A Bride in Store

by Melissa Jagears

  “I can’t compete with Forsythe and Benning.”

  No, he couldn’t. But the alternative meant Will would leave and she’d stay behind. Sooner rather than later. She licked her lips, her throat suddenly tight. She knew what she had to say. Knew what lay between them. Asking a man to stick around for her when he was meant for greater things would be the ultimate selfish request, and she wasn’t going to be selfish anymore.

  So why were the words so hard to form? She’d never before had trouble blurting obvious truths. But then, she’d never dreamed of a future with a man the way she dreamed of one with Will. Had never received attention from a suitor of his caliber. Never been kissed by a man as if she were the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.

  Were romantic notions and the pitter-patter of her heart worth dragging them both down? Her heart might say one thing one day and something different the next. Especially since the organ was torn in two different directions. She sucked in a deep breath. Yes, she’d force herself to utter the words, because they were best for Will, and for her.

  “If you can’t compete with Salt Flatts’ doctors, then you should sell the store to get money for school. Let Axel pay his own debts and use the talent God’s given you to glorify Him.”

  “Even if I could sell the store, it wouldn’t do much good right now. But I’ve already decided to go.” He rubbed at something imaginary on his hands. “Soon.”

  The pinprick of hope that he wouldn’t leave faded into black. She pressed her eyes shut against a stubborn bout of moisture. She’d not be ridiculously emotional over some foolish dream that never had a chance. She had plenty to cry over as it was.

  “I’ll travel west—either find a doctor I respect who needs my help or a town so desperate they’ll be thankful for any aid.”

  No school? Would people not view Will without a degree as one of the many quacks and snake-oil peddlers doctoring the desperate and gullible? He was so much better than that. Though of course he’d do a world of good as he was, and if God called him to doctor that way . . . but why wouldn’t God equip him to do his best?

  “Let me talk to Mr. Raymond.” She should be able to get the banker to work something out. Though that would hurt because Will would leave that much faster . . . But he needed her help. What better way to prove her heart had changed than by being selfless when it truly cost her? “He’ll help.”

  Will chucked a piece of the rock wall into the street. “I’ve tried him already. The man doesn’t believe in me enough to bother.”

  If her heart had its say, she’d pretend she couldn’t get him to school immediately and choose to believe the effort was indeed futile. But Will’s heart was more worthy of getting what it wanted than hers.

  She’d talk to Mr. Raymond tomorrow.

  Chapter 23

  The bank was locked up for the day, but Eliza knocked again. Harder.

  Mr. Raymond appeared behind the window and turned the bolt. “We need to find another way for you to contact me after hours. Your pounding is unsettling after everyone’s gone.”

  “A key, maybe?”

  He laughed and waved her through the lobby. “How about inviting yourself over for supper? A woman without anyone to cook for ought to enjoy a free dinner.”

  A woman without anyone—she’d definitely remain that way if he agreed to her plan. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

  He waited until she sat in his uncomfortable office chair before he perched on his desk. “So what urgent matter requires my attention this time?”

  Should she butter him up first or ask right out? She cleared her throat. “We need more merchandise, and I know of an entire store’s worth we could buy for cheap.”

  He scratched his chin, his gaze making her squirm. “You’re talking about Mr. Stanton, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. He only needs enough to attend medical school. We’d be eliminating competition, building our inventory, and gaining his customers, along with—”

  “Your sales model is a five-and-dime, Miss Cantrell. The majority of his stock costs well above that.”

  She refused to fidget under his intense glare. “So our store will be more of a discount shop for a while—bargains of any kind will draw customers. We can buy him out for way under value and put most everything upstairs with Mrs. Langston’s ready-made clothing.”

  “An addition to the business I was neither asked about nor approved.”

  She held her chin up. No need to defend herself against a charitable decision. “Mrs. Langston’s clothing will build our customer base, and we have plenty of floor space.”

  “You have floor space.” His upper lip flinched.

