was listed, Darlene had checked for a landline but hadn’t found one.
With a quick glance in the visor mirror, Darlene saw that her makeup and gloss were in place. Then she fluffed her hair and stepped out of the car. Smoothing the seat-belt wrinkles from her sleeveless white blouse, she felt much more presentable today.
She looked around and gaped at Layla’s amazing flower beds, a mix of begonias, lilies, and tulips. With her decorative tin of chocolate chip cookies in hand, she breathed in the aroma of freshly mowed pastures and walked toward the door, her heeled sandals clicking against the cobblestones. Her black sunglasses slid down her nose, so she gave them a push upward. It was only the beginning of April, but already the temperatures were in the 80s.
She knocked several times and waited. No answer. She shifted the cookies to her other hand and knocked again, but still no answer. She was heading back to her car when she heard movement to her left. Layla was closing the barn door and heading across the yard.
“Hello!” Darlene waved, feeling intrusive. She’d just give her the cookies and go.
Layla was dressed the same way as before—blue jeans tucked into pointy-toed boots, long-sleeved denim shirt, and the cowgirl hat. The woman had dirt on her face, yet Darlene was sure Layla still presented herself better than she did.
“Hi, Darlene.” Layla stopped in front of her, expressionless. “What can I do for you? Another snake?” She grinned. Only briefly. But enough for Darlene to see that her teeth were as perfect as the rest of her.
“Oh no . . .” Darlene waved a hand and squeaked out a laugh. “No more snakes. I just wanted to bring you something, you know . . . a thank-you for slaying my intruder.” She pushed the tin toward Layla.
Layla pulled off one of her work gloves, took the tin, and wasted no time prying off the lid. After studying the cookies for a few moments, she chose one and took a big bite. “Thanks,” she said after she swallowed. Then she proceeded to polish off the rest of the cookie.
“You’re welcome.” Darlene wondered if Layla would invite her inside, or if that was Darlene’s cue to hit the road. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and once again gave her sunglasses a heave-ho up the bridge of her nose. “How many acres do you have?”
Layla pulled out another cookie, then shut the tin. “Thirty-five.”
Darlene thought about their ten acres and the time Brad spent keeping it up. “Wow. That’s a lot. Do you have help, or do you take care of it all by yourself?”
“No help. It keeps me young.”
I’ll say. Darlene watched her eat another cookie, feeling her own hips expand. She loved to bake, but seldom partook. She was short, and she had to work at not being short and fat. “My kids love chocolate chip cookies, so I make them a lot.” She paused. “Do you have children?”
Layla swallowed. “No.”
Hmm . . . No husband. No children. Lives in the mansion on the hill. And looks like a forty-plus supermodel dressed in cowgirl gear.
“Okay, well, I just wanted to bring you the cookies. Thanks again.” Darlene gave a wave. Layla was taking off her other glove and didn’t look up. Darlene had taken about four steps toward her car when Layla called her name. Darlene turned around.
“You don’t know how to sew, do you? I mean, you kind of look like the sewing type.”
The sewing type? “Um, yeah. I sew.” Maybe the fact that she’d been a homemaker for almost twenty years showed.
Layla ran her sleeve across her forehead, which further smudged the dirt already there. “I have a formal event to attend.” She sighed. “I’ve lost twelve pounds, and my dress is swallowing me. I’d pay you to alter it for me.”
I should have such problems. “Uh, okay.” Darlene pushed her glasses up on her head. “You don’t have to pay me, though.”
“Okay.”
No argument? She stuck her hands in the back pockets of her Capri jeans and stood tall, but no amount of stretching would bring her any higher than Layla’s shoulders.
“Can you come in and pin the dress now?”
Now? “Uh, yeah . . . sure.” At least she’d get a chance to see the inside of Layla’s house.
Layla started walking toward the house, so Darlene followed. Before Layla opened the door, she turned to Darlene. “Can you give me just a minute? I wasn’t expecting company.”