A Time of Change

by Aimée Thurlo

  “There’s more that’s troubling you, isn’t there? Before the ceremony you were ready to face the world. Now you look … frightened. How can I help?”

  “There’ve been too many changes in my life these past few days. That’s all. Thank you for coming and for caring enough to offer to help,” Jo said. Rudy was very perceptive, but she couldn’t afford to let anyone guess her secret, not until she’d figured things out first.

  “Come see me again when you’re ready to talk.”

  Jo left the hataalii’s side and went to mingle with the customers and guests, inviting new faces to return and greeting her regulars. As she walked down one of the aisles, she noticed Mrs. Todacheenee, one of their oldest customers, placing cans of Spam into her shopping basket. Carlene was raising three grandchildren by herself, and Jo knew she was living on a tight budget.

  “Good morning, Mrs. T,” Jo said, coming over with a smile. “I’m glad to see you today. Are you finding everything you need?”

  “Yes, I am, dear. I’m so glad you’re still here, and after the blessing, I know it’s safe to shop here again. I’m sorry for all that’s happened. Your boss was a good man.” Mrs. Todacheenee looked frail in her long thin dress and scarf, but she still had prance in her step and a strong voice.

  “I appreciate that, ma’am. Did you know that our tortillas are on special today, half price?” Jo knew that the woman always purchased the same items together, Spam and the tortillas. She already had a brick of cheddar cheese, the third food on her usual menu.

  “No, and thank you, dear, for pointing that out. I’d better hurry, I’ve got to be back home before my ride leaves without me.” Mrs. Todacheenee laughed at the joke. Her ride home was a small scooter parked out front, with two baskets astride the back tire.

  Jo said good-bye and moved on. Slowly, her spirits lifted and her mood improved. This was what she did best—connect to people and bring supply and demand together. She’d made a place for herself here, one that filled a need and helped many walk in beauty.

  She’d fight Ben if she had to, but not out of anger. She’d fight because it was the right thing to do, and he’d left her no other choice. In the meantime, she had an even greater danger to face.

  * * *

  The following morning she arrived at the trading post a little after six and spent the first fifteen minutes just looking around, trying to find out what, if anything, could be considered someone else’s property, something worth killing Tom for. Nothing at all came to mind.

  Surprisingly enough, she wasn’t tired, though sleep the night before had come only in spurts. She’d had continued nightmares of a faceless man chasing her through the store, through Tom’s home, and down the empty highway. Those were followed by long wakeful periods trying to figure out what the caller wanted returned.

  Finally, she’d come up with the only answer that made sense. It had been a crank call from some sicko, like those Internet trolls who tormented people just for fun.

  Long after The Outpost opened for the day, Jo remained in her office. She’d paid all the bills—some which Tom had uncharacteristically put off to the last minute—and now she barely had enough to make it through to the end of the quarter.

  Most important of all, she’d discovered that she didn’t have the funds to cover a legal battle if Ben actually took her to court. She left a phone call for Mike Broome, and was waiting to hear from him when her stomach growled loudly.

  Jo stared at her cold cup of coffee and realized she was hungry. Preoccupied, she hadn’t bothered with breakfast this morning. Almost as the thought formed, Esther walked in.

  “I had a feeling you’d need a little extra fuel today,” she said quietly, then placed a small basket of homemade cinnamon rolls in front of her. These were Esther’s specialty, her mother’s secret recipe.

  “I know why I’m here,” Jo said with a wry smile, “but what on earth brings you here so early? You have the afternoon shift today.”

  “I’ve been thinking of a conversation I had with Ben yesterday. He’s going to bring trouble down on us, isn’t he?” Esther said, sitting down by the desk and reaching for a roll.

  Jo nodded slowly, taking one for herself. “He said he’s going to contest the trust and try to take over the business. Unfortunately, he’s not really interested in the trading post,” she said, and explained.

  Esther listened, then considered things in silence as they ate. “I know you’re angry, Jo, and it’s human nature to strike back as hard as you’ve been hit,” she said at last. “But that only escalates the problem. You have to remember that, deep down, Ben Stuart is a good man.”

  “I thought he was, once, but how can you say that now?” Jo asked.

  “How can you not see it?” Esther countered. “That young man’s suffered a hard public blow to his pride and he’s feeling betrayed. He’s in pain. He’s facing the loss of his father and the end of a dream. He was coming home hoping to earn his father’s love, and doesn’t realize that it was his all along.”

  “But in his bitterness, he’s turned against all of us.”

  “He’s hurting because some people still think his dad killed himself—the ultimate act of a weak man. But you can help change things if you refuse to see him as your enemy.”

  “Turn the other cheek? That’s Christian thinking, my friend, and I’m not Christian.”

  “It is Christian, but it’s extremely practical, too. What sense is there in continuing to harbor resentment? See him as someone who’s hurting and striking out because of that,” Esther said. “That doesn’t mean you have to accept wrong behavior from him, but you’ll get farther if you help him see that you both have one thing in common—you want to honor his father’s memory.”

  “I can’t get through to him. I’ve tried,” Jo said in a weary voice. “And if he wins and gets The Outpost, he’s thinking of selling or closing it down.”

