by Dorothy Love
“Are you sure about that, Carrie? I saw the two of you that day at the wedding. And then you asked him to help you move.” He pulled at a blade of grass. “Something as important as that, I figured you might have asked me about it.”
“It was entirely coincidental. I happened upon him on the road and acted on impulse. I was so upset, I wasn’t thinking about who should do the honors. I only wanted out from under Henry’s roof as soon as possible.”
“I guess I can understand that. But maybe you ought to know, some folks are wondering about Rutledge and what all went on before he came here.” His gray eyes sought hers. “I don’t want you to get mixed up with the wrong sort of people.”
“I’m not mixed up with anyone. Mr. Rutledge and I have spoken only a few times since Henry’s wedding.”
“If you say so.” He leaned against the trunk of the tree and squinted at the patch of sky above them. “I sure do feel bad for Henry and the way things have turned out. I don’t like seeing the two of you at odds. Nothing this side of heaven is more important than family.”
Did Nate honestly think she didn’t already know how precious a family could be? She missed Henry terribly. And she felt guilty for storming off the way she had—or she would if she allowed herself to think about it. A rush of anger at Mary Stanhope displaced her sadness. Why did Mary have to be so judgmental? So thoughtless and demanding? If Henry had to marry at this late date, why couldn’t he have found someone sweet and thoughtful, someone like Ada Caldwell?
“. . . anyway, that’s my idea. What do you think?”
She blinked. “Sorry. What?”
“I offered you a job again. While you were woolgathering just now, I was explaining that I’ve bought out a store in Saint Louis. The inventory will be here on the train next week, and I’ll need help sorting it, marking it for sale and such. You’ve seen my shop. It’s all a-jumble.”
“I won’t argue with you there.” She smiled, her thoughts of Mary forgotten. “Even so, there’s something about it that makes me feel good from the moment I step inside.”
“Wish I knew what it was. I’d bottle it like snake oil and make a fortune.”
She caught the look of worry in his eyes. “You told me weeks ago that business is bad. What in the world are you going to do with even more books?”
“I don’t rightly know. But it seemed too good a bargain to pass up. Enrollment at the college is up this year. The students will need books. And I’m counting on the Race Day visitors to buy them too.”
“Then the town council approved Mr. Gilman’s plan?”
He nodded. “They took a formal vote Tuesday night. Mr. Gilman is beside himself because Rutledge is sticking around to ride that black colt of his.” Nate paused. “So will you help me with the shop? I can’t pay much but—”
“Of course I’ll help, but I won’t charge you a cent.”
“We’ve been over all that. I wouldn’t feel right not paying you when you need the money.” He took her hands and smiled into her eyes. At moments like this, she truly loved him. Loved his quiet affection and innate goodness. What more could a woman ask for? Ada was right. She was a fool for putting him off for so long.
“Maybe you can save the money for your trousseau,” he went on. “I hear ladies like to buy all sorts of fancy things when they’re going to be married. In a way that’d be like giving the money back to me. When you finally set a date.”
She blushed. “All right. Thank you, Nate. I can use the money. And I would like something more constructive to do than listen to the gossip at the hotel.”
He rose and helped her to her feet. Tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, he led her back to the road. “I’ll let you know when the books get here. In the meantime, I hope you’ll think about what I said and talk to your brother.”
Griff climbed the fence and dropped to the ground. Majestic snorted and lifted his head at the sound, but he didn’t shy or run. With slow, deliberate movements, Griff unwound a light lead, and the horse trotted over. Griff grinned and rewarded him with an apple and a pat on the neck.
Resting his head against the three-year-old’s hard, warm neck, Griff breathed in the smells of horseflesh and manure and fought another wave of homesickness. By now the summer social season in Charleston would be well underway. Garden parties, beach picnics, Sunday walks in White Point, and the endless round of gentlemen’s sporting outings had never much appealed to him, but he’d feigned interest for his father’s sake. Not that it had made any difference in the end. He and his father were simply too different. Still, he felt a powerful longing for his roots, ambushed by his long-denied need for a home.
He thought of Carrie Daly. Every time he caught a glimpse of her coming and going from the post office or the mercantile, something about her touched a chord in his heart. How would it feel to hold her silky hair in his hands? To hear her bright laughter? He worried about her. She had seemed so bereft the day he helped her to leave the Bell farm. He knew all about family estrangement, and it wasn’t something he would recommend to anyone.
He wasn’t sure why Carrie’s situation mattered so much to him. After all, he’d be gone from Hickory Ridge once the race was done. Once he’d collected his money from Rosaleen.
Rosaleen. One thought of her, and the peace of the warm summer afternoon vanished like a dream. He could certainly use the money that was still in limbo in London, but he wasn’t exactly destitute. It was the principle of Rosaleen’s unpaid obligation that gnawed at him. The way he saw it, people ought to keep their commitments. He saddled the colt, slipped a bridle over Majestic’s head, and led him out of the corral and into the Gilmans’ side meadow.
If he knew Rosaleen Dupree, she wouldn’t merely hand over the money. She’d want to play cards for it. And there had been a time when he’d have been only too happy to oblige her. He’d grown up in a city where everyone gambled and no one was thought the worse because of it. But he’d long since lost his taste for cards and for women like her.
