Chapter Six #2
"Thank you." A hint of color touched her cheeks. "Wade, about last night—"
"Wade! Lark! Just the couple I've been looking for!
" Mayor Snowcroft's booming voice interrupted whatever she'd been about to say as he strode toward us, beaming with satisfaction.
"The plan is going swimmingly! Festival ticket sales up thirty-five percent from last year at this time.
The Summer Splash is shaping up to be our best event in years!
" He clapped me on the shoulder. "Keep up the good work, you two. "
Lark's expression shifted smoothly into professional pleasantness. "We're happy to help, Mayor."
"Enjoy the market. Be seen. Let Zoe take those charming photos she's so good at." He winked broadly. "Edna's at the Cat Rescue Outreach booth near the gazebo if you want to stop by." With another hearty shoulder clap, he continued on his rounds.
Once he was out of earshot, Lark turned to me. "I guess we should... mingle?"
"Probably for the best," I agreed, oddly relieved by the interruption. Whatever she'd been about to say about our kiss would have to wait. "Have you had a chance to look around yet?"
"Just arrived." She gestured to the market spread before us. "Lead the way?"
I offered my hand without thinking. After a brief hesitation, she took it, her fingers sliding naturally between mine. The simple contact sent warmth spreading up my arm.
We wandered through the market, stopping at various booths.
I introduced her to artisans I'd known for years: Margie Thompson, whose intricate beadwork had won regional awards; Carlos Reyes, whose hand-tooled leather goods were sought after by collectors; Emma Blackfoot, whose traditional Blackfeet quillwork connected present-day Wintervale to its Indigenous roots.
Lark engaged with each of them with genuine interest, asking thoughtful questions about their techniques and materials. At Emma's booth, she purchased a small quilled medicine wheel ornament after listening intently to the story and symbolism behind it.
"This is incredible craftsmanship," she said as we moved on, carefully tucking her purchase into her purse. "I had no idea Wintervale had such a vibrant artistic community."
"Small towns often surprise people that way," I replied. "When you're not surrounded by endless entertainment options, you tend to create your own. Plus, long winters give people plenty of time to perfect their crafts."
We approached a booth displaying stunning wooden furniture pieces—tables with intricate inlays, chairs with perfectly curved backs, jewelry boxes with detailed marquetry designs, and live-edge coffee tables showcasing the natural beauty of Montana timber.
Lark paused, admiring a cherry wood jewelry box with a hummingbird inlay.
"These are beautiful," she said. "Almost as nice as your work."
The compliment caught me off guard. "Actually, this is my students' booth."
She looked up, surprise brightening her expression. "Your students made these?"
I nodded, pride warming my chest. "The high school woodworking program. We have a special advanced section for students who show particular aptitude. All proceeds from the market go toward materials and tools for next year's classes."
"Wade!" A gangly teenage boy with shaggy dark hair hurried over from where he'd been helping an elderly couple with a rocking chair. "Didn't know you were coming by today."
"Wouldn't miss it, Alex." I turned to Lark. "This is Alex Reyes, one of my most talented students. Alex, this is Lark Hayes."
"The lawyer lady from the blog!" Alex blurted, then immediately flushed crimson. "I mean—nice to meet you, ma'am."
Lark laughed, the sound genuine and relaxed. "Nice to meet you too, Alex. Your work is incredible."
"Thanks." He shuffled his feet, clearly embarrassed. "Mr. Foster's a really good teacher."
"I can see that," she said, running her fingers over the grain of a small end table. "Who made this one?"
"That's mine," Alex admitted. "Cedar with walnut inlay."
"It’s beautiful," Lark observed, bending to examine the corner detail.
Before she could say more, a commotion broke out at a nearby booth.
"This is completely unacceptable!" A middle-aged woman with short gray hair was gesturing emphatically at a display of handwoven baskets. "We had a contract—twenty-five pieces, delivered before the festival. Now I'm left with half my inventory on opening day of the Artisan Market!"
The man she was addressing—Marcus Whitefeather, a skilled basket weaver from the reservation—stood with arms folded, his expression stoic but strained.
"Like I told you, Mrs. Fleming, the harvesting season was delayed by the late frost. The reeds weren't ready. I delivered what I could, and you'll have the rest by tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow! The regatta will be happening then, and most shoppers will be at the lake, not the market!" The woman's voice rose higher. "The contract specifically stated—"
"Excuse me," Lark said quietly to me. "I think I might be able to help."
