, finishing in two minutes flat, speed eating another trait they had in common. "Do you have any chocolate chip cookies?"
"Oatmeal raisin."
Kelly made a face. "Yuck."
"Maybe after we talk to your mom, we'll go buy some."
Shane's phone rang. He saw it was the number he dialed for Jessie and quickly answered. "Hello?"
"Oh, my God, Shane. Is Kelly with you?"
"Yes, he's right here, safe and sound. I'm putting you on speakerphone."
Jessie's voice softened. "Kelly? Are you okay, honey?"
Kelly hunched over the phone. "Sorry, Mom, but I wanted to meet my dad."
"He's not your dad, honey. I know how hard this whole thing has been for you, but Mr. Youngblood as nothing to do with this."
"He is, too, my dad!"
"Kelly, no." Jessie's voice became firmer. "How did you find him?"
"The internet, Mom. I saved up my birthday and chore money and took the bus."
She sighed, sounding tired. "Shane, are you there?"
"Yes."
"I hardly know what to say. I'm sorry you're caught up in this."
Shane returned the speaker to off mode. "I think the best thing is for me to keep an eye on him and bring him home."
"Where are you?"
"Colorado. You?
