“Doctor’s orders?”
Oh, if only she’d let him write a prescription to ban her from all men but himself.
She blinked but didn’t lose eye contact. Her grin faded. “Will?”
He swallowed hard but didn’t look away. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t fabricate brooms or believe himself capable of reattaching himself to Nancy. Sitting next to Eliza with her apron covered in slop and a smear of something unidentifiable across her cheek didn’t dampen his desire to pull her into an embrace.
And test out those lips.
How on earth could he have continued to live in Salt Flatts with Mrs. Eliza Langston? He’d have been besotted with a married woman.
She cleared her throat. “Now it’s my turn to ask if you’re all right. You look a bit . . . peaked.”
“Just distracted by what’s on your face.” He pulled out his handkerchief and reached for her cheek. How he longed to touch her face without the hindrance of a cloth, but he hadn’t the right.
“Oh.” She frowned as he rubbed, pulling her skin taut and leaving her cheek rosier. Though he’d successfully wiped the smear off her face, he didn’t take his hand away. This close, he could see the golden flecks hidden in her brown irises, the minuscule freckles across the bridge of her nose, the slightly off-center philtrum above her mouth. No wonder the term meant love charm—he couldn’t take his eyes off the little indentation above her top lip.
But the alley was too smelly for courting, the timing all wrong. He needed to stop touching her before he kissed her amidst the muck—where any passerby could see. He stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket. “I plan to stay in town.”
She scrunched her eyebrows.
“Instead of becoming a broom maker.”
“Right. I figured with Axel not being around, you’d have to stay . . . for the store.”
“For a while, anyway.” He’d need to find a way to get to medical school before everything fell apart. How long until she was over her wedding mishap and might welcome his court? How many weeks needed to pass before declaring his intent wouldn’t make him seem like an impatient buzzard? “I’ll be around.”
He’d not steal kisses in an alley now. Nor hover like Lynville.
“Miss Cantrell?” The butcher’s voice boomed from the interior, and they both startled.
How long had they been sitting staring at each other?
Eliza struggled to stand, so he reached down to help her. His fingers locked on to her elbows, and he pulled her up, but his hands refused to let go.
She tugged a little, then stilled. “I’d better get back to work. I’ve never taken a break this long in my life.”
“Right.” He still didn’t release her.
“Will?” The whisper of his name sent chills along his arms.
He squeezed her a bit more. “Promise me you won’t marry any of the butcher’s sons.”
“I won’t.” She swallowed, her eyes locking on his. “Anything else?”
Promise not to think of anyone but me. “No, nothing else for now.”
“I’ll see you later, then?”
“Sooner.”
The moment she disappeared into the butcher shop, he strode out of the alley. The first thing he had to do was find his eighty-four dollars, then figure out how to get the store running so well he could pay a lawyer to help him figure out what he could do with the store that might help his coffers.
What else would he need to do to make Eliza find a life with him more appealing than owning a store?
Thinking about kissing would definitely have to wait until after he got his life together enough to keep Eliza from running away from the disaster he was at the moment.
Chapter 16
Will glanced at the clock. Quarter to five. He walked past the aisles to see if he’d missed a customer, but the store was still empty, as it’d been for the last two hours.
He hung his hammer on the storage room wall. The people in this town should be done shunning him because of Axel. If he’d been implicated in his friend’s shenanigans, the sheriff would have hauled him in already.
But no matter how much he berated the townsfolk in his mind, they didn’t listen.
Though there was one good thing about being spurned: he could close the store early every day and look for Eliza. He’d walked past the butcher every afternoon since first seeing her there—hoping to catch her dumping her mop bucket.
He wasn’t about to court her on the butcher’s stairs, but was hoping to talk to her for a minute or two so bad?
He’d only caught her twice. Both days had been Thursdays, and today was Thursday again. But if he didn’t find her, he ought to go see Silas Jonesey. Will hadn’t been invited back to his farm, but the man needed some human conversation and perhaps a game of chess to keep his spirits up. Jonesey spent entirely too much time alone.
