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Kelly walked across the driveway separating her look-alike cottage from the Spanish colonial beige stucco, red-tile-roofed farmhouse that had inspired the cottage’s design. Once the farmhouse for Kelly’s aunt and uncle, it was now a lively knitting and fiber shop. The cottage had become Kelly’s when her Aunt Helen was murdered nearly four years ago. That was the tragic event that had brought a transformation in Kelly’s life. She’d responded to the warmth and camaraderie of the knitting shop family of regulars. They had become Kelly’s family, replacing the ones who’d passed away. Kelly left her life as a corporate CPA in Washington, DC, and switched gears entirely, drawn by the warmth and friendship that beckoned to her from the friends she’d made at Lambspun.

She turned at the sound of her dog Carl’s deep Rottweiler bark coming from the cottage backyard. Carl was standing on his hind feet, front paws on the chain-link fence, warning the golfers on the adjoining golf course not to trespass. Few disobeyed Carl, Kelly noticed.

Kelly admired the colorful annuals that were still blooming in the flower beds bordering the walkway that led to Lambspun’s front door. Bright red geraniums and white impatiens beside deep purple petunias. Fringy dianthus alternated with sturdy orange marigolds. Colorful easy low-maintenance plants. The very same that Kelly had put in the planters lining her cottage walk.

She paused beside the shady patio, debating whether or not to knit here instead of inside the shop. Early September temperatures were still delightfully warm, in the low eighties. The sun shone brightly in the gorgeous blue sky that arched over the golf course.Colorado blue, Kelly called it. Late afternoon, and the sun hadn’t even begun its descent toward the ridges of low mountains on the west side of the university town. The “foothills,” as locals called them.Beautifulwas Kelly’s word.

Tempted to drop her knitting on the nearby table or wrought iron chair, Kelly decided she would first see what Lambspun’s owner, Mimi, was doing. She hadn’t had a chance to drop in and visit with her for several days.

Pushing the heavy wooden door open, Kelly stepped inside the wonderland of color and texture and sensuality that always greeted her whenever she entered the shop.

Yarn, yarn everywhere. Wooden crates were stacked one upon the other in the foyer. Shelves lined the walls of the adjacent room. Fat balls and loosely wound skeins tumbled forth from all of them. Tables and chests were piled high with yarns. Sweaters, scarves, and vests dangled from the ceiling and shelves. Long puffy loops of yarn draped along the walls. Wool, cotton, silk, mohair, alpaca, cashmere. Any fiber your heart desired.

“Well, hello, Kelly. It’s so nice to see you,” Mimi said as Kelly entered the foyer. “You haven’t been here since last week.” Mimi was stacking twisted coils of terra cotta red yarn in a tidy pile beside similar yarns in the middle of an antique dry sink. Moss green, burgundy wine, copper ore.

Autumn colors, Kelly noticed. Although it was still summer outside with balmy Colorado temperatures, the Lambspun crew always had an eye for an upcoming season. Seasonal colors always appeared in the shop overnight, it seemed. She would walk into the shop and find rooms totally transformed as if by magic. Kelly attributed it to the Lambspun “elves,” as she called Mimi and her two main helpers, Connie and Rosa.

Kelly fingered one of the terra cotta red skeins. HAND-DYED, the label read. It was a merino wool, not as thick as some of the others she’d touched. It would require a smaller needle but would be perfect for making fall and winter knitted hats. Or mittens.

“How’s that bridesmaid shawl coming?” Mimi asked as she gave the yarn piles a pat.

Guilt drew Kelly from her fiber indulgence. “Oh, it’s coming slowly. I’ve been swamped with work and haven’t been able to knit very much.”

She headed to the adjoining main room and dumped her knitting bag on the long wooden library table that served as meeting place for scores of fiber workers of every description. Not only knitters showed up around the Lambspun table, but also crochet lovers, or hookers, as they called themselves. Quilters turned up, too, as well as spinners, who set up their wheels in the corners. Weavers regularly worked their creations on the larger looms in the two rooms adjoining the large one.