  How could losing a building he’d never possessed bother him so much? The store still served his purposes. “We still have floor space. I just happen to be the landlord.”

  “But now your business profit is my only gain, so I want the business run efficiently. Buying merchandise not suited to our store and taking up space is not smart.”

  She gripped the armrests to keep herself seated. This wasn’t going as she’d envisioned. Why was he so stubborn? “But we’d be rid of competition.”

  He crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. “The Men’s Emporium is not competition.”

  Not much, no. “We can’t always be money hungry. This is a decent deal—everything for less than cost.”

  “Since you have no money, you’re asking me to cough up the capital to buy him out . . . unless you’re here to sell me your buildings so you can have your own capital?” The fake innocence in his eyes tempted her to roll her own.

  She’d not even take out a loan against them. “No.”

  “Then he’ll have to wait until you’re able to purchase everything yourself.” He crossed his ankles and gripped the desk’s edge, leaning slightly forward. “Have you considered why you’re asking me to put out money for little return?”

  She refused to break eye contact despite his close proximity. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Is it? I’m not even sure I could buy the emporium until Axel returns. What about his portion? If the sheriff ever captures him, buying Will out for cheap would keep Axel’s victims from recovering much.”

  Surely most of them no longer expected to get back anything. She didn’t. “Axel might have the stolen money on him. The store might not even be affected.”

  “A thief hoarding his loot instead of spending it on booze and—” He cleared his throat and didn’t quite look at her. “And um . . . other entertainments is highly unlikely. No, the real reason you’re asking me to make a bad investment is because you’ve let your emotions undermine your reason. That’s why most men feel partnering with a girl—”

  “You mean woman.” Narrowing her eyes seemed to have no effect on him.

  He shrugged. “Emotions make for bad decisions. That’s why Mr. Stanton makes them all the time. He can’t keep his emotions at bay. Women are even more susceptible to following their feelings instead of their minds. Though even I’m not immune to foolish choices, since I fell victim when Mr. Stanton begged me to give you a chance.” He crossed his arms and exhaled loudly. “Because I thought I’d get a building out of the deal.”

  Something heavy filled her gut. “Will asked you to give me the loan?”

  She’d not impressed Mr. Raymond herself? He’d not been interested in her five-and-dime idea because he’d heard a smart, capable woman talking good business?

  But of course Will had pled to Mr. Raymond on her behalf. That’s what made him Will. And why she loved him—and couldn’t have him. The man needed to spend the rest of his life helping others, not running a dead-end store.

  “You have a good business plan, Miss Cantrell. I’ll give you that. But you have to stick with it, and therefore . . .” He leaned closer still. “I’ll not fork over capital to purchase the Men’s Emporium.”

  He settled back against his desk and tugged at his necktie. “Could you make a profit? Yes. Is it worth tying up my assets? No. Next ti
me you approach me with a business proposition, throw away your heart. I want to hear only well-reasoned plans from now on.”

  She turned away to look out the front window. If she looked at his hardened jaw any longer, she might shed an errant tear. He was right, of course. She could easily list more reasons it wouldn’t make good sense to buy Will out. But if she saw why a bad deal was worth the sacrifice, surely Mr. Raymond could. “If you recognized my ability to run a store, surely you can see Will needs to be a doctor.”

  “Of course he does.” He sighed. “But I don’t buy things out of pity. I don’t fund charity cases.”

  She blinked. “I thought you were a church-going man.”

  He crossed his arms. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  “Your tithes fund charity. Why not fund something that will benefit others just as much?”

  “You didn’t come here asking for a handout on behalf of Mr. Stanton.”

  “Would you consider my proposal if I did?”

  The clock on the shelf announced the quarter hour. Lord, let him agree.

  When the chimes fell silent, Mr. Raymond closed his eyes. “I’ll decide where my money goes, Miss Cantrell. You worry about handling your own.”

  More badgering would only reduce her footing with him, if it hadn’t already. “Then I’ll not bother you further.”