The front door opened, tripping the little bell.
He closed his eyes and let out a tiny groan. A chance to see Eliza or a chance to sell something? Other than the store’s selection of canned goods, he was frightfully close to going without food. Of course, finding his missing savings would help buy groceries, but he had yet to find his change purse. He needed a coin or two in his pocket more than he needed to see Eliza.
At least that’s what his stomach told him.
He dragged himself up front.
“Good afternoon, William.” The sheriff pulled off his hat.
Will slowed. Did the man bring good or bad news this time? The best news would be that he’d caught Axel sitting atop a pile of loot. “Did you find Axel?”
“The sheriff’s deputies up in Atchison have taken over the search since that’s where we caught the Wallers.”
Will pressed a hand against his hollow stomach. “What can I do you for, then?”
“Several businesses have reported missing merchandise. Have you noticed anything amiss? Seen anyone lurking around or have something unaccounted for?”
“I am missing something, but I thought I’d misplaced it. Has anyone turned in a circular leather pouch containing eighty-four dollars?”
The sheriff whistled. “That’s a lot to misplace.”
“Don’t I know it.” Though the money wasn’t near enough to go to school. “I can’t recall seeing anyone doing anything suspicious or unusual.”
The sheriff pinned him with a narrow-eyed gaze. “I have to ask this, Will—why have been you walking down Main Street aimlessly peering into windows?”
Huh? Certainly the sheriff didn’t think he—
“When I’ve asked others about suspicious activity, three people pointed fingers at you. Now I’ve known you for a long time, but I’ve known Axel about that long too. . . .” The sheriff scratched at his chin. “This ain’t the time for acting suspicious. I’m a mite concerned you’re still helping the man.”
“Uh . . .” He squirmed a bit under the sheriff’s intense glare. “The townsfolk are looking for someone to blame. I’m not checking out anyone’s property or wandering . . .” All right, so pacing near the butcher’s in the afternoons was happening a lot lately.
He tugged at his tie. “I, uh, have been walking the street lately, but not for that purpose. I’ve been . . . agitated, but I’m not your thief.”
If he’d been alone, he would have smacked himself. How would he regain customers hoofing around town like a madman so he could accidentally cross Eliza’s path to ask her nothing more than how she was doing? He should just stand at the end of the alley and wait for her. Let her know he’d come to see her.
The door swung open so quickly, the sheriff barely jumped out of the way before being smacked in the shoulder.
The banker’s eyes roved like a panicked calf cornered in a stall. Hugh’s gaze fastened onto Will. “I need you. You owe me a medical visit.”
“Of course, Mr. Raymond, but the sheriff and I—”
Hugh turned to face the sheriff. “I apologize for interrupting, but my wife is ill. When I left her this morn
ing, I thought it was nothing. The Nogales girl came a few hours ago, but I barely understood what she said with her Spanish mixed in, and fool that I am, I decided to finish a transaction, and then got sidetracked . . .” He swung his gaze back to Will and grabbed his arm. “Come.”
The sheriff ducked his head in dismissal as he followed them outside.
Will sighed and locked the door. Eliza was right. He kept plenty busy—doing things that earned him no money. He’d never realized how unrelenting the demand for a doctor could be—and he wasn’t even trying to be one at the moment. “What’s wrong with your wife?”
Hugh ran around his buggy and jumped into the driver’s seat. “I don’t know. That’s your job to figure out.”
Will climbed up beside him and almost bounced back off the seat as Hugh smacked his horses and they shot off.
When they careened around a slow, plodding donkey cart, Will grabbed for a second handhold. “I mean, what are her symptoms?” He glanced toward the butcher’s alley as they raced by. A fleeting glimpse of Eliza and her mop bucket made him wish he could wave at her, but he couldn’t let go of his seat.