Kelly always thought of Lambspun as an “equal opportunity” shop. Whatever your fiber tastes and inclinations, you would find someone at Lambspun to share them. And Mimi helped spread her expertise in all the fiber arts through a full schedule of classes. Kelly had noticed new classes in tatting and lace embroidery. They both sounded tricky to her.

“Would you like me to help you with it?” Mimi offered as she followed Kelly into the room. “I’d be glad to.”

Now Kelly felt even guiltier. Lisa, Megan, and Jennifer had already finished their shawls. But not her. Now Mother Mimi was offering to rescue her.

“No, no, I’ll get it done,” she promised as she settled into a chair at the table. No other customers around.Good. Maybe she could get more knitting done. Interesting conversations always distracted her, she’d noticed.

She pulled the royal blue bundle from a plastic bag she had protecting it from the jumble inside her knitting bag. There were knitting needles of varying sizes, a tape measure, stitch markers, copies of previous patterns she’d worked, and not one but two plastic containers of yarn needles, perfect for tucking in dangling yarn ends. She held up the bundle which formed a large triangle and examined her work so far. It didn’t look bad. The loose-knit design would be very flattering over the bridesmaids’ bare shoulders.

“Look, you’re halfway finished,” Mimi said with her encouraging smile before she returned to straightening books on the shelves.

Kelly knew Mimi was doing her nurturing best to be kind. Normally she would make a joke, but instead a remembered thought came to mind. “My bridesmaid gown is all finished,” she said, picking up her knitting stitches where she’d left off. “Megan and I went over this morning. Zoe has finished everything, including the headbands. Three weeks early, too. Megan was delighted, of course.”

“Of course. Megan has to stay on schedule, or—”

“Or there’ll be hell to pay. And we’ll all have to listen to it,” Kelly joked.

Mimi laughed her light laugh as she checked the other bookshelves. “I was going to say woe to the vendors who were not keeping up.”

“That, too. Tell me something, Mimi. When I was there this morning, I noticed a dark bruise on Zoe’s face and asked her about it. She got kind of flustered and said she was clumsy and tripped on some stairs. But Megan told me when we were alone that Zoe has an abusive husband. She said Zoe had talked to you about it.”

Mimi turned from the bookshelves and sat across the table from Kelly. Her cheerful smile was nowhere to be seen. Worry lines appeared on Mimi’s face now, showing the years of worrying about others. “Yes, that is true. It’s so very upsetting. I’ve known Zoe for the six years she’s been in Fort Connor. I remember when she first started her shop four years ago. And I noticed those bruises appearing last year. I asked Zoe about it, and she tried to dismiss my concern like she did with you. But I kept after her. Finally, she admitted that her husband Oscar had become increasingly abusive since he’d lost his new consulting business. He was trying to make it as a financial advisor so he could leave his regular job with the power company.”

Mimi began to trace a pattern with her finger on the light wood of the table. “She said he started to drink heavily, and that’s when he began hitting her more. Apparently he only hit her occasionally before that.” Mimi’s voice had acquired an edge. “I simply cannot bear it when smart women stay with men who abuse them. There were no children to worry about. Oscar had kids from an earlier marriage. I told Zoe I would take her to the battered women’s shelter here in town, but she refused to go. I’ve told her that every time I see her. It’s gotten so she stopped coming in here to visit. She knew I’d remind her of my offer. I can’t force her to go.” Mimi gave a little shrug and met Kelly’s eyes. “I wish I could. With Oscar drinking more, there’s no telling what he might do.”

Kelly had let her knitting drop to her lap. “That is so sad, Mimi. Zoe is so lively and full of energy. And . . . and so talented.”

“I know, it’s so—”

Her sentence was cut off by shop helper Connie, who walked into the room quickly. “Mimi, I’ve got that New England yarn vendor on the phone. It took me half the day calling. You wanted to talk to him.”

Mimi almost leaped from her chair. “Yes! Absolutely. Sorry to leave so quickly, Kelly, but I’ve been trying to reach him for weeks.”

“No problem, Mimi, we’ll talk later,” Kelly said as Mimi hurried from the room.

Kelly returned to the loose-knit shawl as she let the disturbing images Mimi had described dart around her head.