  She stood, determined to escape the bank before the warmth behind her eyes exposed her as a sensitive female to her hardhearted partner.

  Will flipped over in the bed upstairs and crumpled the pillow under his head, awaiting another roll of the thunder he thought had awoken him. The air hung thick. How would he get back to sleep? He couldn’t shut out the wind blowing across his perspiring brow if he wanted to doze off again, and he was too tired to get up and close the windows, maybe if he could just count—

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Not thunder.

  He rose and slipped on his trousers and shirt. He’d been awoken in the middle of the night a few times to tend a patient, but ever since Eliza had been robbed, he worried she’d get caught up in paperwork and forget her promise to go home at a decent hour. But surely she hadn’t worked this late. It had to be near three. “Coming!” he yelled, shaking away the weariness. He buttoned his shirt, lit a lantern, and headed downstairs.

  Through the front-door glass, a silhouette definitely too large to be Eliza was highlighted by the moonlight. Should he grab a firearm? But what thief boldly knocked on a door?

  Still . . .

  Swiping a hammer off a shelf, he approached slowly, hoping his eyes would adjust before he reached the door. “Who is it?”

  “Jedidiah. Open up!”

  Frowning, Will laid the hammer on the counter and unlocked the door. “What’s wrong, Mr. Langston?”

  “I shot my son.” The man stumbled in, a limp body draped across his arms.

  A lanky man with sunny-blond hair. “Axel.” The tension in Will’s muscles leaked into his stomach. Of all the ways he’d envisioned meeting Axel again, he’d not thought up this.

  “I didn’t recognize him in the dark. I told him to identify himself, but he grabbed my money box and hopped the counter. He should’ve told me who he was.” Grief and tears choked the older man’s voice as he stumbled forward. “I wouldn’t have shot him.”

  Will guided the Langstons forward, steadying Jedidiah. The man needed to snap out of his shock to be of any assistance—if Axel even needed help . . . The way he hung flaccid in his father’s arms didn’t indicate a living man.

  “Of course you wouldn’t have, Mr. Langston. But what’s done is done, and Axel should’ve answered you.” He’d need Axel on the counter if he had to extract a bullet. After swiping off the papers and other items from the countertop, Will helped lay his former business partner down.

  A groan emitted from Axel. Alive.

  His heartbeat turned up a notch. He had work to do. “Light every lantern. I need to get some supplies.” He raced upstairs and grabbed his box and a blanket.

  When he returned, he cringed at Jedidiah’s trembling hands attempting to seat a glass globe on a lantern. The man might set the place ablaze if he wasn’t careful. Despite the wavering flames and a close call, Jedidiah soon surrounded the counter with light.

  Will felt Axel’s forehead. Clammy. “Where’d you shoot him?” He scanned his body—no blood.

  “I don’t know.” Instead of coming over to help, Jedidiah lowered himself into a corner chair and buried his face in his hands.

  If Axel had been running away from his father . . . Will rolled Axel onto his side. Blood stained his friend’s lower back, so Will gently turned him over onto his stomach.

  Axel didn’t moan, so he checked his pulse. Still there.

  “When I went to him, he called me Pa—” Jedidiah let out a long shivering breath—“and said your name. But then nothing. I thought he was dead. Until he mumbled your name again.”

  Will pulled Axel’s shirt from his waistband and found the bullet’s entry hole right below his ribs.

  Not much he could do for such a wound. Will closed his eyes tight and took a steadying breath. He’d hoped the bullet had grazed his side or maybe lodged in his hip, but in the gut? Will pressed the blanket against the seeping blood. He’d never extracted a bullet before. And what could he possibly do about the likely irreparable damage?

  Will ran a hand through his hair. Maybe the bullet missed every organ. Could he hope for such a miracle?

  “I know I’ve not been good to him. I know it. Because he’s not mine.” Jedidiah clamped his hands on the seat of his chair. “She spouted off our wedding vows knowing I’d be stuck with someone’s by-blow.”

