Chapter One

Browning, city limits. "Yes." Sam Champion tapped a fist against the steering wheel. All he saw was a string of farmhouses, but the sign reassured him; his mother's birthplace was still on the map and two long days of driving would come to a close. Rotating his shoulders against the back of the seat, he looked at the clock on the van's dashboard for the hundredth time since he left an Iowa motel that morning. He was due at Joe Bottomley's office at eleven o'clock, and thanks to getting stuck behind farm machinery on a dusty two-lane country road, it was ten minutes past noon. There should be a law against detours.

The road curved suddenly and a billboard loomed ahead. Grow Browning. Sunlight bounced off ears of brilliant yellow corn and iridescent green leaves. Cornstalks formed the letters, and the roots were made up of ... people. Men, women, and children branched out below the stalks, anchoring them in the ground. At the bottom of the billboard were changeable numbers like those on a baseball scoreboard. Population: 3653.

The numbers were a novel touch. Would the population automatically change to 3654 when he passed by, or did he have to move into the old Thornbury place? His mother talked fondly of her hometown. "Everybody goes back, at least once."

Maybe that was why, to see if the number changed. Sam chuckled for the first time since he left Phoenix two days ago. Slaphappy from staring into clouds of dust, he'd realized Illinois must be suffering a drought.

The state road passed through town, and at one time, probably brought in a lot of commerce. Now, most people took the interstate, an option offered a dozen miles back. Many small towns suffered the same plight, but someone must be trying to save this burg. Sam had only lived in a small town once, an experience he barely remembered. But he liked city life. Starbucks. Cyber cafes. Theaters. Concerts. Small town life was for homebodies. Maybe if he were married, he'd feel differently, but he doubted it.

Whenever Mom talked about Browning, Dad's standard retort was, "You'd have to be crazy to return once and damned bored to go back at all." Sam never intended to come back, but it seemed his mother had other plans for him.

The farmhouses gave way to homes set close together, and just ahead, he saw the downtown district. Joe Bottomley said his law office was in the first block. "Can':t miss it," hesaid.

"Want to bet?" He just did. You could miss the whole town if you blinked twice. He circled a block and went back to park on the right side of the street in front of the attorney's office. Finally. Grumbling, he got out on the driver's side and walked around.

Sam stopped dead. There was a sign in the window. "Closed. Come back again."

He strode to the door of the law office, hoping someone might still be inside. Sunlight reflected off the glass, so he was six inches away before he spotted a note taped inside, facing out. "S.C., pick up your key next door. Had to go out. J.B."

He stalked to the next building where the glass door bore the word Mayor in gold letters. "CLOSED," a sign flipped over in the glass window, announced boldly. Another sign gave the hours, and the mayor's office, open five days a week, closed at noon. Talk about a one-horse town. It was so quiet in Browning, you could hear the corn growing if it wasn't dying from the drought. His green van was so thickly coated with dust a passerby--if there was one--wouldn't recognize the color.

Sam was about to turn around when a wisp of breeze fluttered a pink notepaper taped to the mailbox labeled, "Mayor." Under that, there was another box with "Municipal Service" painted on it in ... coral nail polish?

What person with good sense would tape a note where it could blow away or someone take it? Not that there was much likelihood of either in this lifeless town. He pulled the paper loose to read a scrawling note penned in purple ink. "You're late. Pick up your key at Inner Radiance across the street."

"Radiance?" His word echoed in the silence.

Sam, crossing the street, felt like he'd entered a strange Alice-in-Wonderland-type world with no one there but him, and no sound, only handwritten messages.

* * *

Sam Whozit was slower than molasses in January.

Lily Madison, standing at the plate glass window of her shop, Inner Radiance, looked up and down the main street. It wasn't every day Browning got a new resident and the grand old Thornbury house had stood empty since before she moved in next door. Of course, she was curious. Who wouldn't be?

Tapping a fingernail against her teeth, she glanced at her Cinderella watch and returned to peering. The sun shone brightly on southern Illinois this early June Day, but no one was in sight.

Lily snatched a feather duster from under a counter and waved it over a eucalyptus wreath in the display window, stirring up a soothing aroma. Leaning forward, she inhaled deeply. Sam ... she didn't know his last name ... was late. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture what a "Sam" would look like, but all she could envision was the noontime crowd, minus one, at Jodie's Chrome Grill.

She loved the friendly chatter and laughter, with the soft clink of coffee cups and the enticing voice of Elvis spilling forth from the jukebox in the background. Today, she'd eaten stale peanut butter crackers at a black enameled table in the back room of Radiance, alone.

Jodie's, the town's only restaurant, was the heart of Browning. The love life of Jodie Davis, proprietor, was a real life soap opera, and Lily suspected many of the regulars came for the next episode as much as they did for her home cooking.

Teeny Williams, owner of the local bed and breakfast, and Miss Rosalind China, long-retired schoolmarm, blushed to the roots of their white hair at some of Jodie's accounts. But let someone drop a coin in the jukebox making those ladies miss a word, and rumor had it Miss China would rap her spoon against her plate.

Love in a Small Town, continued >>>  | 1 | 2 | 3 |