Reva unrolled theThunder Mountain Gazetteand laid it out on her lap. Her eyes scanned the headlines, stopping on a subject that was big news—the television production company that planted their outfit just outside Jackson and entirely too close for many locals liking.
The news piece was fair but held a definite slant toward protecting the area from the encroachment of outsiders…a term used multiple times by the paper’s editor, Albie Baron.
She shut the paper and pushed it aside. To be expected, she supposed. The residents of Thunder Mountain had already seen a lot of change watching as nearby Jackson turned into a tourist hotspot. They did not easily embrace more, especially those individuals who believed the flood of tourism might creep into their tiny town.
Reva was about to wander back inside for a shower when her phone rang. It was Lila. “Hey, the farmer’s market starts today. Want to go?”
“I thought you were working?”
“We were up all night with an emergency rectal prolapse repair. Doc Tillman told me to take the day off.”
Reva grimaced. “Sounds painful.”
“Yeah, just ask Frank Chapman’s broodmare.”
“I meant painful for you.” Reva mentally checked her schedule for the day. “And, yes…I’d love to hit the farmer’s market with you. I know Charlie Grace is up to her elbows with getting ready for the big opening day at Teton Trails, but do you want to invite Capri to meet us there?”
“Already did,” came the reply.
The town held a farmer’s market next to the high school football field every Tuesday and Saturday, weather permitting. Rows of tables perched underneath tent awnings displayed vibrant green kale, plump red tomatoes, and crispy cucumbers grown by locals and arranged neatly on display. The strawberries, raspberries, and piles of carrots, onions, and garlic bulbs were so fresh and fragrant that Reva could almost taste them just by standing there.
“Oh, my goodness. Look at those flowers!” Exclaimed Lila. “Nobody grows roses like Brittany Peters. She definitely has the magic touch.”
Lila turned to Capri. “Speaking of that magic touch, how’s your mom’s garden coming along? I’m dying for some of her snap peas when they come on. They’re great in a stir fry.”
“Both she and her garden are fine,” Capri told her. “And get this; Dick is out there helping her. My stepdad even bought her a new rototiller.”
The news brought a smile to Reva’s face. “That’s good to hear.” Dick hadn’t always been supportive of his wife. But people can change, and Capri’s stepfather was evidence of that fact.
Together, they wandered to a large booth filled with crocheted and knitted items for sale. There were baby booties, lap blankets, and even dog coats made with multi-colored yarn…all made with love by a group of ladies in town. Never ones to take themselves too seriously, these ladies called their little bunch the Knit Wits and donated sales proceeds to a benevolence fund maintained down at the bank to help neighbors in need.
Oma Griffith sat in a folding chair, fanning herself with a folded newspaper. “Well, hello girls.”
“Hi, Oma.” Reva gave the woman a little wave. She turned to Betty Dunning, who sat next to her. “Look at all this. You, ladies, have been busy.” She pulled her wallet from her bag. “How’s your arthritis, Betty?”
The older woman grinned and held out a purple-veined hand for inspection. “Oh, much better. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Ben—Bengay, that is,” she let out a delighted squeal, pleased at her own joke.
Reva, Lila, and Capri laughed with her. Her jokes were much easier to stomach than her often over-described tales of sicknesses either she or her friends had endured. No ailment was off limits, even those that included bodily fluids. She was one of those people who spent hours on social media posting and commenting on graphic photos of infected and oozing toes and the like. Betty Dunning was fascinated with medical issues and could offer up a remedy for everything. If you could recite the symptoms, she had the cure.
“Well, Betty. Looks like Bengay is a keeper.” She turned to Oma. “How much?” Reva asked, holding up her wallet.
Oma put her knitting needles aside. “Which item, dear?”
“I want it all,” Reva told them. “Pack it all up and have the items delivered to the nursing home. Well, except for those baby booties. I guess I’ll take them.”
Oma and Betty’s eyes widened. “You sure?” Oma asked. “The total comes to a pretty penny,” she warned.
Reva handed them a wad of hundred-dollar bills. “That should cover it.”
Before they could thank her and get the booties bagged up, a loud voice shouted from behind them. “Help!”
Reva turned toward the commotion. A man she didn’t recognize gripped his throat and doubled over, gasping for air. Panicked, he folded to his knees in front of the cupcake booth and waved his arm frantically in the air for help.
Reva quickly grabbed Lila’s hand and pulled her in that direction. “Let’s go!” Capri followed close behind.
The woman at the booth who had shouted for help looked frantic. “He’s choking,” she explained, pointing to a cupcake decorated with a tiny jellybean on top of a mound of frosting.
Before Reva could move into action, she felt a push that nearly knocked her off her feet. She was shoved aside by a forceful Betty Dunning, who had raced to join them. The petite white-haired woman planted her feet about a foot apart, squared her small frame, and wrapped her arms tightly around the man’s waist. “One, two, three…” She squeezed with a quick upward thrust. Without waiting for a reaction, she repeated the procedure—harder this time.
