She peered into his eyes. “You’re only going after water.”
Her concern touched him. The last person to be concerned for him was his mother, the week before he agreed to help Crane with the bank robbery. The day his father told him he’d never amount to anything.
He nodded and gazed into eyes that held the promise of renewing his life. “I’m only getting water. My first priority is to set up my shop, then visit my family, and then dig into Judge Spencer’s strange behavior.”
Her body relaxed, and he was blessed with a smile.
“Yes, I’m anxious to see this inventory you talk about.” She stepped aside, allowing him to fill the buckets.
“The sooner we get this place ready, the sooner you’ll see them.” The fact she wanted to see his work pleased him. “I’m not one to boast, but many prominent men in the Northwest purchase my boots. Once they feel the comfort, they tell their friends. I actually sell more boots that I ship than I sell out of a shop.”
“Now, I’m even more impressed and anxious. Get the water so we can get this shop running.” She swatted at him with the broom, and he hastened into the store room and out the back.
Van tossed the dirty water across the alley and hurried to the water barrel. If he was set up by the end of the week he’d visit the ranch on Saturday. He was anxious to see his mother and curious to see his father. Had the man mellowed in twelve years or had age made him worse? He often wondered how his mother lived with the old hard-ass.
Scrubbing the floor had worked him into a sweat. The cold December air across his wet skin set his teeth to chattering. He hurried back inside and found Beth and Tessa holding up two different colors of cloth.
“Which do you like?” Beth asked when he set the buckets down.
“Why?”
“Because these are both serviceable and good colors for curtains in your front windows.” Beth stared at him like he’d dumped the buckets of water on her feet.
“I don’t remember asking you to find material for curtains.”
Tessa stepped forward. “You didn’t. Beth stopped by before when…” she rolled her eyes to the back of the building, “you filled the pails the first time. I asked her if she could find some material for curtains. It will give the shop a homey feel.” She lowered her gaze. “I know that was presumptuous of me, but you want to make it look appealing to women as well as men.”
Van held the smile that wanted to split his face. He liked her taking a hand in making his business a success. If helping here boosted her image of herself it would help the community boost their opinion as well.
“Who’s sewing these? I need your help.” She didn’t need to know he liked the idea.
“I will,” Beth chimed in. “Could you help us measure the windows?”
He took the bolts of fabric from Beth and held them out to Tessa. “Which one do you like?”
She stared in his eyes then touched the solid color deep red bolt. He handed it to Beth. “Make the curtains out of this one.” Tessa smiled timidly, and he wanted so bad to scoop her into his arms and kiss that trembling smile.
“Measurement.” The one word came out like a command from tiny little Beth.
Van shook out of Tessa’s trance and dug in the crate by the stove for his measuring stick. Tessa wrote the numbers down he called out and within minutes, Beth was just the lingering scent of bread and ringing in his ears.
Van started measuring the wall for shelves. Tessa picked up a bucket of water and headed for the front door.
“Put a coat on, the wind has a bite to it today.”
She set the bucket down and disappeared in the back room. He wrote numbers on a slab of wood with a graphite stick. Tessa returned with a thin shawl.
“Is that all you have to wear in this weather?”
Her face turned nearly as red as the fabric they’d picked. “I’ve been saving my money. A coat wasn’t needed when the weather was warmer.”
“What about last winter? Did you run around in only that shawl?” Guilt assaulted him again. How different her life would have been if he’d told his father or the sheriff instead of treating his part in the robbery like a joke.
“Last winter my mother was ill. I spent most of my time inside nursing her.” She stomped her foot. “Don’t look at me that way. I won’t take pity from anyone.” She spun around and out the door, slamming it in her wake.
He’d have to find a way to help Tessa without bruising her pride. Pride was a hard thing to deal with. Almost as hard as guilt.
Chapter Five
Tessa slumped exhausted onto the chair by the stove. They’d both been so busy the potbellied stove hadn’t been stoked in hours and barely warmed a foot beyond its round body. Her arms and back were too tired to lift the needed wood to bring back the heat. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to undress for bed.
The shop and living quarters were clean. Van had built and installed shelves and two work benches. The newly sawn wood filled the room with the sweet tang of pine. Tomorrow, they’d bring in Van’s tools and inventory. What would the boots he made look like? They must be special for people as far away as Washington D.C. to order them.
Stomping and a tall shadow on the front window drew her gaze to the door. The knob jiggled. Whoever it was couldn’t get the door open. It wasn’t locked. She pushed with her tired arms and raised her body off the seat.
“Tessa, open the door, my hands are full.”
She crossed the room and helped Van enter. He stepped through carrying a basket and metal pail in one hand, a carpet bag, coat, and blankets in the other arm.
Tessa took the basket and pail, stepping back to see his face above the pile of blankets.
“What’s all this?”
“The basket and pail is our dinner. The rest goes upstairs.” He crossed to the backroom. “I didn’t see any sense in paying for another night in the hotel when I can sleep upstairs.” He nodded toward the stairs. “Dowse the lights and follow me. You don’t need some busybody see us eating together in the shop.”
