by Kit Morgan
“As was I.” He looked at her, chewing his bottom lip, and she could tell he was thinking. About what, she had no idea, unless it was to suggest a book. She turned away and began to peruse the nearby stacks.
She hadn’t been looking long when the bell rang again and a well-dressed woman entered the bookshop. “Professor Hamilton!” She extended a hand as she approached the counter. “How is my favorite bookseller?”
“Miss Holbrook,” the Professor said with less enthusiasm. He looked at the hand she offered and shook it by his fingertips. Sophie watched in amusement as Miss Holbrook frowned. Had she expected him to kiss it? He obviously wasn’t about to.
“Oh. Why, hello,” the woman said when she noticed Sophie.
Since Sophie was the only other person in the shop, she was forced to turn and acknowledge the woman. “Hello.”
“I don’t recall seeing you in town before,” Miss Holbrook said. She turned to the Professor. “Have more people moved into the area?”
“Not that I know of. Miss Holbrook, may I introduce Miss Baxter?” The Professor waved a hand between them.
Miss Holbrook turned to Sophie, smiled and looked her up and down, sizing her up. “Welcome to Independence. I’m Priscilla Holbrook. My family and I moved here over ten years ago. It’s a lovely little town. What brings you here?”
Sophie tried not to grimace. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to a stranger about why she was in Independence. Thankfully, the Professor came to her rescue. “Miss Baxter, like so many other folks that venture into our fair hamlet, is trying to decide if she’d like to stay. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” Sophie pulled a book off the shelf and started to thumb through it, hoping Miss Holbrook would take the hint and leave her alone.
She didn’t. “How wonderful. What do you think about our fair town so far?”
“It’s very nice. I’ve met a lot of people already.”
Miss Holbrook smiled sharply, as if to say, I’ll just bet you have. “You know, I think I have seen you around. Yes, I’m sure of it. Let me see … were you with Fletcher Vander?”
Sophie blushed deep red at the mere mention of his name.
Miss Holbrook grinned more broadly. “Oh my, I think maybe I’ve struck a nerve.” She looked at the Professor. “Just look at her blush.”
Sophie rolled her eyes and turned away. Maybe she should just leave …
“Why shouldn’t she have a little pink in her cheeks?” the Professor said. “She and Fletcher have been spending a lot of time together.”
It was all Sophie could do not to bolt from the bookshop. How could he have said that, even if it was true? It would just add fuel to the fire.
“They have?” Miss Holbrook said with interest. She approached Sophie and touched her arm to get her attention. It would be rude to ignore it, so Sophie turned to face her. “Why Miss Baxter, are you and Fletcher courting?”
“No.” Sophie didn’t trust herself to say any more.
“I see,” she said. “Judging from that blush, I’d say you’d like to be.”
Sophie’s mouth dropped open in shock. “I beg your pardon? That’s none of your business.”
“Priscilla,” the Professor warned. “Miss Baxter is assisting Fletcher in his work. Naturally they’re going to be spending time together. Don’t read too much into it – and don’t annoy my customers.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to do that,” Priscilla assured him, turning back to Sophie. “I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you. I have a bad habit of speaking out of turn.”
Sophie wiped her palms on her skirt, wishing she’d stayed in Denver and taken her chances. “You shouldn’t jump to conclusions. It can get you into trouble.”
“You can say that again,” the Professor mumbled.
“Do forgive me,” Priscilla wheedled, ignoring him. “You will, won’t you?”
If Priscilla was a fly, Sophie would swat her. “Fine – you are forgiven.”
“Thank you ever so much.” She took a book off the shelf, looked at the title and put it back. “Where is Fletcher?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie said. Which was true – she hadn’t looked back since leaving his grandparents’ house.
“Such a dear boy. But a horrible flirt, don’t you think?”
Sophie ignored her, putting her own book back on the shelf.
