Miss Ross stood for a long moment, then dipped her head in a brief nod. Taking the letters from him, she slipped them back into her carpetbag and snapped it shut.
Caleb sighed, savoring his moment of victory.
She looked up at him and pursed her lips. “I wonder if the local constabulary will see things your way. Would you kindly direct me to the marshal’s office?”
A punch to his solar plexus couldn’t have taken Caleb’s breath away more effectively. He felt sure of his legal standing—fairly sure, anyway—but he was also aware of Marshal Hooper’s tendency to follow his own interpretation of justice rather than the letter of the law.
Coupled with that, it was no secret that the town’s lawman had a weakness for damsels in distress. He could see it now—Melanie Ross waltzing into the marshal’s office, batting those flashing gray eyes at him, giving him a winning smile, and manufacturing a tear or two.
Who knew what might happen then? The marshal might give the whole store to her, and boot him out altogether. It wouldn’t help a bit that Levi had already alienated the marshal by kicking him in the shins. Twice.
Caleb swallowed hard. He could see the handwriting on the wall. If she went to the marshal—especially since news of Levi’s latest misdeed had surely swept through the town—he might be out on the street before suppertime.
He couldn’t let that happen. The store was all he had.
Miss Ross eyed him closely, tapping her foot as if on a telegrapher’s key. When he didn’t respond right away, she gathered up her carpetbag, spun on her heel, and marched toward the door.
“Wait!” Caleb raced around the counter to intercept her. “Let’s discuss this rationally.”
A slight tremor tugged at the corners of her lips, and a hopeful light sprang into her eyes.
Caleb steadied his breathing and spoke in a soothing tone. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. You’ve had a long journey and a trying day. Why don’t you take some time to rest and recuperate a bit? Your arrival has come as rather a shock. Give me a chance to think things through, and we can talk about it more in the morning.”
Her smile broadened, revealing a tiny dimple in her right cheek he hadn’t noticed before. “That’s a fine idea. I am sure everything will look brighter to us both after a good night’s sleep. Now . . . where am I to stay?”
He shrugged. “That’s a good question. Cedar Ridge doesn’t have a hotel.”
“Oh?” Her smile faded and the dimple disappeared.
He swiped his fingers across his lips to hide his grin. Cedar Ridge might be an up-and-coming place, but it didn’t have much to offer in the way of housing for a respectable young lady on her own.
“No, we don’t get a lot of people just traveling through. Visitors either have family living here, or they bring their own bedroll and come prepared to rough it on the ground. There hasn’t been much call for a hotel.”
“I see,” she said slowly. Then she brightened. “Cousin George once mentioned that he lived above the store.” She glanced toward the back stairway; then a flicker of doubt showed in her eyes. “Or do you live up there?”
“No, my son and I have a house nearby. Uncle Alvin had it built soon after they opened the store.” He drew a deep breath. “I suppose you could stay in George’s old room, although there isn’t much up there in the way of furniture anymore. My son, Levi, goes upstairs to play sometimes, but he’s happy to crawl around on the floor with his toys.”
Seeing her hope fade, he took heart and pressed on. “We had a couple of big winds last month. They blew an awful lot of dust though the chinks in the walls. That hasn’t bothered Levi, but then, he’s all boy. He doesn’t mind the dust . . . or all those spider webs.”
“Spider webs?” Her voice came out in a tiny squeak.
Levi scrambled out from under the counter and faced their visitor with a grin. “Yeah, there are some really big webs up there.”
Caleb smothered a smile at his son’s unwitting help. “But a good going over with the broom should take care of them. I’m pretty sure we got all the black widows cleared out.” He turned to a back shelf and picked up four empty canning jars, which he set before her on the counter.
She eyed them warily. “What are these for?”
Caleb repressed a chuckle. He hadn’t been stretching the truth, and he wasn’t about to, but he had a feeling the truth would be enough to send her clamoring for a return trip to Fort Verde on Rafe’s freight wagon.
