Page 15 of Christmas at the Ranch
“I’ll be quite happy to leave,” Samantha said with a grimace. “I was almost trampled by an elk at the elk refuge.”
“That’s why you darted in here like a fox outrunning a pack of dogs.” The woman closed the cash register. She held out her hand. “I’m Marigold, let me know if I can help you find anything.”
“What a pretty name,” Samantha reflected, shaking her hand.
The woman was in her late forties. She was quite beautiful with light brown hair and blue eyes. She wore a turtleneck with a long skirt, and a stack of bangles dangled at her wrist.
“The marigold is my favorite flower. It grows all around Jackson Hole,” Marigold said. “I never understood why we have to keep the names we were born with. I renamed myself when I was quite young.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Samantha said, smiling. “I’m a writer, I keep a notebook of names to use in my books.”
“How clever, I’ve haven’t met any writers here in the gift shop,” Marigold mused. “Though we get a lot of celebrities in Jackson Hole. They buy fancy ranches and think they’re all going to become cowboys.”
“I wasn’t cut out for life on the open range,” Samantha admitted. “To be honest, I’d rather be sitting in front of the fireplace in my apartment with my laptop and my dog.”
She didn’t know why she couldn’t stop rambling. It felt nice to talk to someone. She was beginning to regret the way she stormed off from Drew.
“Jackson Hole has a lot to offer,” Marigold said. “You might be surprised to find how much you like it.”
“I’m only here for Christmas week,” Samantha answered. She suddenly felt guilty for taking up the woman’s time. “I’ll buy some souvenirs. What do you suggest?”
Samantha bought a cushion embroidered with the Teton mountains for her mother, and a fishing hat for her father. She picked out matching Christmas pajamas for Charlie and Emily, and a squeaky rubber bear for Socks. She would regret buying the squeaky toy. It drove her crazy when Socks made noise while she wrote. The only other choice was a dog bone shaped like antlers and even holding it made her shudder.
“You might like the huckleberry jam,” Marigold offered, ringing up the purchases. “Huckleberry grows all around Jackson Hole, it’s one of our most popular items. Persephone Bakery serves the best huckleberry pie, and in the summer the line outside Moo’s for their huckleberry ice cream stretches around the block.” She smiled at Samantha. “You have to be careful if you go huckleberry picking. It’s the bears’ favorite food.”
Samantha put down the jar of jam she had been holding. Thank goodness it was December. One couldn’t pick huckleberries in the snow.
A pendant of an arrowhead hung from the cash register. The arrowhead was made of turquoise and the chain was polished silver.
“Arrowheads hold great importance to Native Americans.” Marigold had followed her gaze. “They believe if you wear an arrowhead around your neck, you’re protected from harm. Warriors wore them into battle, and the women used them to keep their children safe from bears and other wild animals.”
“You must sell tons of these,” Samantha said, thinking about the bison that wandered down the street. “Every tourist should have one.”
Marigold’s brow furrowed.
“The shop supports local Native American artists, and many of them have become my friends. I don’t sell anything Native Americans consider sacred.” Marigold shook her head.
Samantha looked at Marigold curiously.
“It actually works?” she wondered.
“Native Americans wouldn’t still carve them if it didn’t,” Marigold answered. “It’s my pendant. It was carved for me by a good friend who is a member of the Arapaho Tribe. They live on a reservation not far from here and I often visit them. The Arapaho and the Shoshone are the only federally recognized tribes left in Wyoming, though many Native American communities still call it home.”
“It’s beautiful.” Samantha gazed at it thoughtfully.
Marigold studied Samantha as if she was deciding something. She unsnapped the pendant and handed it to Samantha.
“Why don’t you borrow it?” she offered. “You can return it to me when you leave Jackson Hole.”
Samantha’s eyes widened.
“You just met me,” Samantha said. “Why would you lend me a precious necklace?”
“My Native American friends always say to rely on your intuition: to know where to make your home, and who to consider your friends,” she said slowly. “Something tells me you need it.”
Samantha turned it over in her palm. The turquoise glinted in the afternoon sun.
“You know a lot about Native Americans,” Samantha reflected.