  Will’s hands stilled. No wonder the Langstons had been at odds for so long. Mrs. Langston’s illegitimate pregnancy would definitely explain why she’d been so desperate to marry Will’s pa when he’d only written her one letter through a mail-order bride service so long ago. Had his ma and pa figured out Axel’s illegitimacy and kept it from him?

  He looked at Axel. Could he hear? Had he known?

  “Maybe we should leave the confessions until after he pulls through.” Not that Axel had much of a chance, but should his father’s accusations be the last thing he heard before dying?

  “Axel already done knows. I wanted to hurt her, and he was my weapon.” Jedidiah folded his hands between his knees and groaned. “I’m the reason he’s the criminal he is.”

  “We make our own choices, Mr. Langston.” He moved a lamp closer. “You’ll answer for yours. He’ll answer for his.” Axel’s more likely sooner than later. Will laid out his instruments while keeping pressure on the wound.

  “Uhhhh.” Axel’s face scrunched in agony against the hard wood. “Will?”

  “Mr. Langston, come hold him down.” Will poured a cup of whiskey and turned Axel’s head enough to drink. Thankfully, he swallowed whatever didn’t spill out the side of his mouth.

  Easing him down, Will beckoned for Jedidiah to stand near his son’s head. “Talk to him.” Whether Axel heard or not, if Jedidiah needed to tell him anything, the time was now.

  “I got nothing to say. No excusing what I’ve done.” He stood at his son’s shoulders but didn’t touch him. Didn’t reach out to soothe him.

  Axel’s face was paler and sweatier than when he’d first arrived. He was fading.

  Will clenched his teeth. What could he do to save him? “Maybe you should get Dr. Forsythe.”

  “Axel asked for you.” Jedidiah looked at his son’s back. “What could Forsythe do that you can’t?”

  Actually, Dr. Forsythe would declare him a fool for trying anything. Would summoning Dr. Benning be worth the hassle? Should he even attempt to help? He might put his friend through unnecessary pain, making his death even more excruciating.

  He rubbed the bead on his ring, still facing inward. Most likely he’d not be turning it face out tonight.

  Why was he up against death again so soon? Why must he
fight another battle he was certain to lose? How much longer should he tend the sick and dying without a degree behind his name? Someone more knowledgeable, more experienced, should be standing over Axel’s body right now.

  Why had Eliza thought him better than the other doctors?

  Because he knew he was weak.

  God, I know I don’t have enough medical knowledge to help Axel. This has to be you.

  Axel’s hand slithered against the counter. “Don’t.” His eyes focused on someplace far away, his face tense with pain. “Don’t want to live.”

  Will immobilized Axel’s arm by wrapping the edge of the blanket around him. “It’s not in my hands whether you live or die, but God’s.”

  “You’re not God, you know.” Eliza’s words had rankled the other day. Of course he didn’t think he was God—he was far from that arrogant. He’d never take credit for his patients’ recovery.

  So why do you shoulder the blame for their deaths?

  Will blinked. He rubbed his thumb against the little clay bead.

  Axel would certainly be dead within a few hours if he did nothing.

  But if he botched a procedure he’d never done, Axel could be dead in a few short minutes.

  His friend’s glassy eyes opened and locked onto him. “Don’t bother.” He coughed, a heavy hack, which spread the blood farther across the blanket. “Not worth it.”

  “Stop talking, son. You’re making things worse.” Jedidiah’s face blanched as pale as his boy’s.

  Was Axel worth the effort? The Hampden baby did nothing but come into the world, afflicted with excruciating pain, and died for no explicable reason. Mrs. Lightfoot had been shunned for something she couldn’t help, yet even in her death, she provided for Axel’s mother.

  Axel had stolen, lied, maimed, and possibly worse.

  However, a man like that needed a chance to repent. Will picked up his bullet forceps. “Hold him down, Jedidiah.”