That did the trick. The man coughed, and a tiny red jellybean flew out of his mouth and landed on the grass at his feet. His purple-hued facial skin immediately brightened and returned to its natural pink tone.
The crowd that had assembled let out a collective sigh of relief as the man regained his composure and nodded his head. “I’m good. I’m okay.”
When he’d collected himself a bit more, he turned and gave Betty a bear hug. “Thank you! You saved my life!”
Betty’s cheeks blushed pink. “It was nothing.” She patted his back. “Glad to be of help.”
As the commotion died down, they all turned and walked back to Oma and Betty’s booth. Reva shook her head. “Wow, Betty. You acted fast. How did you know what to do?”
Betty grinned back at her. “YouTube.”
6
After a late night holed up in her home office poring over the financial projections she’d prepared for the bank, Charlie Grace had fallen into bed and woken up exhausted.
Reva warned her to keep the numbers realistic—and she had—even so, the figures staring back at her were daunting. There were so many factors out of her control.
Would anyone actually show up and lay out cash to stay here? Especially when there were other guest ranches in the area that were established and doing well.
Would her new website entice vacationers to spend their vacations in those newly built guest cabins? Despite her best plans, could she offer the kind of rustic vacations and opportunity to connect with nature that executives, their spouses, and children couldn’t get in the city? Word of mouth was essential in the hospitality industry. She’d need her guests to return home happy and willing to tell friends about the wonderful time they’d had in the mountains of Wyoming while staying at Teton Trails.
The idea of it all left her head spinning.
Charlie Grace shook off her worries and got dressed. There was no sense in pondering something she had no way of knowing. She’d done her best to prepare for the opening this weekend. Now, she could only wait and see if her effort had been worth it.
“Where are you going?” her dad asked as she pulled her farm jacket from the hook by the back door.
“Out to feed and then to town.”
“I suppose you think you can keep up with this ranching operation while catering to all those city folks wanting their beds turned down at night.” He wheeled over to the table and pulled the top off the sugar bowl. “Don’t think I don’t know what time you went to bed last night. You might think you’re some superwoman, but you’re just regular folks, like the rest of us.” He scooped a heaping spoonful of sugar into his coffee mug and stirred. “Something’s going to give, Charlie Grace. This ranch will suffer.”
The muscles in her neck tightened. “I’m good, Dad. Besides, after I get done feeding, I’m heading to town. I plan to stop at the newspaper office and place an ad in theThunder Mountain Gazettefor Roy Mullin’s replacement.” She’d learned that most ranch hands didn’t frequent the internet want ads. “I’ll get someone hired for the feeding. Until then, I can handle it.”
Her father huffed. “So, you think you’ve got it all under control?”
Feeling annoyed, she nodded. “I do. By this time next week, those two cowboys I hired from Dubois will be here to help with the guest ranch.”
“Suit yourself, sister,” he said, pulling the mug to his lips. “But those guys you hired are old. They’re anything but ranch hands. Bet they’re too feeble to lift fifty pounds, let alone ride a horse for more than two hours at a time.”
She pulled her coat on without telling him that Whit Hawthorne and Merritt Tilman were all she could afford right now. “They’re not so old they can’t lead some trail rides, cook outdoor barbecue, and sit around a campfire playing their guitars. Trust me, Dad, we’re good.”
Charlie Grace hurried out the door to avoid further judgment.
The internet called her hometown one of the last real old-west towns in America. With a population of nine hundred seventy-two, Thunder Mountain was noted to be a hidden gem with the authentic feel of the frontier set against the scenic backdrop of the majestic peaks of the Tetons.
She didn’t know about all that. What she did know was that the small town was indeed quaint and filled with history. Many buildings along Main Street were built over a hundred years ago.
Heading into Thunder Mountain from the main highway, you passed the school—circa the 1960s—and the same school she had attended. The most prominent building housed the high school classes, the gymnasium, and the science lab. The grade school and junior high were in the smaller building. A shop and the ball fields were beyond that.
Next was the Western Drug and Grocery. The proximity to the school was handy for students who trekked the short walk to purchase bags of Doritos and cherry colas on their lunch break. Personally, Charlie Grace had always taken advantage of every opportunity to eat hot lunch. Mrs. Rudd’s homemade pizza was piled high with real cheese, fried hamburger meat, and sliced black olives. Her mouth watered, simply remembering how good it tasted. Never mind that the dessert served often included massive chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, fresh from the oven.
Who would trade that for a bag of Doritos?
The center of town held a cluster of rustic establishments lined with wooden boardwalks. Yellow rosebushes tumbled blooms over the occasional fence line, and most doorways were semi-blocked with a sleeping dog. There was the Rustic Pine Tavern and Grill, Bear Country Gifts, Bluebird Books, and Thunder Mountain Bank and Trust. At the far end of Main Street, on the right, was the town hall and then her destination—theThunder Mountain Gazette.
Charlie Grace eased her truck into the angled parking spot in front and cut her motor. She grabbed her bag and climbed out.
“Hey, Charlie Grace!”