  Esther closed her eyes as if in prayer, then after a moment opened them again. “Invite him to the trading post and encourage him to get involved in our daily operations. Use whatever reason you can think of to persuade him to come, then let him get to know all of us. When he sees all the lives The Outpost touches daily, he’ll be less likely to want to destroy what his father spent a lifetime building.”

  “Ben seems to do best in a disciplined, structured environment—like the army. I’m not sure he’d be able to cope with the daily challenges here,” Jo said.

  “You’ll be making the decisions and there’s structure in that,” Esther said. “Let him be part of the operation. I’m sure that’s what Tom intended on doing when his son returned—get Ben involved. By following through, you’ll be honoring our old boss’s memory. You’d also be helping the rest of us in another important way. If trouble comes to find us again, it can’t hurt to have a man around who’s trained to fight.”

  Especially if someone is out to kill me, Jo thought instantly. It was a good idea, even if that caller was just a crank. After Esther left, Jo nuked her coffee in the small microwave on the credenza. Everything Esther had said made sense, but she still hated the thought of going to Ben now.

  Jo returned to her desk and picked up another roll. Just then, Leigh Ann came in and smiled. “Esther mentioned she might be bringing in some cinnamon rolls today,” she said, looking hungrily at the basket.

  Jo laughed and pushed it closer to her.

  Leigh Ann took one and sat in front of Jo’s desk. “I can’t resist these, even though I know I might as well just glue them to my hips.”

  “You’re not fat,” Jo said.

  “That’s because I fight it every day.” After several happy bites of the roll, she looked at Jo again. “Esther and I were talking earlier, and for what it’s worth, I agree with her approach to the Ben Stuart problem. There’s an old saying, ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’ Let him come see for himself how much work goes into running the trading post. Then maybe he’ll understand why it was left to you, not him.”<
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  “I have no other choice,” Jo said. “I’m going to have to give it a try.”

  SIX

  It was midmorning when Jo dialed Broome’s office again. This time Mike’s secretary put her through immediately.

  “I was just about to call,” he said. “This is about Ben, isn’t it?”

  She gave him an update on the situation. “Ben said you wouldn’t represent him.”

  “That’s true. It would be a conflict of interest. I can’t work to break up a legal document I prepared and represented for his dad. There are also ethical considerations. I won’t go against what Tom clearly wanted. Before you ask, I shouldn’t represent you either, but I’m your best witness if it comes to that. Would you like me to recommend another attorney who may be able to help you?”

  “Hold that thought. I’m hoping we won’t have to take things that far.”

  “Ben can’t win in court. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on and I’ve already told him that. He’d only be wasting everyone’s time and money.”

  “I really don’t want to turn this into a war,” she said, then gave him the highlights of her plan. “What’s your opinion on this?”

  Mike considered it for a while, then spoke. “Give it a try. As they say, it may not help, but it can’t hurt.”

  “Thanks. Do you happen to know where Ben’s staying? I didn’t see any cars at his dad’s place when I drove up, and the pickup is still at The Outpost.”

  “He’s not staying at the family home. I don’t think he really sees it as his yet. Unless he’s changed motels, he’s at the Desert Inn on Farmington’s west side.”

  “Isn’t that the motel that’s been in the news recently because of all the criminal activity there?” she said.

  “Yeah, prostitution mainly. I warned him the place had gone downhill in the past few years, but he didn’t care. He said he could handle it. As a kid, he’d sometimes go there with his dad to meet out-of-town vendors. Those were good times for him, and he wanted to visit familiar ground and rekindle those memories.”

  Jo thanked Mike, picked up her purse, and headed out. Seeing Leigh Ann at the front register, she took a moment to fill her in. “I’m going to need you to handle things here while I’m gone. Are you okay with that?”

  “Of course. There are three of us here, and we’ll keep the back door double-locked.”

  Esther came up to Jo before she could leave. “Are you going to see Ben?” Seeing her nod, Esther continued. “Just remember, don’t react in anger no matter what he says. Keep your guard up and don’t lose the real fight—the one against yourself.”

  The drive to the motel took less than twenty minutes. Jo saw a rental car that could have been Ben’s parked in the lot, but it wasn’t in front of any particular door. Rather than disturb someone she didn’t really want to meet, she went to the office to confirm the number with the clerk.

  A greasy-haired man in his fifties with an armful of tattoos eyed her closely, then checked the information.

  “You’re just visiting, right?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “How long you plan to stay?”

  The odd question surprised her. Then she remembered the last time she’d read about this place in the Farmington newspaper. Hookers had made a deal with the former desk clerk to rent by the hour.

  Jo found the possibility that he’d assumed she was a prostitute annoying. Was it her age, the clientele, or what she was wearing? She looked down at her blouse, a simple linen camp shirt. Nothing revealing or formfitting, and the only attention-getter was her purse—a woman thing men wouldn’t give a rip about. She’d always had a thing for handbags. No drab black or brown leather types, thank you. She liked vivid colors, ones that made her smile. Today, needing a pick-me-up, she’d chosen a tomato-colored one with silvertone accents.