He leaned toward her and spoke in an earnest tone. “You fill them with water, then set the bedposts inside them. It’ll keep the scorpions from climbing into your bed. I haven’t seen one inside for a month or more, but you never know. Better safe than sorry, don’t you think?”
Miss Ross swayed slightly. Caleb almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
“Isn’t there any place to stay in town?”
Caleb had hoped he could avoid that question, but he knew she’d find out if she checked with anyone else. “Well, there’s Mrs. Fetterman. She takes in boarders from time to time. She might have a room open.”
Miss Ross’s face lit up. “A boardinghouse? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” She hefted her carpetbag again. “Tell me how to find it.”
“Why don’t you just ask Mrs. Fetterman?” Caleb pointed over her shoulder toward the lone remaining shopper.
Melanie Ross swiveled around in the direction he pointed, and her eyes widened. “Fetterman? I thought her name was Bledsoe.”
“No, Hiram Bledsoe is one of her boarders. Mrs. Fetterman is a widow. She keeps a clean house, and I hear she’s quite a cook.”
As if overhearing her name, Mrs. Fetterman looked up and smiled, waving a bottle of Dr. LeGear’s horse remedy in her hand.
Miss Ross looked back up at him and sighed. “Where might I find a broom, Mr. Nelson? I believe I’d rather take my chances with the spiders.”
5
The next morning Melanie laid her soiled work dress across the ladder-back chair next to the window and looked around her new room with a sense of accomplishment. By the time she’d cleared the area around her bed and made sure no spiders or scorpions lurked beneath the covers, her energy, already in short supply after her long journey, had run out completely, and she’d fallen asleep without another thought of the creatures that might be lurking.
But she’d risen before daybreak, refreshed and alert, and had determined to make her new lodgings livable before it was time to open the store. After sweeping everything from the ceiling to the floor free of its thick coating of dust—plus one sticky web she recognized as the home of a black-widow spider—she located a bucket and cleaning rags in the storeroom off the back of the mercantile and filled the bucket at the pump in the small kitchen downstairs. A strenuous application of water and elbow grease left the room and its contents gleaming. Not a palace, by any stretch of the imagination, but comfortable enough to call her home.
The brass bedstead and the oak dresser with its matching mirror suited her well enough. She had noticed some bedding on the mercantile shelves the previous day. She could select a comforter and blanket in lively colors to brighten up the room. Perhaps she could find some wallpaper in a feminine pattern to cover the rough-cut lumber on the walls. In time—assuming she was allowed to stay—she could make it into a cozy retreat. But it would do for now, and it was hers . . . for the time being, at least.
She checked the jars of water under the bedposts, thankfully free of vermin, and shuddered. When Caleb Nelson had handed her the jars, the look in his eyes made it plain that he didn’t want her there. So she had hoped his talk about spiders and scorpions had been an exaggeration, a ploy to send the eastern tenderfoot running back home. But after coming across those black-widow webs, she had to reassess her opinion. Apparently, one couldn’t be too careful in the wilds of Arizona.
And that caution wasn’t limited to undesirables of the lower species. Melanie glanced across at the chair she had propped under t
he doorknob the night before. In all their years of correspondence, Cousin George had always spoken of Alvin Nelson in the highest terms. Though she’d never met Mr. Nelson in person, her trust in George’s assessment of his character was such that Melanie hadn’t had the slightest qualms about throwing herself on his mercy. Though Caleb Nelson was Alvin’s nephew, she didn’t know the first thing about him. As she’d told him the previous day, she hoped he was a man of honor like his uncle . . . but she wasn’t taking any chances.
After washing in the basin she had carried to the dresser, she lifted her yellow flowered dress from the peg on the wall where she’d hung it the night before and shook it out hard, just in case. Relieved when no insects of any description tumbled to the floor, she slipped the dress on and checked her hair in the mirror, pleased to see that the smooth coil was still in place. She was almost ready to descend the stairs and embark upon her new life in a thriving mercantile. But first . . .