Tessa’s heart raced. It was one thing to clean up his living quarters when he was downstairs sawing and pounding, but to actually keep him company… She grew fonder of Van with each hour she spent with him. She wanted to be a teacher, not have anything in this town that made her regret leaving. But she’d dreaded the idea of slipping into bed hungry. She’d worked up a good appetite from all the cleaning.
She nodded and he entered the backroom.
“Bring the two tin cups,” he said before his footsteps thumped up the stairs.
Her heart purred as lively as Patch. It wasn’t fear that rippled her skin, but anxiety. She was filthy, disheveled—and when in her life had she ever worried about that? Never. Because she’d never given a thought to what a man might think of her until Van. She’d more or less determined to remain a spinster and be a school teacher. Surround herself with other people’s children, and not let a man become everything in her world, making her unable to function when he was gone.
His footsteps thunked across the ceiling above her. She locked the front door, turned off the kerosene lamp in the front of the store, and turned the one in back down low enough she could see to find her bed later.
With deliberate steps, she climbed the stairs. A bright light illuminated the room she’d cleaned earlier. A blanket stretched across the window facing the street. Before he left Van had carried up a table, two chairs, and a box.
Two plates and utensils sat on the table. Coffee brewed on a small potbellied stove. She placed the basket, pail, and two cups on the table and turned to watch him pile blankets in the corner of the room.
“This will have to do until they bring a bed tomorrow.” He smoothed the last blanket and rose from his kneeling position on the floor. “I wish there was some way to get a bed in for you without the whole town knowing two beds were set up.”
“I’m fine. I’ve been sleeping on the floor for nearly six months. A few more won’t hurt me.” She
opened the basket to avoid the intensity of his gaze. The scent of fried chicken and fresh bread wafted out causing her stomach to growl.
“I worked you too hard today and didn’t feed you proper. Sit.” Van held a chair.
She sat and felt the heat rising up her neck when his hand brushed against her shoulder. This was far too intimate a setting. Her dreams last night had been filled with the man. She’d not be able to sleep tonight knowing he slept above her.
“I’m not really hungry.” She started to rise, and he placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Your stomach says otherwise. Eat. That’s all. As soon as you’re done, you can go back downstairs.” He squeezed her shoulder, and her body flashed with heat. He crouched beside her chair. “I’m not making advances. You worked hard today and deserve a good meal for your troubles.”
“But you’re paying me to work.” She couldn’t draw her gaze from his. The deep brown drew her in and held her completely.
“And I’ll feed you to keep you happy and healthy.” His hand touched her cheek. “Let me make up to you for the years I took away.”
The warmth of his touch made her ears ring, but his words slowly sunk in. “You didn’t pull the trigger that killed my father.” Was his caring only because of the guilt he felt? If so, she’d have to carefully guard her attraction for him. She’d not allow herself to fall for him when he only felt it his duty to provide for her. Come February, she’d be out of here and he’d be just a pleasant memory.
“I could have stopped it.” He rose and sat in the chair opposite hers. “The whole time I sat in prison, I ran the events over and over in my mind. I realized my father had been right about me. All I wanted out of life was a lark and him to bail me out. I wasn’t learning about responsibility. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to become as hard and unyielding as him.”
Tessa placed food on Van’s plate. He’d not done the things he did to get his father’s attention. He’d been cocky and foolish to not become his father. The revelation spun a whole new facet on Van. Yet, here he was a successful business man and not a thing like his father. Well… she saw traces of Mr. Donovan in Van when he butt heads with Floyd.
She took a bite of chicken and watched as Van poured milk from the pail. “Oh, my! You didn’t have to get milk just for me.”
He passed a cup to her. “I don’t like how skinny you are. Tell me all the things you like, and I’ll make sure you get them.”
“Humph! Now you’re sounding like all the old biddies when I was growing up. They always told my mother she wasn’t feeding me enough. I can eat like a horse and I don’t get any bigger.”
He pointed to the cup and then her mouth. “Prove it.”
Tessa took a sip then guzzled. There was nothing better to drink than milk. How she’d missed the creamy white liquid when their cow was sold to help pay for food. They’d cut back to only two meals a day and Mother taking in boarders, but that only managed to feed the boarders well and pay the bank. Then Mother became ill, and Tessa couldn’t tend to her and keep up with boarders. That’s when Judge Spencer swooped in, bought the house, and allowed them to live there until Mother died. Then his offer to allow her to remain…
Tessa set the milk down and frowned at her plate.
“What’s wrong? Does the milk taste bad?” Van pulled the pail close and took a sniff.
“No. The milk is wonderful. I just remembered something.” She picked at the chicken on her plate. Why had the judge allowed them to stay after all the years of harassing them?
“What?” Van forked a mouthful of potatoes between his lips.
She shook her head. Instinct told her if Van knew about the judge’s propositions it would cause trouble. “Just remembering the hard times and looking forward to a better future once I get a job teaching.”