  Tom had always teased her about her color choices. As an apprentice medicine woman, she should have considered earthtones, he believed, or a leather tooled handbag that looked Southwest-y. She’d had to point out that a medicine woman wasn’t like a nun. It was perfectly all right for her to choose the bright cheerful colors she loved.

  Jo got the room number, thanked the man without looking him in the face again, then drove the long way around the one-story building and parked next to the rental sedan. Beyond the closed door she could hear a television set going. She knocked, but no one answered.

  Jo knocked again, this time louder, and heard someone call out.

  “Hold your horses, will ya?” A second later, Ben came to the door. He was wearing jeans, and his hair was damp as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. As he stood there, revealing his wonderfully broad, bare chest, his scowl faded into a half smile.

  “Sorry. I figured it was just another … woman … wanting to do business. GI on leave and all that…”

  Uncomfortable, she entered the room at his invitation but remained standing. “I came with a proposition.”

  His eyebrows shot up, and she cringed. “Sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I’m disappointed, but you’ve sure got my attention.”

  “Finish getting dressed and let me take you for coffee,” she said, glancing down at his bare feet to avoid any further distractions.

  “Sounds good. Let me grab a shirt,” he said.

  “I need to talk to you about the trading post,” she said as he reached into the nylon carry-on atop the luggage rack.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  It was hard to think clearly, seeing him half-dressed like this. The man before her was all roughness and muscle, unlike the boy she’d seen shirtless years back. Back then, he’d been a lanky sixteen-year-old kid. They’d gone wading in a ditch, despite the dangers of sudden currents that could trap you beneath debris in the water. He’d almost convinced her to take off her wet T-shirt when they heard a woman with two kids and a dozen or so sheep coming along the embankment. They’d scrambled up the side of the ditch bank at lightning speed and raced back to his pickup, laughing.

  Focusing, she cleared her throat. “I came to invite you to join us at The Outpost. Take a look inside your father’s world and get a feel for the business he worked so hard to build. Take part in the operation and help us deal with our customers. Be there when we open and when we close up at the end of the day. That’s what your father had planned for you. Would you like that?”

  “What if I still don’t change my mind about taking you to court?” he asked, slipping a tan knit shirt over his head.

  “Let’s take this one step at a time. First, come see how your dad spent his days. Work side by side with us.”

  He nodded. “I’d like that. The trading post holds a lot of memories for me,” he said, sitting on the bed and putting on a pair of brown leather boots. “I used to love watching my dad speak the little Navajo he knew to make connections.”

  Jo smiled. “People automatically liked your father. He treated everyone like family.”

  “Except for me. One of the reasons you ended up with the store, no doubt,” he said coldly.

  She took a deep breath, determined not to react. “I know you’ve spent years in harm’s way and it’s hard for you to lower your guard, but you’re home now. People really do want to be friends with you and give you a break. Can’t you lighten up just a little?”

  As she looked into his hazel eyes, she saw no emotion there. Somewhere along the way, Ben had acquired the ability to completely shut down his feelings. Or maybe it was just one heckuva poker face. She wasn’t sure which.

  “Let’s go to the trading post,” he said, checking his pockets and producing a rental car key. “I’d like to start right away.”

  “Why don’t you ride over with me?” she asked. “We can talk on the way.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said as they stepped out the door.

  * * *

  As she drove west out of the city, tension shimmered in the air between them like the sun off the river to the south. “Your father was my friend,” J
o said after a while. “I owe him more than I can ever put into words.”

  “The Outpost is easy enough to pronounce.”

  As difficult as it was, she forced herself to ignore Ben’s smart-ass comment. “As great a gift as that was, it was the least of what he gave me. Whenever I needed help, your dad was there. Without him, I don’t know how I would have coped after my father got diagnosed with cancer. Dad refused to go into an assisted-care facility, so I took care of him at home.”

  “From what I remember, you never got along with your dad,” he said, looking down the road, then back in the side mirror. “Taking care of him must have been tough.”

  “Yeah, sometimes it was almost too much for me. Becoming my dad’s caretaker turned into an exhausting, thankless job. My job at the trading post is what kept me sane.”

  “And now you’re the owner of The Outpost.”

  There had been no recrimination in his tone. It had simply been a statement of fact. “Yes, I am.”

  “Do you like your new title?”

  She wasn’t sure if he was baiting her or not, but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I hope it won’t be my only one. As soon as things settle down a bit, I’ll also be continuing my apprenticeship as a medicine woman.”

  “Wait—you, a Singer?” He looked down at her purse.

  “Not you, too,” she said, and laughed. “Your father thought that meant I should start looking like a cleric or a missionary.”

  Ben smiled. “Back in high school, you used to carry around a huge, bright orange canvas purse. You took a lot of teasing for it, too. Some of the guys called it your orange barrel.”

  “Actually, it was a tote,” she said, chuckling. “I’d made it out of some fabric I’d found at a yard sale. I was proud of that bag, no matter what everyone else thought.”

  “You always did go your own way,” he said. “I don’t know why I was so surprised when you dumped me.” His face hardened. “You ripped my guts out, did you know that? I was going through all kind of shit, and when I needed you the most, you bailed.”