But now he wondered—should he have asked? There’d been a time when he would have known how to carry on a polite conversation, but his social skills had grown rusty with disuse.
If he was ever going to fit in here, though, he’d need to relearn.
“I think the sidewalk is clean enough.”
Nate looked up to see Adam Barr standing there, an amused half smile on his face. Adam was the closest thing Nate had to a friend these days, and was the person to whom he owed his current toehold on stability.
Nate returned the smile. “Just enjoying the morning sunshine.”
Adam nodded and Nate knew without any exchange of words that his friend understood his meaning.
Nate leaned against the broom. “And what is the town’s esteemed banker doing on this side of the street? Checking up on me?” He was only half joking. The bank, where Adam had his office, was a block and a half in the other direction.
“Not at all.” Adam nodded toward the apothecary. “Reggie asked me to stop by Flaherty’s for her.”
Nate frowned. Reggie, Adam’s wife, was expecting their third child. “She’s not taken ill I hope.”
Adam shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s for Patricia. She’s developed a rash and Reggie asked me to pick up some ointment for it.” Beans had joined them now and was sniffing at Adam’s boots. The man stooped down to absently scratch the animal behind the ears. “So how is business?”
Nate shrugged. “Slow. I sold a bridle Monday and yesterday Ed Strickland brought in a harness for me to mend.” He tightened his hold on the broom handle. “But it’s only my third day so I didn’t expect a rush of business just yet.” But it would need to pick up soon if he was going to pay his bills.
Adam nodded toward the display window. “I imagine that’s getting you some interest.”
Nate glanced at the item Adam was referring to and felt a small tug of pride. It was a saddle—one of the few possessions he’d brought with him to Turnabout. He’d made it himself and spent a lot of time and effort on it. The display piece was a visible testament to his skill as a saddler. “I’ve had a few inquiries, but nothing serious yet.”
“I predict it will catch just the right eye soon.” Then Adam glanced ahead. “Looks like Mr. Flaherty is opening his doors, so I’ll let you get back to your sweeping.” And with a nod, Adam headed for the apothecary.
Nate brushed the broom over the sidewalk one last time, his thoughts still with his friend. When Adam had invited him to move here to Turnabout, he’d described the town as a good place for fresh starts, something he’d known Nate was seeking. Nate had now seen firsthand just how well things had worked out for Adam. His friend, who hailed from Philadelphia, had truly made a life for himself in this town. He’d married a local woman and now had two children with a third on the way. He also had a position as manager of the local bank and had become an accepted, even prominent, member of this community. All that in spite of having spent six years in prison. Of course, not everyone here knew that part of his past.
Nate, whose own past was similar to Adam’s, both in where he’d come from and where he’d been, passionately wanted that kind of future for himself. At least the being accepted and belonging part.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want the family part too—he absolutely did. It was just that he knew it was better—for everyone—if he didn’t pursue that dream.
For one thing, he had no luck whatsoever in relationships. More often than not, he ended up hurting the very people he cared most about.
For another, he could never pursue a serious relationship with a woman without letting her know what he’d done. And what woman would want to marry a man with a past like his? Especially not a certain widow whose face popped into his head at the thought. No, it was best all the way around if he just settled for a comfortable, neighborly relationship with the folks around here.
After all, what more could a man who’d robbed a bank and then spent nine years in prison paying for it expect?
Chapter Two
“I can’t wait to see the latest of your fabulous creations.”
Verity firmly pushed aside thoughts of the very interesting Mr. Cooper as she smiled at her friend Hazel’s extravagant compliment. “I’m not sure about fabulous, but I do hope you like it.” She glanced toward Joy, who sat on the floor playing with Buttons. Maybe someday, when they had a house of their own, she could get Joy the pet she so passionately wanted. In the meantime, perhaps Aunt Betty and Uncle Grover wouldn’t mind a caged pet, like a sweet little songbird...