“That’s something I had to work on. Look forward, never back. Back, especially with the mistakes I made, only brings regrets and sorrow. Looking forward is brighter.”
“I agree.” Tessa picked up her chicken and ate with vigor. Seeing a future with a roof over her head, food in her stomach, and a respectable job eased the aches of her long day.
They ate in silence until everything but the half full pail of milk remained.
“Set this outside the back door and you’ll have a glass of milk with breakfast,” Van said, piling the dirty dishes in a pail.
“Let me wash those.” Tessa held out her hand.
Van pulled them away. “I’m going to bring up some water to wash these and leave a bucket by the back door for you.” He set the dishes in the middle of the table. “You can use the privy while I get the water.”
A blush crept up her neck. That was an intimate thing to say. But then their dinner played out like that of a married couple. Her face burned hotter at the thought, and her gaze darted to the bedding in the corner. To hide her thoughts and embarrassment, she ducked out the door ahead of him and scampered down the stairs. She grasped the back door handle, and his hand closed over the top. Heat raced up her arm.
“Let me make sure there’s no one around.” Van opened the door, stepped out, and glanced up and down the alley. “Okay.”
She hurried to the small building in the back of the alley. Would he wait until she was finished? The thought made taking care of business even harder. Finally, she left the privy.
Van stood by the back door of the shop. She scanned the alley, scurried across the area, and into the building.
“If you want to clean up with warm water, I stoked the stove in the shop and put a pan of water on.”
His thoughtfulness impressed her. His mother must have instilled good things in him before he ended up in prison.
“Thank you.” She watched him in the low glow of the kerosene lamp. The faint light darkened the planes of his face, heightening his attractiveness. Creating an aura of mystery.
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you in the morning.” He raised a hand as if to touch her, dropped it, and shifted toward the stairs. “If you need anything…”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve been sleeping here for a while and haven’t had anyone to run to.” She smiled at the embarrassed half grin he shot her.
“Yeah, I guess so. Night.”
“Good night. Thank you for the lovely dinner and the job.” She wasn’t scared to be alone, but she also didn’t want him to leave. His presence filled her with a longing she didn’t understand and a camaraderie she’d never had.
“You’re welcome –for both.” He put a foot on the bottom step. “Tomorrow, we’ll get the inventory and tools set up.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” She smiled and backed away. This was ridiculous. One of them had to make the move. “Good night,” she said, again, and turned her back to him, fumbling in her valise for a towel.
“Night.” His footsteps thumped up the stairs.
When she heard his steps moving about above her, she brought the heated water to the backroom and slipped out of her dress, washing away the sweat and dirt she’d accumulated not only today but since her last bath at the bath house a week ago.
***
Van heated water to clean today’s sweat and dirt from his body. His mind kept weaving visions of Tessa doing the same in the storage room. The more time he spent with her the harder it was to keep his thoughts from straying to what it would be like to kiss her. Hold her. Make love to her. He groaned. He couldn’t have those thoughts. She had plans. Good plans. Ones he wouldn’t interfere with. If she received a teaching certificate she’d be set until she found a husband.
Air whooshed out of him at the constriction of his chest. He didn’t want to think about her with anyone else. She was charming, smart, and looking into her eyes made everything in his life seem right. The longer he gazed into them, he wanted to lay her down and love her until they were both spent.
He flung the cloth in the pan of warm water and pulled on a clean set of drawers. Van turned down the kerosene lamp and lowered his tired body onto the thin pil
e of blankets on the floor. Not since leaving the prison had he worked his body as fully as he’d done today. He had aches in places he didn’t know he had muscles. He’d bet anything Tessa’s small hands could work the knots out. He growled and flipped to his side. The thin blankets were no match for the hard floor. How did she sleep every night like this? He had to find a way to get her a decent bed. Or get her to sleep in his. The thought heated his body. He flung the covers off and flopped onto his back. It would be a long night.
***
Van dressed and stomped around hoping to wake, Tessa. After tossing half the night with thoughts of her in his head, he didn’t have the control to walk down the stairs and perhaps find her sleeping or dressing. Either way he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off her.
The clang of the door on the stove below echoed in his head like the starting pistol at a horse race. He jogged down the stairs, happy to see her pallet all made and her belongings tucked away. He couldn’t wait to see her as he entered the shop.
“Good Morning. I’ll get us some breakfast and then bring the wagon over to unload.” His hand shot out and rubbed her arm.
She glanced at his hand then up into his face. “Good morning. I’ll get some coffee brewing.” She moved away from his touch, but not before he saw her cheeks darken a shade.
“Good.” He moved to the shop door. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”
“There’s no rush. I drank the milk this morning and could do quite well with that till noon.”
“I’m going to win our bet and fatten you up.” He winked and hurried out the door before he found some other thing to say to remain. If this kept up, he’d remind her of a randy young lad and scare her off.
Whistling, he headed to the restaurant on the corner. The dinner he’d purchased there the night before had been good.
Silver Belles and Stetsons Page 54
