“I couldn’t find feta.”

“Over there,” the woman said, pointing over her shoulder. “I’ll finish ringing you up while you grab some.”

Aware of the waiting line, Linda scurried to what had been a hidden corner of the store. Feta, goat and pepper cheeses and deli-sliced mortadella were all welcome sights. First, “the cabin” turned out to be a luxury home and now the small grocery offered a few urban delights. She grabbed what she wanted and got back to the register just as the woman finished up with the rest. “Thank you so much.”

“Just good retailin’. Cash or credit?”

Linda handed over her credit card. “I’m new and was thinking I’d get a bite to eat—”

“Bugaboo, down to the highway, go left, make another quick left. Good people.”

“Thanks.” She carried her bags to the Rover and easily found the restaurant, which was steamy warm and crowded with skiers of all ages clomping around in snow gear. She fit right in, she decided, even if her boots were suspiciously new. A chair quickly opened up at the bar and she studied the menu as she sipped a Fat Tire beer quickly provided by the bartender.

“Need help with the description of anything?” The bartender wiped the counter again, then stood poised with her order book.

“Everything looks good,” Linda said, and it was the truth. Stuffed crabmeat rolls and pulled BBQ pork both tempted. “I don’t have a big appetite is the thing.”

“I can do you a half of anything, plus a side of mixed greens. Our orange pepper balsamic dressing is really good.”

Linda found herself smiling at the thirty-something bartender, whose second earring on the left sported rainbow colors. “The pork then. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” She tapped something into the screen at the end of the bar, then returned to say, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“First time. The lady at the grocery store sent me. I gather ‘good people’ is high praise.”

“Oh sure.” Firm shoulders shrugged under a grey-green ribbed sweater. “Around here anyone who can get through winter without needing a jump, hauled out of a ditch or who will give someone a jump or haul someone out of a ditch is good people. You pull your own weight, lend the occasional hand and this is a very tolerant place, you know?”

“Not a bad system.” Linda found herself keeping prolonged eye contact, then let her gaze flick to the rainbow earring and back.

“Where you staying?”

“I have a place on Osprey Ridge.” It came out as a question because she didn’t know if the name would mean anything.

Apparently it did, because the bartender whistled. “That is some high rent.”

“I inherited the place. It doesn’t . . . suck.”

A rich, amused chuckle drew the attention of people nearby. “I’ll bet. Just you? Those places are huge.” Blue eyes softened in speculation. “You must feel all alone.”

Linda nearly said, “I’m sure you could think of a way to end my loneliness.” Then she thought of, “There are lots of spare bedrooms. It would be a while before we’d have to do laundry.”