“Oh, my...”
Her friend’s delighted exclamation pulled Verity’s thoughts back to the present.
Hazel lifted Verity’s current millinery creation out of the hatbox and studied it, her eyes gratifyingly alight with admiration. “I do believe this is your best one yet. It’s absolutely exquisite.” Then she shook her head in mock confusion. “Who would guess that your restrained demeanor hides a woman with such a stylish flair?”
Verity drew up at that. “I’m a widow, remember. My restrained demeanor, as you call it, is not only appropriate but expected.”
Hazel seemed unimpressed by her reasoning. “You’ve been widowed over a year now, so it’s okay to put off wearing such dreary colors all the time. And we both know that before you were even married you dressed much more conservatively than the rest of us.”
Verity knew her friend meant well, but the words still stung. As if her mourning for Arthur would automatically end based on a date on a calendar. Besides, she had already added some color to her wardrobe. True, she still wore black skirts, but her shirtwaists contained gray or lavender or even some dark green. In fact, her Sunday best was the only solid-black dress she still wore, and she’d even added a bit of gray to the collar and cuffs of that one. It was only proper that, as a widow, she didn’t try to wear bright colors or frills.
As for the rest, with that scar on her face, she’d never been one of the “pretty girls,” and she’d long since come to terms with that.
Verity gave her friend an exasperated look. “Not all of us are as comfortable with flamboyant airs and drama as you are.”
This shop was proof of that. Color and furbelows were everywhere. Besides the dress forms that displayed examples of her work, there were bolts of fabrics in every shade imaginable, from pastels to deep jewel tones, both solids and prints, spools of lace and cord and ribbons, trimmings such as feathers and beads and medallions, fashion plates displayed artfully around the store—and all arranged in a manner to catch the eye and entice one to come close to admire and touch and perhaps purchase.
Verity loved it here, loved how it made her feel, as if she was inside a fantastical daydream where nothing harsh could intrude.
But she was just a visitor here—it wasn’t her world.
“Which is a shame.”
For a startled moment Verity thought her friend had read her thoughts. Then she realized Hazel was merely responding to her last statement.
Hazel’s grin had an I-know-best twist to it. “I think a little flamboyancy and drama in your life is just what you need.”
Verity relaxed and returned her grin. “That’s what I have you in my life for. And why I create these hats.” One of the things she’d missed most about Turnabout when she’d married Arthur and moved so far away was her friendship with Hazel. They’d kept in touch with the occasional letter, but being able to spend time together was so much better.
When Verity had moved back to Turnabout after Arthur’s death last year, she and Hazel had picked up where they’d left off.
Joy’s giggles drew her attention and she glanced in that direction. The girl was jiggling her bit of yarn in front of Buttons. Hazel’s cat was trying to bat at it with one of her front paws, much to Joy’s delight.
Verity turned back to see Hazel rotating
the hat this way and that, trying to view it from all angles. Wetting her lips and affecting a casual expression, Verity gave in to the urge to do a little probing. “Have you met your new neighbor yet?”
“You mean Mr. Cooper?” Hazel glanced out the door, as if she could see around the corner to his shop. “Just casually. He seems rather mysterious, don’t you think, just showing up here out of the blue?” Her eyes sparkled with saucy speculation. “I know he’s a friend of Adam Barr’s, but still, one can’t help but wonder what his story is. Especially when he looks right at you with those striking eyes.”
Verity popped her hand on her hip in mock outrage. “Hazel Theresa Andrews, I thought you were sweet on the sheriff. Has another man finally caught your fancy?”
Hazel tossed her head. “I’m getting tired of waiting for Ward Gleason to take notice of me. It certainly won’t hurt anything to let him know I have options.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask? Do you have your eye on Mr. Cooper?”
Seeing the speculation in her friend’s expression, Verity tilted her chin up defensively. “Don’t be silly. I don’t even know the man.”
