I stood, grabbing the boots, two pairs of shorts, a couple of tops, and snagged the floral dress as well. Betty took her place behind the register as I walked over to the counter.
“I’ll take these,” I said, plopping them next to the old register.
“Good choice.” The price tags on the clothes were all handwritten, so she entered them in manually.
“Calvin’s a good man, ya know,” Betty said as she bagged up the clothes. It was an odd thing to say, and I wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Yeah. He seems nice.” I glanced around while she switched between focusing on her task at hand and trying to get a read on me. The wall behind her was covered in framed photos of all different sizes. She was smiling in all of them, standing shoulder to shoulder with another random person. The real Betty looked up and smiled at me while forty pictures of Betty smiled at me behind her. It was rather unnerving.
“He’s like a son to me. I take care of them honeybees up on his farm.”
“Oh yes. He showed me them earlier today. You’re Honeybee Betty.”
“That’s right.” She nodded. “That’ll be $41.09.”
I handed her a fifty-dollar bill. The register drawer flung open, and she slowly counted out my change while placing the money in my hand.
“You enjoy the rest of your stay, Grace. I’ll be seeing you around.” Betty smiled wide as she handed over my bag.
I told her goodbye and returned a tight, forced smile. Something didn’t feel right. Something about that exchange was off. I felt it in the pit of my stomach. I looked back at the store and saw her in the window, watching （like I knew she would）。 I nodded and quickly got into my car. Just as I started to reverse out of my parking spot, the Mazda beeped several times and the check engine light flickered on. I smacked my hand against the steering wheel in frustration and glanced up through the windshield. Betty was still staring at me through the window of her boutique, almost smiling like she knew I was in deep shit. And that’s when it hit me. I had never told her my name.
8.
Calvin It was just after nine when I finished with the evening chores: feeding and watering all the animals, bringing the sheep in from the pasture, putting Gretchen and George back in their stalls, and dealing with an animal that refused to listen. I was done much later than usual because I had to prep for shearing. My sheep were sheared once a year, and it was a grueling task that I never looked forward to. Pulling my shirt up to my face, I wiped the sweat from my brow and made my way up the porch steps. I hadn’t seen Grace since this morning and wondered what she had done all day. My mind kept going back to her, no matter what chore I was doing. Cutting the grass, Grace. Cleaning the horse stalls, Grace. Fixing and fortifying a shed, Grace. She was staying in my home and living in my mind. I was consumed by her.
I slid off my work boots before going inside. An unfamiliar smell invaded my nose as I pushed open the door. Earthy and sweet and acidic and meaty. It definitely wasn’t anything I had ever cooked. I strolled into the kitchen and found Grace at the stove, dressed in those leggings she was wearing earlier today. She was swaying her hips while stirring a wooden spoon in a frying pan. A country song played softly on the radio, and a glass of wine and an open bottle sat on the counter beside her. She clearly hadn’t heard me come in, and I was appreciating the time I got to watch her, to examine her. Goddamn, she looked good in those leggings.
Leaning against the wall, I dusted my shirt off so I was somewhat presentable.
“Whatcha doing, Grace?”
She jumped a little, turning around quickly. Her mouth was partially open but she forced it into a smile. Grace set the wooden spoon down and grabbed her glass of wine, bringing it to her lips for a slow sip.
“I’m cooking you a proper meal.” She raised one eyebrow just over the rim of her glass.
“Is that so?” I slipped a hand in my front jeans pocket. I was never sure what to do with my hands when I was around Grace because I wanted to put them on her.
“Oh, it is,” she said, setting the glass down.
“I thought the meal I prepared for you last night was pretty proper. But I’m intrigued, Miss Grace. What’s a proper meal to you?” I smirked.
“Come here, and I’ll show you.” She beckoned me with her hand and returned to stirring one of the pots.
Just as I started walking over to Grace, I heard it. Clucking that grew louder, faster, and more persistent. Immediately, I realized the grave mistake I had made.
“Shit,” I yelled, running into the living room. I grabbed the 12-gauge shotgun from the fireplace mantel and slipped on my work boots.
“What’s wrong?” Grace called out. I heard her footsteps padding behind me as I burst through the screen door onto the porch. There was no time to explain, so I didn’t answer.
The chickens and ducks were huddled in a group off to one side of the pond, moving in sync. The ducks practically screamed and the chickens clucked nonstop. I took off running toward them, spotting a couple of chickens on the other side of the pond, lying still. Heads were completely ripped off and blood pooled around their open necks. A light shined behind me, and I turned quickly to find Grace just a few yards back with a flashlight in hand. Smart girl, I thought. She moved it in all directions as I got closer to the pond.
I held the shotgun up, ready to shoot, as I looked for the creature that did this. Technically, I had a hand in this too. Grace was only a couple of steps behind me now, and she gasped when she spotted the dead chickens. Death was something you just got used to way out here. Too many predators. Finally, there it was, chomping on the head of a chicken. Three feet long from nose to tail and weighing at least thirty-five pounds. The creature’s eyes lit up like yellow orbs. The body of the chicken laid a couple of feet away. I held the gun steady and fired off a round, missing by a few inches. Lucky bastard. The raccoon quickly scampered off. The second shot missed too. Shit. There was no time to reload. The animal was gone, and four of my chickens were dead. I had gotten lucky too though. A raccoon could kill a flock in minutes.
I let out a deep breath and lowered the shotgun, wiping the sweat from my brow.
“Are you okay?” Grace asked. She was standing beside me, looking up at me with those blue, blue eyes.
“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head.
Grace was clearly confused by my answer and my body language. I was fine, but I was pissed at myself for making such a careless mistake. What if this had happened to one of my more valuable animals? It could have cost me everything.
“I forgot to put the chickens and the ducks in their coop, which is the equivalent of ringing a dinner bell out here for predators.” The birds were much quieter now that the animal was gone.
“I can’t believe a raccoon did this,” she said as her eyes scanned over the bloody carcasses.
I looked over at Grace, drawing my brows together.
“They may look cute and cuddly but don’t let them fool you. They’re vicious killers.”
Her eyes met mine. “What do you do now?”
“I’ve gotta get rid of the dead chickens. They’ll just draw in more predators, and there’s no shortage of those around here. Then, I gotta get the rest of them secured in the coop.”