“Of course, I saw right through his flirting when he tried it on me …”
Unfortunately, that got Sophie’s attention. She turned ever so slightly toward Priscilla. “Did the two of you court?”
“I wouldn’t really call it courting. After all, I can’t see myself courting a man who gets calf-eyed over every single girl he sees.”
“Calf-eyed?” Sophie’s stomach tied into a knot. No wonder he’d been so equivocal, so casual after kissing her – he was well-practiced. How many other women had he kissed like that? Had this Priscilla Holbrook been one of them? She shuddered at the thought and turned away. How could she let him do it? How could she have kissed him back? If she felt bad before, it was nothing compared to now. Betrayed – that was the word. Naturally, she meant nothing to Fletcher, just the latest in a long line …
“He might be fine to work with, Miss Baxter, but take my advice – don’t get involved with him,” Priscilla spoke quietly, for her ears only. “He’ll break your little old heart for sure. Lord knows he’s left a trail of them behind him over the years.”
Just as Sophie suspected. She swallowed hard and pushed past the woman to get to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m late.”
“In this town?” Priscilla called after her. “It’s too small to be late for anything.”
Sophie ignored her and escaped. Without thinking she went into the café next door, if only to get out of sight. Heaven forbid Fletcher be somewhere on the street and spot her.
As it happened, he didn’t have to – she walked right into him. “Oof!”
“Sophie!”
She stepped back, feeling even more idiotic. “Um … Fletcher.”
He took her by the hand and led her straight to a table. “Sit down – let’s have a cup of coffee.”
Too numb to talk, she sat in the chair he pulled out for her. She wanted to run, straight to the train station – but with no money, what good would that do?
Fletcher sat across from her. “I’m glad I found you. Are you … feeling better?”
Sophie glared at him.
He nodded in resignation and stared at the table until Darcy bounced over to take their order. “What can I get for you, Fletch?”
“Two coffees, Darcy, thank you.”
Sophie watched Darcy go and remembered the hurt look on the girl’s face from the day before. Had she been one of Fletcher’s trail of broken hearts? Poor thing. She just had to make sure she wasn’t the next one … provided she wasn’t already.
“Sophie, we have work to do, you know that. I want to get this whole thing wrapped up.”
“Then what?”
He stared at her a moment, looking unsure of what to say. “Then … well, we’ll see.”
Of course he would say something like that. He didn’t seem ready to commit to anything, except perhaps running for mayor. But certain destitution was in store for her if she didn’t find a job. She clasped her hands in front of her on the table. “You’ll have to solve Jasper’s murder without me. I need to find work.”
“Work?” he said in surprise. “What for?”
Was the man thick? “To survive.”
“Oh, well … yes, of course. Work.” He looked around, at anything but her. “The choice is yours,” he’d said – as if he’d wanted to absolve himself of any responsibility for what had happened between them or would happen. And to think he’d seemed so strong before – ha!
“Here you go.” Darcy set two cups of coffee on the table. “Anything else?”
Fletcher said nothing and waved her way. Sophie saw the disappointed look on the girl’s face and wanted to smack him
. “No, thank you,” she told her.
Darcy left, retreating to the kitchen in disappointment.
“You could have said something to her.”
Fletcher looked up, and once again their eyes locked. “Huh?”
“Darcy. You could have said something to her. I think you hurt her feelings.”
“Have I hurt yours?”
His question took her by surprise. “Yes.”
“Sophie,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. I never meant to cause you any pain. I don’t regret kissing you, but …”
She swallowed hard and thought of Miss Holbrook’s tale about his past escapades. “Rest assured, Mr. Vander. It will not happen again.”
His eyes dropped to the table again. “If you say so.”
“Why, Fletcher Vander!” Sophie immediately recognized Priscilla’s shrill voice and watched Fletcher turn pale. He was probably afraid Priscilla would expose him in front of her. Too late for that.