Making herself comfortable on the edge of her bed, she reached toward the nearby table for her mother’s Bible, the first thing she had unpacked the night before. Pulling it onto her lap, she opened the leather cover and thumbed through the well-worn pages, looking for encouragement.
The jolt she felt upon hearing the news of Alvin Nelson’s death had rocked her far more than she hoped she’d let on. After receiving his letter inviting her to come to Cedar Ridge to claim George’s possessions, she hadn’t entertained the slightest doubt that she would receive a warm welcome from him. His nephew, however, proved to be a whole different story. His reaction to her coming had shattered her hopes and let her know in no uncertain terms that she could expect no kindly offers of assistance from him. Her claim to ownership of half the store had shocked her nearly as much as it had Caleb Nelson, coming into her mind as an unbidden, but welcome, flash of inspiration she had acted on at once.
Despite her bold assertions, she wasn’t nearly as certain of her legal standing in regard to the store as she’d indicated to Caleb, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. If she had to make her place there by brazening it out until he got used to the idea, so be it. And he would have to get used to her being there. There was no place else for her to go.
Her fingers turned another page in the Bible, and Melanie recognized the story of the children of Israel wandering between Egypt and the Promised Land. She read the familiar passages, drawing from them a sense of hope and comfort. The Israelites, too, had been looking for a home and a place to belong. She smiled as she returned the Bible to its resting place. If God could take care of the Israelites in the wilderness, He could surely do the same thing for her in her new surroundings.
Fortified by that encouraging thought, she started for the door, ready to head downstairs. As she approached, she spotted a crumpled scrap of paper near the wall. She picked it up and frowned. How had she missed that in all her cleaning efforts?
She smoothed the paper between her fingers. It had writing on one side. Holding it up to the light, she turned the note so she could read it.
If you know what’s good for you, get out of Cedar Ridge.
What on earth? Melanie carried the note over to the window to take a closer look. Whoever wrote it would never win any awards for penmanship. The scrawled lines were more like angry slashes than flowing script.
She stared again at the venomous words, an uneasy tingle of fear creeping up her spine. Had she missed it during her earlier cleaning, or had the note been slipped under her door after she scrubbed the floor? If that was the case, she could think of only one person who wanted to see her leave.
Melanie glanced again at the chair blocking entry to her room and swallowed hard, wondering if her precaution had protected her from more than a hostile warning. As unwelcoming as Caleb had been, he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would stoop to writing anonymous notes. But who else could be responsible?
She started to wad the note in her palm, then stopped. If she intended to stay on in Cedar Ridge, she would need to face Caleb every day as they worked together in the store. They couldn’t maintain any kind of working relationship if he harbored such bitter animosity. As little as she relished the thought, she would have to speak to him about it. Slipping the note into her pocket, she started down the stairs, bracing herself to meet whatever challenges lay ahead.
The afternoon before, between arguing with Mr. Nelson and talking to Mrs. Fetterman, she hadn’t been able to do more than give the interior of the mercantile a cursory glance. So this morning she took her time perusing the layout of the store and its merchandise, feeling a twinge of nostalgia as the familiar sights and smells took her back to her early years. Growing up in the store her grandparents owned had apparently left more of a mark than she’d realized.
The setting, though, couldn’t have been more different. She crossed the store to gaze out the front window. Back in Ohio, she would have looked out at a neat row of red-brick buildings, with shoppers bustling to and fro and carriages lined up along the tree-lined street. Here, the air was filled with a haze of dust stirred up by rough wagons on the dirt road.
Melanie moved to the front door and stepped out onto the porch, where a row of board-and-batten structures faced her. She studied the names over the doors, knowing she ought to familiarize herself with the other businesses in town. The livery stable lay directly across the street, next to the blacksmith’s shop and Cedar Ridge Saddlery. To the left of the livery stood the barbershop, and farther to her left, the town’s saloon, the Silver Moon, plied its trade.