Even if he did, they had already sped past the alley.
“I’d figured it’s what always bothers her in the spring.” Hugh hollered at a man to make way before smacking his poor horse again.
He’d never seen Hugh this agitated. “And the Nogales girl said . . . ?”
“That Deborah was sick and I should go home early. That’s all I understood!” He jerked his hands, strangling the reins, but the moment his horses slowed to a trot, he none too gently prodded them faster. “How was I supposed to know she was emptying her stomach every hour and paler than a ghost?”
So vomiting, pale, and symptoms of a catarrh. Hopefully nothing more than something she ate. Hugh took a turn too fast, and the buggy leaned dangerously onto its two right wheels. Will clamped onto the man’s arm. “Reaching your wife five minutes faster is not worth killing us both. Slow down. She’ll not get any help if you’ve broken both our necks.”
The man pulled back slightly on the reins, but his jaw clamped. “Just a little.”
Will swallowed and nodded his approval.
Hugh’s wife might very well be on her way to eternity, but they didn’t have to take Salt Flatts’ pedestrians and themselves along with her on the journey.
Eliza tipped over her mop bucket, watching the murky water spill into the alley. She’d stood on the steps for ten minutes trying to look busy, hoping Will would visit, but he’d just flown by on a buggy at such a ridiculous speed it sent a stray dog scurrying.
Where was Will going in such a hurry? She trailed her fingers along her cheek and down her jaw, the same path his thumb had followed the day he’d destroyed a pillow.
Certainly he felt something, with the way he’d looked at her since the wedding . . . and even before. What kept him from saying something?
Too bad she hadn’t more chores at the butcher’s in case Will planned to return. How silly was that? Wishing for more dead animal parts to clean up!
Last week when he’d dropped by, he’d babbled about the weather, but at least he’d come by. Besides Irena, he was the only person she wanted to talk to about the agreement she was about to finalize with Mr. Raymond. But could Will be objective, since her business could easily hurt his?—not that his store wasn’t already in trouble.
Maybe she shouldn’t discuss the business deal with Will. She didn’t need his business advice, but what about hinting at wanting to see him more often? However, wouldn’t that essentially be asking him to court her?
Did she want to give him that impression?
She wrung the mop head until no more water dripped from its nasty cotton fibers. Why were relationships with men so complicated?
After weeks of negotiation between the lawyers and delays of one kind or another, Mr. Raymond said he would make a few final changes. Assuming she was satisfied, she planned to sign his revised contract tomorrow morning. With a store of her own, she wouldn’t need a man to feel secure. She would be free to court whomever, free to break off a relationship if things felt wrong.
But if she and Will became more attached, what would she do when he left for school? Maybe she should wait to drop courting hints until he returned. But how long would that be?
No matter what Will did, she had to decide what was best for her today, and her heart skipped beats every time she contemplated this final meeting with Mr. Raymond. She’d imagined signing her name; she’d imagined walking away. Both scenarios made her palms sweaty. Months ago, she’d have jumped at this chance without a second thought, but supposedly perfect opportunities often came bundled with problems, as she’d learned since arriving in Salt Flatts.
God, did you give me this opportunity or are you testing me somehow?
As much as she wished the audible voice of God would echo down the alleyway, no answer came. She’d been praying every night since the opportunity had presented itself but still wasn’t completely assured that He’d approve one way or the other. She dragged the mop bucket inside and untied her apron. Mr. Otting came out from the back carrying some paper-wrapped meat. A redheaded woman attired in a brilliant blue day dress held the hand of a willowy young girl as they waited at the counter.
Mr. Otting glanced toward Eliza and frowned. “You haven’t left already?”
She grinned. “Did you think I’d leave without pay?”
He snorted, then handed the meat to his customer. “Seventy-five cents please.”
The woman handed over her coins and smiled at Eliza. “I’m afraid we haven’t met.”
