“Then I made it just in time.”
He walked over to the bakery counter past a rack of western style clothes and some sweatshirts that said Sweet Montana. When he got to the bakery counter, he glanced inside the glass.
“I guess I'm not the only one who decided to come by here for goodies.”
“No, it's the time of day. We get good foot traffic through town for the muffins. And since it's spring, people in town have gone a long time without their favorite huckleberry treats. So even though I stock up, there are slim pickings.”
“Huckleberry?”
She smiled. “It's a favorite around here. For the tourists, too.”
“I'm not a tourist, but I had some huckleberry bread from the grocery store.”
She cocked her head to one side and then leaned into the counter. “Mine is better,” she whispered. “I haven't seen you in town before.”
He chuckled. “You know everyone in town?”
“Just about. If you live here long enough, you get to know everyone.” Then she grinned. “Even the people you don't like. But we learn to live with that.”
He frowned. It was a strange thing to say, especially to a stranger.
“What's all this stuff,” he said as he walked to a bookcase filled with jars that were decorated with lace and labels with flowers and other pretty decorations.
“Those are the jams that we sell that are made by the locals. They are very popular with the tourists. People like to come in and get something that's authentic to the area when they're on vacation to give as gifts. You won't see a whole lot of that down at the potluck today because people make their own stuff and bring it.”
“Is that right? Then I’m in trouble.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t. I tell you what. Instead of bringing something for the food table, why don’t you bring something for the bake sale. That will sell. And it’s a good cause.”
“Okay. What you suggest?”
“I could put together a box of jams. There’s huckleberry, wild chokecherry and strawberry rhubarb on the shelf.”
“Chokecherry? Never heard of.”
“It's good. Especially on toast. You should try some.”
Tara went to a small refrigerator behind the counter and pulled out a jar. Then she walked over to the display case and pulled out a small piece of bread before closing the case again. She took a small cocktail napkin, placed the bread on top of it, and then proceeded to spread a thick layer of the jam. After closing the lid on the jar, she scooped the napkin with bread in her palm and lifted it to him. “Here, try some.”
Nash reached for the bread with jam. He wasn't one for sweets. Not much anyway. One bite and he was sold.
“I can see why this is a favorite. It's good.”
The woman smiled. “Do you want a jar of it for yourself, too?”
He grabbed a few jars from the display case and brought them to the register.
“Yes. I’ll be here all summer. I may as well stock up.”
“It's also good when you put a spoonful in your morning oatmeal, if you like that sort of thing.”
“Good to know. But I still need something for the bake sale and I don’t think jam is considered a baked good. Do you have any cake?”
He walked down the length of the bakery case slowly. He could tell that the case had most likely been stocked full that morning. Now there were only a few scattered plates with goodies on them.
“This all looks good.”
“It is. If you’re looking to give this away for the bake sale, I know just what to give you.”
“That's a relief. I'll have a box full of whatever it is looks good.”
“It's all good. Trust me. I’ve sampled everything. I'll just be a minute.”
“Take your time.”
As Tara busied herself behind the bakery display, pulling a pastry box out from a stack of pre-folded cardboard on the counter, he continued to look around.
“You're the one that saved Harper Madison's life last week, aren't you?”
Her question caught Nash off guard. He wasn't sure why it would. Harper had said that small towns are like party lines, the old-fashioned telephone where everyone heard everyone else’s conversation. It didn't take long for everyone to know everyone else's business.
“I pulled her out of the car and gave her shelter. I hear that’s a neighborly thing to do.”
Tara laughed. “It is. The way I hear though, it was a bit more than that. Jamison, the man who had pulled her car off the side of the mountain after he plowed the entire area where the avalanche had buried everything, said the car looked pretty smashed up. You saved her life.”
“She was lucky. It could have been worse. And I was in the right place at the right time.”
Tara disappeared behind the counter as she carefully chose different pieces of pastry and placed them strategically inside the box so they wouldn’t mash together. “I have known Harper a long time. I'm glad it turned out well. She told me you both got caught in the avalanche, too.”
He shifted uncomfortably. Did everyone in town know this? “We did. Again, we were lucky.”
Tara poked her head up above the glass case. “I don't believe in luck. I'm just glad you both made it out.”
Her voice trailed off as she disappeared once again behind the counter.
Nash was already regretting his decision to come down the mountain and go to this potluck. “So how many people actually go to this thing?”
“Pretty much the whole town. We like to support the fire and police department.”
He nodded, although he was sure she couldn't see. Everyone in the town. Damn. What was the likelihood he was going to run into Harper?
* * *
Her shift had ended early, but only because Scarlett had decided to come in earlier when her babysitter was available sooner than expected. Harper would've been fine working her full shift