“He didn’t happen to be outside his store when you walked by just now, did he?”
Hazel was too perceptive by half. “He was. And yes, we chatted for a moment. But only because Joy wanted to pet his dog. You know she can’t pass by an animal without wanting to play with it.”
“So you did meet him.”
“Not exactly.” She waved a hand. “I mean, no introductions were exchanged. But saying hello was the neighborly thing to do.” Verity mentally cringed when she heard the defensive note creep into her voice.
And of course Hazel pounced right on it. “Well, now, isn’t this an interesting turn of events. Our meek-as-a-lamb, practical-as-prunes Verity is interested in the very rugged and far-from-meek-looking Mr. Cooper.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, drawing herself up even straighter. “I have no interest in the man beyond a natural curiosity.”
“Of course you don’t.” But from the knowing smile on Hazel’s lips, Verity could tell her friend didn’t believe her protests. It was time to steer this conversation in a different direction.
“Thanks for letting Joy play with Buttons,” she said. “She looks forward to it whenever I tell her I’m headed over here.”
To Verity’s relief, Hazel accepted the change of subject as she carried the hat to the nearby cheval glass. “Buttons enjoys it, too,” her friend said absently as she placed the hat on her head at a sassy angle. Then she preened, turning and tilting her head different ways to admire the effect. “Oh, I love it, especially the flirty way the brim is folded. If it wasn’t yellow I’d consider keeping it for myself.” She glanced over her shoulder at Verity. “Yellow never was my color.”
Verity disagreed. With Hazel’s vivacious red-gold hair and sparkling green eyes, there was very little that didn’t look good on her. But she kept her opinion to herself.
Hazel removed the hat and turned back around. “Now, you on the other hand, with that gorgeous mahogany-colored hair and your fair complexion, would look stunning in this.”
“Not particularly suitable mourning attire,” Verity said drily.
Hazel sighed dramatically. “I’ve already said my piece on that subject. But I can tell your mind is made up.” Then she shrugged. “Ah, well, it’ll look nice in the window next to that lavender dress with the scrumptious lace.”
Verity fidgeted with her sleeve. “I do wish you’d let me pay you something for displaying my hats in your shop.”
“Well, I won’t, so let’s hear no more about it.” Hazel patted a few stray hairs back in place before moving away from the mirror. “And don’t think it’s because I’m feeling altruistic. I’m getting something out of it, too. My sales have definitely gone up since your hats went on display next to my dresses.”
Verity had been thinking lately that she’d like to open a millinery shop of her own one day, and Hazel’s words gave her an added nudge in that direction. Despite Uncle Grover’s and Aunt Betty’s assertions that they liked having her and Joy stay with them, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live on their charity forever. It had been fifteen months since that awful day Arthur was killed. It was time for her to move on with her life, to decide what kind of future she wanted for herself and Joy.
If she could start her own business and make a go of it, she might just be able to afford to have a home of her own again. But there was so much risk involved in such an undertaking, risks she wasn’t sure she could afford to take. It definitely wasn’t a step to take lightly. For one thing she’d have to save up more money before she could even get started. And what if she failed? Besides, the one time she’d mentioned it to Uncle Grover, he’d counseled her about all the pitfalls she could face and she’d gotten the impression he didn’t think it was something she should even attempt.
Still, every time she allowed herself to dream about the future she wanted for herself and Joy, the yearning to take more control of her life grew.
“Have you heard about the plans for the Founders’ Day celebration?”
Verity pushed away her daydreams and focused on Hazel’s question. “You mean there’s going to be more to it than the town picnic this year?”
“A lot more. Ever since Mayor Sanders realized this is the seventy-fifth anniversary of Turnabout’s founding, he’s wanted to do something special, which to him means something bigger and flashier.”
That was Mayor Sanders, all right. Some things about this town never changed.
“He’s talking about a grand festival,” Hazel continued, “sort of like a county fair, with games, contests, food, performances. He’s even talking about bringing in a traveling circus or an acting troupe.”
