CHAPTER THREE

      TIBBY COULDN’T BELIEVE she’d forgotten it was Saturday, and the land office was closed. Fortunately Gram’s attorney was in, but that visit proved nearly as fruitless; Lara had never mentioned the land transaction to him. However, the elderly Mr. Harcourt did provide Tibby with one ray of hope.

      “I imagine there are strict rules and regulations concerning the relocation of a U.S. post office, Tibby. I’d be happy to file an injunction against O’Donnell to tie his hands until you get a ruling from the postmaster general’s office next week. However, it takes at least two working days to process an injunction. If I file Monday, it’d be Wednesday or so before the county served him.”

      “Even that would help, Mr. Harcourt. He’s not at the digging stage, and I didn’t get the impression he’d rip out the building. He’s pressuring me to move it. But there’s no room on my property unless I stick it in the middle of my parking lot.”

      “I’ll start the ball rolling, then. First thing Monday you get on the horn to Washington and see what they suggest. Meanwhile I’ll draft a letter telling O’Donnell of our intent to file the injunction. Sometimes that alone makes a person back off. If you’re going to be in town awhile, drop by later and pick it up.”

      “I do have other things to take care of. I’ve decided to adopt a dog. The house is so quiet without Gram. I thought maybe a pet…Please point me in the direction of the shelter.”

      “A pretty woman like you shouldn’t have to resort to canine companions. What’s wrong with the young men out there in Yaqui Springs?”

      Tibby’s heart took a sinking dive as she thought of the only young man in Yaqui Springs. “It’s largely a retirement community, Mr. Harcourt. Not too many men my age retire.”

      “Humph. Then if I were you, I’d sell Lara’s store and move. I recall her saying she wanted you to go away to college. Unfortunately, as we discussed after she passed away, she was badly advised financially and lost the bulk of her nest egg.”

      “I love living in Yaqui Springs and I love running the store. I’d never sell it. I hope eventually to take some college correspondence courses. I’ve been checking into San Diego State. Now, about the animal shelter, Mr. Harcourt…”

      “Yes…yes. But a dog hardly seems a fitting alternative to dating. Tell you what, my wife’s in charge of our church socials, and she teaches the young-adult Sundayschool class. I’ll have her send you an invitation to the next event. No matchmaking, understand. Just come and enjoy the company of men and women your own age.”

      “That’d be nice. Thank you.” Tibby doubted she’d accept the offer. Unless the social was during the day. It was a dark lonely road to travel at night.

      Harcourt drew her a map to the shelter. She thanked him again. “I’ll run by for the letter, say, at three?” He nodded and escorted her to the reception area.

      Walking along the street to her car, Tibby caught her reflection in the window of a shoe store. Her steps slowed. Was her braid outdated? Or was it her loose-fitting cotton dresses? She’d noticed that both the secretary and receptionist in the attorney’s office wore suits with shorter skirts. No, by darn. Tibby gripped the shoulder strap of her purse. She liked her hair long, and she’d grown up wearing dresses. They were cool and comfortable, good for bending and stocking shelves.

      Tibby stopped at a café for lunch. The place was crowded. The harried hostess acted as if it was a crime to eat alone when Tibby asked for single seating. Once they managed to squeeze her in, Tibby felt as if she had come with a crowd, since the tables were pushed so close together. Two couples on her left knew the people on her right, and talk more or less flowed over her.

      As she dug into her salad, she realized that a majority of the men and women in the restaurant were paired up. Contemplating that, Tibby pretended interest in her forkful of greens. Before Justine and Mr. Harcourt had pointed out her social impairment, she’d never given it much thought. Was that how Cole saw her? Naive and inexperienced? A country mouse? He must know a bevy of sophisticated women.

      Embarrassed at the thought, Tibby requested her check and left the majority of her lunch untouched. Awareness of her own inadequacies always made her heart trip over itself.

      Only after she was safe in her station wagon did her heart settle and the trembling stop. Flirting wasted time. She had no need for such skills. A dog was what she needed to keep her company, and a dog she would have.

      Less than half an hour later, she pulled into the shelter parking lot. Sharp barks and mournful baying pulsed from the building. Goodness, she thought as she entered the reception room, this might be a bad idea. So many dogs needing homes—how would she ever choose?

      “May I help you?” A pretty girl with soft brown eyes greeted her over the din.

      “I want to adopt a pet,” Tibby explained. “A dog.”

      “A puppy, you mean?”

      Tibby gave the question some thought. “Do you have any that are young but already trained?”

      “We have a beautiful Pekingese. Very well mannered. Her owner died, and the woman’s daughter lives in an apartment where they don’t allow pets.”

      “Oh, how sad.” Tibby’s heart turned over. “I had in mind something bigger, though. Like a guard dog.”

      “That’s too bad. Peek-a-boo only has another twenty-four hours.” The girl’s brown eyes misted. “I’ve tried so hard to find her a home, but everyone I know is full up. I’ll even throw in food and a doggie dish.”

      Tibby’s forehead puckered. “I know an elderly lady whose Yorkshire terrier died. She’d had her sixteen years. I wonder…She was brokenhearted. Still is.”

      “Oh, do you think?” The girl sounded hopeful. “Could you call her?”

      Tibby smiled. “I believe I’ll surprise her. It’s too easy to say no over the phone. It’s much harder to refuse a gift.”

      “You’re a woman after my own heart. But I’ve given so many dogs as gifts, I’m almost out of friends.” The two shared a conspiratorial grin. “Now that Peek-a-boo has a home,” the receptionist said briskly, “let’s go choose you a pet.”