He cringed as Priscilla reached their table and helped herself to a chair. “Imagine me finding you here,” Priscilla said. “And talking to the lovely Miss Baxter, no less. We just met next door in the bookshop.”
Fletcher cleared his throat. “We were just having some coffee.”
Priscilla glanced at their cups. “I can see that. Is that all you’re having?” She winked at Sophie.
Sophie knew what she was implying, and tried not to glare at Fletcher. “I think our business here is done, Mr. Vander, don’t you?” She shoved her cup and saucer toward Priscilla. “Here – I haven’t touched it. I’m sure Mr. Vander would love to share a cup of coffee with you and get caught up.” She stood and, before Fletcher could object, was out the door.
Fletcher started after Sophie, but Priscilla grabbed his arm. “Never chase after a woman who’s upset,” she advised.
“Yes,” he sighed. “You’re right.” Against his grandfather’s advice, he’d chased after Sophie, hoping to apologize again, to make her understand that it was more than just a kiss. In his heart, a decision had been made, and he wanted to tell her about it. But he’d hesitated, and lost his chance.
“But enough about you,” Priscilla said with a smile. “Let’s talk about me. I’m engaged!”
Fletcher managed to tear his eyes from the door to look at her. “Engaged?”
“Yes, to a wonderful man! I met him in Portland last summer while I was taking care of my aunt – that’s one of the reasons I told my folks I’d go back and take care of her again. We’ve been seeing each other off and on for quite a while now –” She pulled off a glove. “– and he finally proposed!” She waved her left hand in front of his face, showing off her engagement ring.
“He must be a rich man,” Fletcher commented as he saw the size of the stone.
“Oh yes, very.” She blew on the diamond, then polished it against her dress. “We’re going to live in Independence – he’s tired of Portland.”
“Understandable,” he said sullenly.
“Why, Fletcher, does that mean you’re thinking of staying too?”
“Yes, I am.”
“That’s wonderful! I can’t wait to tell Sebastian.”
Sebastian … that name rang a bell. “Your betrothed?”
“Yes. I can’t wait for you to meet him. I came back for a visit and to announce my engagement. My folks just love him.”
“Lucky for you,” he said as his eyes drifted back to the door. His parents loved Sophie. His grandparents thought she was sensational. He smiled as he recalled the brief conversation he’d had with his grandfather before he went after her. And now he’d blown the whole thing. “If you’ll excuse me, Priscilla, I need to go take care of some business.”
“Of course, I understand. You’ll come to the wedding, won’t you?”
“You’ll be sending out invitations?”
“We most certainly will. Should I send one to your assistant?”
“Assis … oh, you mean Miss Baxter?”
“The Professor mentioned the two of you were working together. Though I really don’t see why you need an assistant – you’re such a brilliant lawyer. What can she possibly do to help you?”
“Well, at the moment she’s helping me solve a murder.”
“Oh yes, I heard about that – terrible business. Whatever is the town going to do about a new blacksmith?”
Fletcher blinked. Leave it to Priscilla to think about that instead of the loss of life. “Perhaps your future husband would like the job?”
“Sebastian? Smith horses? Hardly. He’s an up-and-comer in the barbed wire business – quite successful, if I do say so myself.”
That was where he knew the name – Sebastian was Sebastian Cord, Mrs. Bee’s boarder and snoring fiend. And he was marrying Priscilla Holbrook, the poor man. She’d give him no peace during the day, and he’d give her none at night. “It was nice visiting with you, Priscilla,” he said as he stood. “I wish you the very best.”
Her smile brightened. “Oh, Fletcher, I know! Why don’t you have Sebastian help you? He’s a very smart man – I’m sure he’d be a great help.”
Fletcher forced himself to be diplomatic. “Interesting. I’ll keep that in mind.” As an example of a horribly bad idea, he added mentally.