What he hadn’t lost, though, was a deeply ingrained sense of right and wrong and an even deeper aversion to being played for a fool. He swung into the saddle and nudged Majestic into a brisk trot. If settling an old score meant spending time in places he’d rather not be, dredging up old memories better forgotten, so be it.
NINE
Dozens of books, still in their shipping crates, filled every nook and cranny of the cluttered shop. Where on earth would she put them all?
Carrie pried open a crate of history books and stacked them on a splay-legged table beneath the window. India jumped into the window, and Carrie stopped her work to run her fingers over the cat’s smooth back.
Despite the dusty clutter, working in Nate’s shop lifted her spirits. Bright sun streamed through the window. The scent of pipe tobacco, old leather, and the strong coffee he brewed in the store room; the squeak of the pine floor beneath her feet; and India’s throaty, contented purr filled her with a sense of peace.
She pried the lid off another crate of history books, noting titles about the diminishing buffalo herds on the western plains and the founding of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. A hefty volume caught her eye: The Old Regime in Canada. She flipped the pages and skimmed a few random passages. Perhaps she should buy it for Henry. He loved history, loved to read, though he’d never had a chance to finish his schooling.
After their parents and Granny Bell died, he and Carrie lived with a cousin in Maury County, where Henry did well in school. But he’d been determined to hold on to the family farm in Hickory Ridge. So as soon as he was old enough, he brought Carrie home. And over time, he’d learned how to do everything on the farm. He planted by the signs as Granny had taught them. Potatoes and carrots went into the ground during the dark moon; corn, tomatoes, and beans in the light. He could mend a broken plow, a leaky roof, a downed fence. He took pride in knowing there was nothing he couldn’t fix.
Carrie sighed and set the book aside. Despite his skill, Henry co
uldn’t repair the rift between her and Mary, a rift that had spilled over into his relationship with Carrie too.
The door opened and Nate came in, his arms weighted with another crate of books. Behind him, the driver of the freight wagon plopped yet another crate onto the pine table Carrie had just finished dusting.
The driver pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Nate. “That there’s the last of the load, I reckon. How do you want to settle this bill, Mr. Chastain?”
Nate set down his crate and mopped his brow. “Just a minute. I’ll get the cash box.” He retrieved it from beneath the counter and paid the driver. “Appreciate your help.”
“Anytime.” The driver folded the bill and shoved it into his pocket. “You and Mr. Pruitt over at the mercantile are just about the only cash customers I’ve got left.”
“Things have gotten worse and worse here ever since seventy-three,” Nate said, “and unfortunately, I don’t see how they’re going to improve.”
Carrie closed the cash box and put it away. “I suppose we’re all counting on the horse race this fall to liven things up.”
The driver nodded. “Everybody’s talking about that new fellow riding Mr. Gilman’s horse. Folks say he won Race Week nearly every year, back in South Carolina. He was some hero, all right.” He scratched his head. “Hard to fathom why a city fellow like that would come to a quiet place like Hickory Ridge.”
Nate pried the top off another crate. “If you ask me, it takes more than winning a horse race to make a man a hero.”
“Right enough, I reckon. I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Chastain.” The driver tipped his hat to Carrie and headed for the door. “Ma’am.”
When the door closed behind him, Carrie joined Nate at the table and began lifting books from the crate, dropping them onto the counter with more force than was necessary.
“Whoa, there,” Nate said. “What’s got your petticoat in a twist?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re cross as a wet hen.”
“I’m not cross.”
“Could have fooled me.” He set the last of the books on the counter and shoved the crate aside. “It was because of what I said about Rutledge, wasn’t it? I don’t know why you’re always defending him.”
“Maybe because you’re forever criticizing him. You don’t know the first thing about him.”
“Whereas you know everything there is to know about the mysterious Mr. Rutledge.”
“I don’t know much more than you do. But I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt. Mr. Rutledge has done nothing to deserve your ill opinion of him.”
“And nothing to earn such admiration from you.” He studied her face. “At least nothing I know about.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He held up both hands, palms out. “I’m sorry. Let’s not fight. I’m dog tired, and there’s so much more to do.”
“You’re right.” As much as she resented his attitude toward Griff Rutledge, she understood Nate’s concerns for his shop. She hated seeing him so worried. And he was paying for her help, after all.
“I’m sorry too.” She indicated a stack of law books she’d shelved earlier that day. “Those won’t sell to anyone except maybe the men at the college. I was thinking we should set up a textbook section in the back, by the storeroom, and use these front shelves for the more popular books.” She indicated a stack of novels by Jules Verne, Mark Twain, and Bret Harte. “All of these are new, within the last two years.”
He nodded. “Good plan.”
“And there’s something else. I want to start a ladies’ book discussion society.”
“A book—what?” He took off his spectacles and cleaned them with his handkerchief.
“They’re very popular in Memphis these days. I was reading about it in the paper only last week. A group of ladies meets once a month to talk about the books they’ve read. The article said the discussions are quite lively. And the meetings stimulate a lot of interest in books. Perhaps our society will encourage more customers to come in and look around.”