Before I could respond, she crossed to the arguing pair, her entire demeanor shifting. Gone was the slightly cautious tourist; in her place stood a confident professional, her posture straightening and her voice taking on a calm authority.
"Pardon the interruption," she said, extending her hand to the woman. "Lark Hayes. I couldn't help overhearing your discussion about a contract dispute."
Mrs. Fleming blinked in surprise. "Sandra Fleming, Wintervale Gift Emporium. And yes, Mr. Whitefeather here has breached our agreement."
"I understand you're frustrated," Lark said, then turned to Marcus. "And you're dealing with natural materials that depend on seasonal conditions, correct?"
Marcus nodded, relief crossing his features at being understood. "The basket-quality reeds need specific conditions. With the late thaw, they weren't ready for harvesting on schedule."
Lark considered this. "Did the contract specify a force majeure clause—something addressing circumstances beyond your control?"
"It was a standard purchase order," Sandra said, frowning. "Nothing fancy."
"If I may," Lark said, "it sounds like you both want the same thing—quality merchandise and successful sales during the festival. Perhaps there's a middle ground?" She turned to Marcus. "When exactly tomorrow would the additional baskets be ready?"
"First thing in the morning. I'm working through the night to finish them."
Lark nodded thoughtfully. "Mrs. Fleming, the market is still open tomorrow during the regatta, correct?
And many visitors will likely stop by the market either before or after watching the lake events.
You'll still have a chance to sell the full inventory during the festival weekend.
" She glanced between them. "Perhaps Mr. Whitefeather could offer a small discount on this current shipment to compensate for the lost selling time today? "
Sandra hesitated. "I suppose that could work. We do get a fair amount of foot traffic from people coming to and from the lake events."
"And perhaps," Lark continued, "the contract could be amended for future orders to include contingencies for seasonal variations? I'd be happy to suggest some language that protects both parties while acknowledging the realities of working with natural materials."
Marcus extended his hand. "I can work with that. Five percent discount on this batch, and priority delivery for the holiday season order."
Sandra shook his hand, tension visibly leaving her shoulders. "Deal."
As they began discussing details, Lark stepped back, returning to my side. I stared at her, genuinely impressed.
"That was amazing," I said quietly. "You just resolved in two minutes what could have escalated into a serious rift."
She shrugged, but I could see the quiet satisfaction in her eyes. "It's what I do. Commercial contract disputes are actually my specialty, though usually with a few more zeros attached to the figures."
"You're really good at it."
"Thank you." She seemed genuinely pleased by the compliment.
As we continued through the market, I found myself seeing Lark with new eyes.
The way she'd stepped in—confident but not arrogant, firm but compassionate—revealed aspects of her professional self I hadn't witnessed before.
This wasn't the uptight city lawyer I'd initially imagined; this was someone who knew her value and used her skills to find solutions, not just win arguments.
We were examining a display of handmade pottery when an all-too-familiar voice called out behind us.
"What a coincidence running into you again today."
I turned to find Vanessa approaching, now dressed in a short white tennis dress that managed to look both casual and calculated. Her glossy hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her makeup was flawless despite the summer heat. Her smile widened as she took in Lark standing beside me.
"And you must be the famous Lark Hayes," she said, extending a manicured hand. "I'm Vanessa Mitchell. Wade and I go way back."
Lark accepted the handshake, her expression politely neutral. "Nice to meet you."
"I just moved back to Wintervale," Vanessa continued, flashing a perfect smile. "Well, temporarily at least. Just until I figure out my next chapter." She glanced at me with unmistakable meaning. "Wade's been kind enough to catch up a bit this morning."
"Is that so?" Lark's tone remained even, but her posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"Vanessa stopped by the workshop briefly," I clarified, stepping closer to Lark. "While I was doing inventory."
"Wade's always been so dedicated to that school program," Vanessa said with a dismissive wave. "Even when we were together, he'd spend hours working on student projects or curriculum plans."
"It's important work," I said firmly.
"Of course it is, sweetie." Vanessa's condescending tone made my jaw clench. "Anyway, I should let you two enjoy the market. Lark, it was lovely to meet you.”