She saw nothing in the immediate vicinity that spoke of direct competition for the mercantile. Good. Her mood brightened as she went back inside to continue her survey.
As she moved from one section of merchandise to another, she made mental notes. The first thing they needed to change was to move the patent remedies away from the veterinary supplies—so there would be no repeat of the previous day’s incident with Mrs. Fetterman.
She stopped in front of a set of shelves holding an assortment of men’s shirts, long underwear, and denim work pants. Pairs of heavy boots hung from hooks on the adjacent wall. Melanie pursed her lips as her gaze traveled past the shelves and took in the displays beyond. Work clothes, guns, saddles, and harnesses. Stetson hats, tools, and bags of seed—items aplenty for the men of Cedar Ridge. Practical and utilitarian. But apart from a haphazard selection of fabric, ribbons, and a few ready-made dresses, there was precious little to entice the women of the area to come in and browse. Where were the bonnets, the notions, the array of fripperies that would draw ladies into the store and cause them to linger?
She would speak to Caleb Nelson about ordering some bonnets and lace, and maybe some finer dishes than the heavy crockery sets she saw lined up along a shelf near the counter. That would make a start, at least. And they could set up displays for the finer things in such a way that the women would have to walk past them in order to get back to the canned goods. Her grandparents had done the same thing in their store back in Ohio, and she knew from personal experience how effective that type of placement could be.
The back door swung open, and Caleb and Levi Nelson entered the store. After a quick wide-eyed glance at Melanie, Levi ducked under the counter and disappeared. Caleb hung his jacket on a peg near the door, then aimed a stern look toward the counter. “No snowstorms today. No loud battles between your tin soldiers, and don’t bother the customers. Do you understand?”
A muffled voice answered from the space beneath the counter. “Yes, Papa.”
Caleb reached for his storekeeper’s apron hanging by the door. He drew up short when he spotted Melanie, seeming startled by her appearance, as if he’d been hoping yesterday’s altercation had been a bad dream.
Tamping down her irritation, Melanie pasted a bright smile on her face. “Good morning! I’ve been looking around, and I have some ideas I’d like to discuss with you. I believe they’ll make a marked improvement in the store.” Without giving him a chance to object, she launched
straight into her plans for making the mercantile more appealing to their customers.
Caleb’s eyes grew wide, and he pushed his hands against the air. “Hold on a minute. What makes you think you know what the customers want?”
Melanie planted her fists on her hips. “I understand what a woman finds appealing when she enters a store, and this”—she swept her arm in a wide circle—“is not it.”
Caleb’s eyebrows dipped low, and he took a deep breath. “You may have some good ideas, but you don’t know Cedar Ridge and the people here. This isn’t Ohio, or any part of the East, and we do things a little differently here.”
He pointed to a chair near the back wall. “Why don’t you just sit over there and watch the way things go for a day or two?” He shot another look at Melanie. “Or even a week. By then, you’ll have a better idea of how the store functions before you go trying to turn everything upside down.”
“But I’m only trying to—”
“Have you ever run a store, Miss Ross?”
Melanie narrowed her eyes. “On my own? No. But I helped out in the store my grandparents owned in Ohio. And I know the kinds of things women expect.” A happy thought struck her, and her mood brightened. “That can be part of my contribution to this enterprise. It’s obvious you need a woman’s point of view in running this mercantile.”
Caleb took a step toward her. “And it’s obvious you don’t know the first thing about the seller’s side of the business. If I go spending money on things that may not sell, that money comes right out of my pocket.”
Melanie stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated. “Right out of . . . that reminds me. I need to ask you about something.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the note. Summoning up her nerve, she looked him squarely in the face. “I know you’re none too happy about my being here. I found this note in my room this morning. Did you leave it there?”
Caleb took the paper from her and gave it a quick glance. His lips tightened. “No, I didn’t. It has nothing to do with you.” He tucked the scrap into his apron pocket.
Carol Cox Page 5