“And what will they use for money, even if they find a book that suits their fancy?”
She pointed to an assortment of books stacked in the far corner. “Those odds and ends have been sitting on the shelves for years. We should offer them at a bargain price. Put a sign in the window and invite people in to browse. Even if they sell for only a dime, that’s a dime more than you’re earning while they sit here collecting dust.”
He grinned, admiration and hope shining in his eyes. “Mercy’s sakes, where did all these ideas come from?”
“I want the shop to succeed. It would break my heart if it closed. Yours too.”
He thought for a moment. “All right. Go ahead and organize your book society. Who knows? It might be just the ticket to get things moving again.”
She clapped her hands and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I was sure you’d say yes. Come and see what I’ve done with the old storeroom.”
She took his hand and led him to the small space at the rear of the shop.
“Holy cats.” He looked around, clearly surprised at the changes she made.
She had brought in the rocking chair from the front room and placed it next to the small window overlooking the railway station and the mountains. A couple of plump pillows in shades of pink and blue were stacked on the floor next to a basket brimming with children’s books, including a leather-bound volume of fairy tales and an elaborately illustrated copy of Two Hungry Kittens. “It’s for the children of my book society ladies,” Carrie said. “They can read and play in here while we talk.”
“They’ll enjoy it, I’m sure.” He squeezed her hand. “Thank you, my love. I only hope—”
The bell above the door jingled. “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Carrie’s heart stumbled. “Mr. Rutledge?”
She and Nate returned to the front of the store. Nate nodded. “May I help you?”
Griff smiled. “Actually it’s Mrs. Daly I came to see. They told me at the hotel that you’re working here now.”
Carrie rubbed the bony protrusion at her wrist. “Yes. I—that is, Mr. Chastain bought out another store, and I . . .”
Heavenly days. Why did being around Griff Rutledge make her feel as tongue-tied as a silly schoolgirl? “I’m helping to organize things.”
“And doing a fine job of it from what I can see.” Griff swept his arm past the tidy shelves and her hand-lettered signs organizing the books by subject, from Architecture to Zoology.
She blushed, pleased at his compliment, and hoped Nate didn’t notice the color rising in her cheeks. “There’s still a lot to do, especially now that I intend to start a book discussion society. The shop is keeping me very busy these days.”
“Not too busy to accompany me to the Gilmans’ place tomorrow, I hope.”
Nate frowned. “Whatever for, Mr. Rutledge?”
“I thought she might like to see how Majestic’s training is coming along.” He turned to Carrie. “He’s settled down considerably since the day he nearly ran you down.”
“Oh, I would like—”
“She doesn’t have time. Unlike other people who gallivant around the county at will, we have a job to do here.” Nate grabbed a dust rag and attacked the same counter Carrie had polished earlier in the day.
“Of course,” the horse tamer said. “But all the same, I think the lady should make up her own mind.”
Carrie swallowed her growing irritation at Nate. How dare he speak for her as if she were a child? But it wouldn’t do to make a scene. She smiled at Griff. “Mr. Chastain is right. I’m afraid I’m much too busy at the moment. But I hope you’ll visit the shop again and let us know how Majestic is getting on.”
“Wait till you see him race.”
“I’m looking forward to it. As we all are in Hickory Ridge.”
“Well then,” Nate said. “If there’s nothing more we can do for yo
u, Mr.—”
“I’ll be on my way.” Griff offered her a slight nod. “Another time perhaps, Mrs. Daly.”
He let himself out.
Nate pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s nearly five. There’s not much more we can do until I finish building the new shelves you wanted.”
“Fine.” Tamping down her irritation, she snatched up her reticule and the list of books she’d compiled for the discussion group.
“Carrie? What’s the matter?”
“You shouldn’t have spoken for me. I’m a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions.”
“You wanted to go out to the Gilmans’ place with Rutledge?”
“The only horses I’ve ever been around are farm horses. I don’t know the first thing about training racehorses. It would be fun to learn something new, that’s all.”
“And fun learning it from Griffin Rutledge, no doubt.”
“Now that you mention it, yes. I’ve never met anyone from Charleston. I enjoy talking to him.”
Nate grabbed the cash box and shoved it into the safe by the back door. He spun the dial and drew the curtains closed. “I thought we had an understanding.”
“This has nothing to do with us.” Even as she spoke the words, she was filled with doubt. Was that really true? To hide her confusion, she rummaged in her pocket for her room key.
“Tell you what,” Nate said. “Go ahead and keep company with that reprobate if you want to. I don’t care anymore.”
“Thank you for giving me permission.”
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have to think twice about turning down his invitation.”
“Does loving one person mean having to cut everyone else out of your life?”
“No, just other men who have an obvious interest in you. If you’re starved for conversation, talk to Mariah. Or the women at the Verandah.”
“I assure you, Mr. Rutledge has no romantic interest in me whatsoever. And even if he did, nothing would come of it. He doesn’t intend to stay here long.”
“People change their minds.”
She pressed her fingertips to her tired eyes. “Please don’t be cross with me, Nate. He was only being polite.”