Verity listened with only half an ear as Hazel recounted the discussion from yesterday’s town council meeting. Instead, her thoughts drifted back to Mr. Cooper.
Hazel was wrong. She wasn’t taken with the man. Well, not exactly. She was merely curious about him. When she looked into his intense eyes, she still got the sense of something controlled but dangerous. Yet seeing him with that little lapdog had contradicted that impression. Showing kindness to a small animal and speaking of putting down roots seemed to indicate a man who was compassionate and responsible.
Which was the real man? Or was it possible he could be a combination of both?
The sound of a dog barking outside made her think again of the small dog itself. Beans—what a whimsical name for the animal.
Perhaps someday—there was that nebulous someday again—if she could find a similar lapdog, one that she knew was well behaved, she could get it for Joy.
Verity glanced over her shoulder to check on her daughter again, but neither the five-year-old nor the cat was in the same spot any longer. She turned fully around. “Joy?” Where had the girl gotten off to?
Hazel paused midsentence and glanced quickly around the shop. “She probably followed Buttons to one of his hiding places. Check behind the counter.”
“Joy!” Verity said the name louder this time, using her no-nonsense, answer-me-now voice. She knew it was probably an overreaction, but she couldn’t help herself. Her late husband’s violent death had given her a terrible lesson on how tragedy could strike in the blink of an eye. And she’d found herself wanting to hold tighter and tighter to her daughter ever since.
When there was still no response, Verity’s focus sharpened. If Joy was just behind the counter, why wasn’t she answering? “Joy, this isn’t a game. Come out this minute.”
Still no answer. Could she have gone upstairs? Verity had half turned in that direction when Hazel spoke up, halting her in her tracks.
“She’s out on the sidewalk.”
Verity spun around and headed for the door. Why hadn’t she kept a closer eye on Joy?
> A warning shout sounded just as she stepped outside, closely followed by a gasp from Hazel.
She watched in horror as her daughter, intent on chasing Buttons, darted in front of an oncoming wagon. Verity raced forward screaming Joy’s name. The child turned, then froze as she saw the horse bearing down on her.
Verity stumbled and realized with shattering clarity that she would never reach Joy in time.
Chapter Three
For an agonizing heartbeat, as the wagon bore down on her daughter, time froze. Verity felt every irregularity in the pebble that bit into her palm, could taste the tang of blood from where she’d bit the inside of her cheek when she fell to the ground, could see the dust motes hanging in the air before her.
Please, Jesus. Please, Jesus. Please, Jesus.
She wasn’t sure whether she was uttering the frantic prayer aloud or if it was just shrieking through her thoughts.
From somewhere a woman screamed, but all sounds, save for the wagon’s relentless rumbling progress, seemed to come from a great distance.
Verity spotted the moment the wagon driver spied Joy and tried to turn his horses.
And still Joy didn’t move.
Then, from out of nowhere, Mr. Cooper shot past her, and time sped up with a whoosh. He dived toward Joy, reaching her a heart-stopping split second before the horse’s hooves would have trampled the child, and pushing her out of the way.
Without remembering having moved, Verity was suddenly kneeling in the road with her weeping daughter clutched tightly against her. Her heart thudded painfully against her chest and her breath came in near gasps. She’d come so close to losing her precious baby. She could still feel the stab of keening desolation that pierced her the moment she’d realized she couldn’t get to Joy in time. This time the prayer she sent up was one of thanksgiving.
“Mama, you’re squeezing too tight.” Joy’s querulous complaint ended on a hiccup.
Verity had to fight down the hysterical bubble of laughter that wanted to leap from her throat. Instead she loosened her hold and pushed back just enough to examine her daughter, brushing aside a tendril of Joy’s hair with fingers that trembled uncontrollably. “Don’t you ever scare Mommy like that again.”
Second Chance Hero Page 2
