Baby, I’m Yours Read Free

her father felt as if Emory wanted her to turn her back on her only family. She’d woken up this morning feeling blue, but conceded that some of it could be the weather.
    The sky was as heavy as her heart.
    “Shelby,” said Thelma from the next checkout aisle, “my register is acting up.”
    “I’l be right there,” Shelby said, stil waiting for Mrs. Cafferty to find her coupons.
    “Shelby to produce, Shelby to produce… quickly.”
    She took a deep breath and counted to five. It wasn’t everyone else’s fault she was in a bad mood today.
    Betsy, one of their best part-time employees, parked a row of baskarts and walked over. “I got this,” she offered with a wink, gesturing to Mrs. Cafferty’s order.
    Shelby gave her a grateful look. “Thank you.”
    She said goodbye to Mrs. Cafferty, then stepped over to inspect Thelma’s register, which didn’t want to open at the end of the sale. The registers, like everything else in the grocery, needed to be replaced or updated.
    “It’s a trick,” she said, then smacked the old machine on the side with her hand. The register drawer popped open and Shelby couldn’t help but notice its scant contents.
    Revenues were sliding more every month, but she couldn’t get her father to accept the fact that the business he’d built and worked from the ground up was stumbling. Since her mother’s passing, the market had become his life and, consequently, her life. He expected her to stay in Sweetness and help with the business that would pass to her someday. If she broached the subject of the financials, he became agitated and asked her to think about what would happen if they closed the grocery—where would people buy food? Not everyone had the ability or could afford to leave the mountain to shop in other towns.
    The fact that her father considered his business a service to the community showed just how big his heart was. She knew for a fact that he sold some staples for exactly what he paid for them to keep from passing rising cost on to his customers. And countless times she’d seen him load up a store van with food baskets and deliver them to needy families. He expected her to carry on the family tradition. She loved him so much, she couldn’t bear to disappoint him.
    She didn’t want to disappoint Emory, either.
    But it seemed inevitable that no matter what she did, she was going to hurt one of the men she loved.
    Shelby wiped her hands on the blue Moon’s Grocery apron she wore and hurried back to the produce section. There she found Mitch, a mild-mannered, gangly stock boy, holding a bag of apples overhead with a panicked look on his face. Flanking him were Myrna Carson and Bonita Fine, arms crossed and glaring at each other.
    Mitch saw Shelby and mouthed, “Save me.”
    Shelby dished out smiles al around. “How can I help you, ladies?”
    Myrna turned to Shelby, her mouth tight. “You can tel Mitch to give me my bag of Winesap apples, please.”
    Bonita turned, her eyes flashing. “You mean my bag.”
    “I had my hand on it, when you grabbed it right out from under me.”
    “You snooze, you lose, Myrna.”
    Shelby lifted calming hands, then looked to Mitch. “Is there another bag of Winesaps in the basement?”
    He swal owed and shook his head.
    “I have to have them for a pie I’m making for the county fair,” Myrna said.
    “No, I have to have them for a pie I’m making for the county fair,” Bonita said.
    “How about some nice Granny Smiths?” Shelby suggested, gesturing to the piles of other bagged apples. “Or Rome Beauties?”
    Myrna frowned. “Everyone knows Winesap apples make the best pie.”
    “Right,” Bonita said. “Everyone knows that.”
    Shelby exhaled. “Would you be wil ing to split the bag?”
    “No.”
    “Absolutely not. You have to have at least three pounds of apples for a decent pie.”
    “Right,” Shelby said. “But my mother—”
    “May she rest in peace.”
    “God rest her soul.”
    “Thank you,” Shelby