Wishmakers by Dorothy Garlock

something inside her contracted with hurt. She didn't want to talk about the mill today. There would be time enough for that next week when she visited it.
    “When is Dolly coming home?” Donna slid a basket containing a giant sandwich in front of each of them.
    “Monday or Tuesday. Arlene Rogers took Penny over to Kalispell today. We'll know for sure when she brings her back tomorrow.”
    “Arlene Rogers? Humph!”
    Margaret looked quickly at Chip to see his reaction to Donna's grunt of disgust, but he was spreading mustard on his sandwich, his face expressionless.
    “Before you go, I'm going to sell you some tickets to the dance tonight,” Donna announced when she returned with the catsup bottle. “The V.F.W. is having a benefit for the Secorys, who were burned out last week. Betty and the kids have moved in with her sister, and Larry is out at the place trying to clear a spot to put up another house. How many tickets do you want?”
    “A hundred,” Chip replied calmly.
    “I thought you would,” Donna remarked just as matter-of-factly. “Ought to take your girl to the dance. If she can survive that, she's tough enough to winter with.”
    “Want to go, honey?” Chip's eyes twinkled at her, and Margaret carefully placed the large bun in the basket to hide her confusion.
    “I didn't bring anything to wear to a dance.”
    “Oh, you don't dress up at
our
dances,” Donna said quickly. “It's a square dance. Most everyone wears cotton skirts, some wear jeans—the ones that have the little behinds and look cute in them,” she said with a forlorn shake of her head.
    “We'll buy a skirt if you want to go.” Blue eyes met hers with a definite challenge in their depths.
    “I always get me a dance with this gorgeous hunk. You'd not cheat me out of that, would you?” The woman placed her hand on Chip's shoulder, but her smiling eyes were on Margaret.
    “I certainly wouldn't want to do that. I suppose I'll have to stand in line to get a dance with this gorgeous hunk myself,” Margaret teased, and she was delighted to see Chip squirm a little in his seat.
    “That settles it. I'll get your pie.”
    The pie was an enormously thick wedge of crispy pastry oozing fruit and topped with vanilla ice cream. Margaret agreed it was delicious, but after the sandwich she was able to take only a few bites. Chip finished his and reached for hers.
    The diner was filling rapidly by the time they were ready to leave. Chip answered greetings as they waited beside the cash register to pay the bill. Margaret was conscious of the speculation in the looks she was receiving and she was acutely aware of the fact that Chip's proprietary attitude toward her was creating the impression that they were far more than friends.
    “Let's go over to the office,” Chip suggested when they reached the sidewalk. “It's only a few blocks; we can walk.” Again he took her hand, dwarfing it in his palm, and they strolled down the street past shops, bars, eating places, and a brand new bank. They took their time, looking into store windows. The sign in one said:
    YOU LL NEVER GET A LEMON AT LEMON S.
    Margaret tugged on Chip's hand to stop him. “This is where we bought my clothes. It looks different from the front. Do they sell skirts here?”
    “Maybe. We'll take a look after we've been to the office.” He squeezed her fingers. She looked up and lost herself in his smiling blue eyes.
    The square brick building sat at the end of the street. It was unadorned except for a small bronze plaque that read: ANTHONY/THORN. Chip unlocked the door, and they walked into a tastefully furnished reception area. He led her through a hallway and into his private office.
    “Sit down if you like, or look around. I've got a few things to do.”
    “Is this where you work?” She looked at the large desk, the leather swivel chair, and the framed map on the wall studded with different colored flag pins.
    “Part of the time. We have a very capable office staff, so I