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A Wide and Pleasant Place (Farm Fresh Market 1)

By Valerie Comer

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Chapter 1

Small towns were boring, stupid, and pointless, and nothing about Galena Landing would ever change Brittany Santoro’s mind.

Arrival was inevitable, but why rush it? She pulled off at an overlook above the lake nestled at the edge of the valley and stared down. The blue water rippled and glistened in the late morning sunshine. The town’s few streets had been laid out in an even grid, the only curvature being the lakefront drive. Beyond, the broad farming valley swept to the west and north, with pastures and fields like a gloomy patchwork. Spring had yet to lend any color to this drab place.

Happy April Fool’s Day, Britt.

She sucked back the bitter laugh. Yup. She was the fool who’d burned bridges at Marketing by Design in Spokane. This gig was her boss’s offer of redemption. Six months to prove herself so that Janice Durant and her sister, Galena Landing’s mayor, would both write glowing recommendations.

Brittany would be in New York City before harvest. That was sometime in fall, right? She didn’t know. She was no farmer.

So, wasn’t it ironic she’d be designing ads to entice local foodies to this Idaho town practically shoved up against the Canadian border? She, who wanted nothing more than to be elsewhere, was tasked with making this blip on the map attractive to new residents, new farmers, and new shoppers for the farmers market.

Go her.

She took a deep breath and scanned the town again, working out roughly where her cousin’s house must be according to the digital map program. Then she looked back at the lakefront, where half a dozen white canopies proved the market was in full swing. Might as well see what she was up against.

The road curved down the hill past a newer subdivision then shot straight north for a few blocks. And wasn’t it just her luck that the town’s one-and-only stoplight turned red just to spite her? Whatever. This was where she turned right.

Was this the heart of downtown? Ugh. That didn’t bear thinking about. A tiny log post office. A bakery… she’d definitely check them out. A health food store, which she definitely wouldn’t. A few other stores that looked nearly too exhausted to carry on.

Brittany parked near the market, swung her purse over her shoulder, and crunched across the gravel parking lot to the sparsely populated market. So much for it being in full swing. Of course, if it were a bustling place, she wouldn’t have been sent here to the middle of nowhere to crank up their marketing.

The thought still rankled. Yeah, she’d been indiscreet. She got that. But this punishment was excessively severe for the sin she’d committed.

In the recesses of her mind, Jesus shook His head in disappointment. Okay, so He represented the ultimate in undeserved punishment, and there were average human beings who had it worse than she did.

But still.

She stopped cold and stared at the hinged sign announcing the farmers market. It had an apostrophe after farmer. And wasn’t the text in Comic Sans? She cringed. Retreating home had never looked so good.

Not an option, Britt.

A guy grinned at her hopefully from behind a table laden with tiny garden seedlings.

She forced a smile and kept walking, tugging her coat closer before she froze to death.

At the next booth, a thirty-something woman arranged jars of honey beside a stack of egg cartons.

That was more like it. Even if her cousin had both in her kitchen, more wouldn’t go to waste. Brittany angled closer.

The woman looked up with a smile. “Hi, there!”

“Hello.” First rule of farmers markets: if you didn’t want to interact with the growers, you should shop at the supermarket instead. “I’d like one of those jars of honey and maybe a dozen eggs.”

“Sure thing.” The woman quoted the total, not that Brittany couldn’t do her own math. “Visiting Galena Landing?”

Brittany fished in her purse for her wallet. “I’m here on a short-term contract with the town office.”

“Oh, how wonderful! My name is Sierra Rubachuk. I’ll be here at the market every week. As summer comes on, I’ll have more and more things to sell.”

“That’s great.” Brittany exchanged cash for the two objects. “Do you have a bag to make carrying easier?”

“I’m sorry, no. Most locals bring a cloth bag or two for their purchases.”

Brittany should have guessed. “Okay, thanks.” She flashed a smile at the woman. It would never do to alienate the vendors before she’d even started with the town office.

“Welcome to Galena Landing. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks.” Brittany backed away, turned to the next vendor, and squelched an involuntary shudder. Hadn’t toilet paper holders made of plastic canvas died out long before her birth? This market had no standards.

Not a single booth served hot food, unless she counted that one table with a church-sized coffee urn beside a stack of Styrofoam cups. A carton of half-and-half and an open box of sugar cubes rounded out the display. The honey-and-egg lady should hand out bags and ban disposable cups instead.

Brittany shuddered. Plain bulk brew was not on her radar. The town must have an actual coffee shop. She hadn’t seen a Starbucks, but then she hadn’t hunted any side streets. Please, Lord, have mercy. I need real coffee.

Not that God was answering these days. They weren’t really on speaking terms since Brittany had spent a desperate few days praying her beloved father would recover from the horrific accident that ultimately took his life. Still, the ingrained lifelong habit of talking to God inside her head hung on. At least she knew that was all it was, a habit. God didn’t much care, or He’d have spared Dad.

Brittany turned at the end of the row of canopies and surveyed the small market from the other end. Six booths. The seedling guy. The honey-and-eggs lady. The plastic-canvas lady. The coffee couple… from this angle, she could see a container with film-wrapped cinnamon rolls. One of those was a temptation until she remembered the absolutely amazing delicacies from the bistro back home. This rendition would only taste of disappointment and despair.

Another vendor sold jams, jellies, and pickles, while the final booth contained a smattering of somewhat crafty objects. She would not call the hideous plastic-canvas boxes crafty.

She shuddered, and it wasn’t just from the chilly wind.

The middle-aged woman from behind the coffee table poured a cup and came toward her. “You look frozen, dearie. Have a coffee on Bart and me.”

“No, thanks.”

“Aw, go ahead and take it. You can fix it up over at the table if you don’t take it black.” The woman smiled. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Jean Stedman.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Brittany.” She wasn’t giving her surname any minute soon. It would be recognized, since her uncle and aunt had lived here for decades.
“Thanks for the coffee.” She accepted the cup and eyed it. Had she ever sipped unadorned caffeine before? But she didn’t really want to linger at Jean and Bart’s table.

“Well, if you’re stopping in town for a bit, you’re welcome to join us at Galena Gospel Church tomorrow morning. Sunday school starts at nine forty-five — there are classes for adults as well as for kids — with worship at eleven.” Jean turned slightly away from Brittany and pointed. “The church is over there on Third. You can just see it between those houses.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the invitation.”

That was likely where Gina and Chris attended, as well as Uncle Matt and Aunt Connie. The Santoro clan was nothing if not churchy. Of them all, only one cousin had ever walked away from the faith, but he’d returned to the flock and married his first love just a few months ago. That left Brittany as the sole holdout… unless someone else was hiding their status as carefully as she’d been.

A state she needed to keep to herself, so church looked to be in her future. Why couldn’t she simply stop with the charade? Six more months, then she’d be safely in New York with a job earned on her own merit, far from family and anyone else who cared about her spiritual condition. Then she’d be free to live her own life.

Cradling the warm cup between both hands, she turned to Jean with a smile. “Where’s a good place to get lunch?”

“There’s The Sizzling Skillet on the other side of the park.” Jean pointed out a log building near a tired-looking hotel labeled “The Landing Pad.” The inn’s chipped sign bore a cartoon of a frog on a lily pad.

Brittany shuddered. The town had more troubles than attracting residents if this was where people needed to stay while they considered real estate. She hadn’t seen a major hotel from the overlook.

Janice and her mayor sister had gotten one thing right.

Galena Landing needed the talents of Brittany Santoro.

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