Eliza tried to hide her soiled hands amidst the folds of her skirt. She normally paled in comparison to the women around her, but right now, she might as well be a pig farmer standing next to a lady at court. The woman’s smile seemed genuine though.
“I’m Eliza Cantrell.”
“I’m Nancy Wells.” She smiled and clasped the shoulder of the young lady beside her. “This is my daughter, Millicent.”
Might this be Will’s Nancy? Was she back in town for good or only for a visit? Eliza worked to keep a pleasant expression, but when the little girl peeped up at her with bashful misty-gray eyes, an easy smile relaxed her face.
“How long have you lived here? I’m afraid the town’s grown so large in just a year I hardly recognize more than a handful of people.”
Eliza swallowed hard and rubbed her scar. If this attractive woman was Will’s ex-fiancée, no wonder he’d been devastated. “About two months.”
“I’ve started a ladies’ Bible study group on Tuesday mornings at the little white church past the sawmill.” A beautiful smile flashed across Nancy’s flawless face. The woman’s hair might be a bit too frizzy, but who would notice with her porcelain skin? “I’d love to have you come.”
Eliza glanced at her feet. As much as she should start reading her Bible more, and a Bible study would definitely encourage her to do so, could she sit across from this woman weekly, comparing herself to Will’s former fiancée?
If she took Mr. Raymond’s offer, she definitely couldn’t attend—she wouldn’t have time.
She glanced at Mr. Otting. Since she hadn’t yet seen Mr. Raymond’s last offer, she didn’t want the butcher thinking she was quitting, in case she decided not to sign the contract. If things fell through, she needed the money from this job. “I might be working Tuesday mornings soon, but if not, I’ll consider coming.”
“If it’s possible, please do—I’d love more ladies my age joining us.” Nancy smiled and took the girl’s hand again. “But I won’t keep you any longer. Good-bye.”
Mr. Otting wiped his hands on his bloody apron until the door closed behind Nancy. “She’s such a sweet young lady. Sad that she’s a widow already, but her mother thinks she and William Stanton will get back together. I’d hoped she’d consider one of my boys, but her late husband’s little girl needs lots of medical attention, so it’s probably best Mr. Stanton marries her a
nyway.”
Widowed? Available to court? Will must’ve known she was back in Salt Flatts, since he mentioned visiting Mrs. Graves last week.
Was he forgiving enough to take Nancy back?
Of course Will was; he’d forgive his own murderer.
Eliza stared at what looked like the evidence of a massacre smeared across Mr. Otting’s chest. Had she been wrong about Will’s feelings toward her?
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d misjudged a man’s affections.
What man would choose her over a beautiful woman like Nancy? He had to still feel something for her, though the woman had jilted him. One didn’t just turn off emotions like one blew out a lamp. And with a sickly little girl in need of medical care . . . how could Will not be drawn to her?
Eliza closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Tomorrow she’d sign the papers Mr. Raymond had drawn up, even if there were some less than ideal terms—anything else in her future would have to be worked around her store, otherwise she’d regret not signing for the rest of her life.
“Miss Cantrell?” Mr. Otting scratched the hair behind his ear, his frown hanging heavy on his face as he peered at his cashbox.
“Yes?”
“Do you mind if I send you home today with ribs or maybe a roast instead of cash? I don’t exactly have enough this week, not with the bills I had to pay.”
She fought against a frown. “That’s all right, Mr. Otting. Mrs. Lightfoot and I would enjoy a roast.”
He brightened. “Great.” Then he disappeared into the back.
She quickly swept the floor a second time to make up for wasting time earlier.
“Here you are. And since you do such a fine job, here’s some fresh side pork as well.”
A fine job? He definitely hadn’t seen her dallying in the alley, then. “Thank you.”
Outside, she strolled down the street and stopped in front of the store she would start filling with merchandise within the month. Her heart lifted at the sight of the magnificent stone building, the spiraling rockwork at the top piercing the heavens.
A Bride in Store Page 18