She patted her hair. “Just a thought. Though you may be needing the help soon – that woman made it quite clear in the bookshop that she wanted nothing more to do with this town. I think she’s preparing to leave. Really, Fletcher, if she doesn’t want to work with you, then just let her go –”
“Leave?!” Fletcher squawked. In a flash he was out the door, leaving Priscilla with two full cups of coffee. He’d pay her back for them later – right now he had to talk to Sophie, his grandfather’s advice be hanged. Needless to say, he didn’t catch Priscilla’s smirk as he departed.
Chapter 12
“Why, Miss Baxter, what’s the matter?” Bernice Johnson asked as she approached. Sophie, unsure of where else to go, had fled straight to the church.
“Nothing, I’m fine.” She wiped a tear from her eye.
“You don’t look fine to me, if you don’t mind my saying. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Sophie shook her head. “It’s just …” She shrugged. “I’m in such a fix.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” Bernice asked quietly. She glanced around, took Sophie by the arm, steered her toward the nearest pew and sat them both down. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but I know Fletcher and Sheriff Diamond will do their best to help you.”
Sophie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. Fletcher was only making matters worse, but did she dare tell Bernice? “I wish I’d never come to Independence. I wish I’d never become a mail-order bride.”
Bernice put an arm around her. “I was a mail-order bride, remember? It wasn’t easy for me either, and I didn’t go through anything like what you have. But you still have options.”
“Options?” Sophie said in surprise. “What options?” Her eyes darted around the sanctuary to make sure no one was within earshot. Thankfully, most of the women were gathered at the front, while she and Bernice sat in the back. “I have no money, no family. I can only rely on the Vanders’ kindness for so long. I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do.”
Bernice smiled. It was almost irritating. “Yes, you do.”
That was even more irritating.
“But before you do anything, you have to realize that this town is very close-knit and we help our own. What you have to decide is if you want to become a part of us.”
“A part of you? I don’t understand.”
“You’re not the first mail-order bride to come here and wind up in a tough situation. But you can still be happy here. You don’t have to leave just because you’re not getting married.”
Sophie stared at her. She did want to stay. The little town had grown on her in just a few days. What she didn’t like was the discovery of Fletcher’s philandering wa
ys. If she did stay, could she stand seeing him until Mr. Munson’s murder was solved? More importantly, could she stand seeing him in church every Sunday or in passing on the street? And where would she stay in the meantime? Who would give her a job?
“I know what you’re thinking,” Bernice said. “And the answer is yes.”
Sophie blinked a few times. “Yes to what?”
“The café needs help, so you could work there. Or maybe at the bookshop – the Professor talks sometimes about bringing someone on. In the meantime I’m sure the Vanders wouldn’t mind you staying with them until you got on your feet, and the boardinghouse doesn’t cost that much. I’m sure you could afford it on what you’d make. And do you sew?”
Sophie went blank, her mind reeling. Of course she’d thought of some of those things already, but her pride was so pricked she hadn’t acted on any of it yet. Blast that Fletcher Vander!
“Sophie? What do you think?”
Sophie shook herself, trying to get Fletcher out of her head. “Yes, that might work. I guess I just didn’t know where to start.” That was the problem with infatuation: it muddled the mind. Well, she wasn’t going to let Fletcher muddle her anymore. So what if he’d kissed her senseless? She was over it … she hoped.
“Wonderful! Why don’t we go to the café and speak with Mr. Gruber the owner?”
“Now?”
“Of course – you don’t want someone else to get your job, do you?”
Sophie shook her head. “But … you mentioned the bookshop. And are there any other jobs in town?”
“That’s the one I’m sure of – the Professor never seems to make up his mind on whether he wants somebody. Now, you could always take in mending for extra money. If by chance you’re a really good seamstress, the town needs a new dressmaker – the old one retired and moved to Portland to live with relatives. But you’d probably need a loan from the bank to get started.”
“My sewing is passable, but I’m nowhere near good enough to be a dressmaker.”
“Too bad. The café’s your best bet, then.” She stood. “Shall we?”
