by Sharon Swan
“Can we have pancakes?” Caleb wanted to know.
“We like pancakes,” Patrick explained with a hopeful expression.
“Me, too,” a low voice added from the doorway to the hall.
Amanda glanced over her shoulder. As she’d expected, the man of the house was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, which seemed to be his usual morning attire. Unfortunately, rather than sticking to her habit of dressing before coming downstairs, she’d been too occupied with Betsy to take the time—something that wouldn’t happen again, she promised herself, because she was getting up even earlier, starting tomorrow. The last thing she needed was to face Dev Devlin over the breakfast table wearing her robe—not to mention that it was the same robe his large hands had clutched to hold her tight to him just hours ago.
She cleared her throat. “All right,” she said, “I suppose I can whip up a quick batch.”
The boys were all smiles at that news. Noting that the eldest Bradley child didn’t join in, Amanda asked, “Do you like pancakes, Liza?”
“Uh-huh,” was her only reply. It looked as though she might be as quiet at breakfast as she’d been at last night’s dinner.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Dev said mildly as he walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a can of coffee. “Because if you gals got together and decided you wanted something else, we guys would probably be out of luck.”
“Girls get their way a lot,” Patrick chimed in with a wise nod, suddenly looking older than his four years. “They can even be cowgirls and live on a ranch and everything, if they want to. That’s what Mandy said, Mister—”
Shaking his head, Dev cut in smoothly. “I meant what I told you yesterday, kids. My last name is Devlin, but most folks in Jester call me Dev.”
“Def,” Betsy said, trying out the word.
“You almost got it right, honey.” Amanda retrieved a paper towel and wiped dabs of stray cereal off the little girl’s rosy cheeks. “It’s Dev, with a v.”
Betsy mulled that over for a second, then declared “Deveee!” with a short pound of her spoon on the highchair’s tray.
“No, it’s just—” Dev started to say.
“Deveee!” Betsy repeated in no uncertain terms, looking as pleased as punch with her achievement.
Man and child exchanged a long look. “You know, for a pint-size person,” he said at last, “I’ve got a hunch you can be as downright hardheaded as—” he switched his gaze to Amanda “—someone else in your family.”
Liza finally spoke up. “Betsy’s very smart,” she told him in an earnest tone, defending her younger sister.
“I’ll bet she is,” he conceded.
“Just like,” Amanda added with a proud lift of her chin, “the rest of the Bradleys.”
He aimed a glance around the table. “Seems as though I’m outnumbered.”
“You may well have met your match,” Amanda agreed, noting that the three older children had followed her example and raised their chins a notch. She wanted to hug them. After all they’d been through, they still had spunk.
“Okay, I know when I’m licked,” Dev grumbled. Despite his grousing, however, his lips twitched as he headed for the state-of-the-art coffeemaker on the counter. “I’ll just do my job and wait for pancakes.”
Then Betsy got the last word as she turned her empty cereal bowl over and plunked it on the teddy bear’s head. “All done, Deveee!”
HE’D NEVER LIVE IT DOWN if it got out. Dev had been sure on that score ever since he’d found himself saddled with a new take on his name. Too bad he hadn’t made much headway during the past few days on changing Betsy’s mind about the whole thing, he thought on a windy morning that had clouds zipping past in the sky high over Main Street.
At least he’d been successful in getting Betsy’s big sister to take a break from her bookstore duties long enough to have a look around the Heartbreaker Saloon before it opened at noon. So far, she hadn’t said a word as she’d walked around the place with a narrowed gaze.
“She’s not planning on changing too many things, is she?” Roy asked in a low murmur, leaning over the bar.
Dev propped himself up on a stool and studied his head bartender. “Just a couple of improvements.”
A wary frown creased Roy’s weathered brow. “Would that be the female kind of improvements?”
“I suppose so,” Dev allowed, letting his gaze drift back to his wife. “She’s a female, all right.” And she damn sure feels like one when you’ve got your hands on her. He didn’t voice that thought yet couldn’t deny how true it was. For days, he’d been trying not to remember how she’d felt. And mostly failing. Then, too, it didn’t seem to matter anymore if she wore one of her dressed-for-business outfits. He had no trouble recalling how she’d looked in something soft and clinging.
None of it was doing him any good, he knew. He’d be a lot better off keeping his mind on the Heartbreaker and what he hoped to achieve here with Amanda’s help.
“Even a doggone determined woman probably couldn’t fancy this old place up too much,” Roy said. The confirmed bachelor hesitated a beat, then added, “Could she?”
Dev ran his tongue around his teeth. With the saloon’s long history as a rough-and-tumble spot reflected almost everywhere a person looked—from the scarred oak tables and mismatched chairs that had survived more than one brawl in earlier days to a corner brass spittoon that just might qualify as a genuine antique—it was hard to figure that less than a miracle would turn the Heartbreaker into anything close to a showplace. Then again, Dev doubted that a determined woman had ever taken on the challenge.
“I guess,” he told Roy, “that remains to be seen.”
The bartender snorted. Glasses clinked as he stacked them on the long counter behind the bar. “I was afraid you were going to say that.” He kept his voice low as Amanda, having completed her inspection, approached them.
“Well, what’s the verdict?” Dev asked.
She took the stool next to his. “It has possibilities.”
“Oh, Lordy,” Roy muttered just loud enough to make out.
Amanda slid him a sidelong glance. “Did you say something?”
The bartender shook his head in a rapid motion, sending his gray braids bobbing. “Nothing much.”
Dev had to swallow a chuckle. “So, what possibilities are we talking about?”
She gestured toward a far corner of the large, high-ceilinged room. “I think you could turn that space into a separate seating area by putting up a half wall—maybe one made of latticed wood to give it a more open appearance.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Dev agreed after a moment’s consideration. “It would be convenient for serving food, once the back room’s converted to a full-blown kitchen.”
“Yes.” She braced an elbow on the bar, her finely knit sage-green sweater a sharp contrast to coarse wood dulled by age. “You’ll need some new chairs to really make the seating area look good, but a few of the round tables you have now could be used if they were covered up with something. Chintz tablecloths might strike the right note.”
The two men’s eyes met for a instant before Roy beat Dev to the punch. “What’s chintz?”
A knowing smile played around her lips, as if the question hadn’t surprised her. “It’s a lightweight fabric made of glazed cotton.”
“Cotton,” the older man repeated, suddenly looking hopeful. “Nothing too fancy about that.”
“Well,” Amanda said, “it’s not Irish linen, but I believe it will do the job.” She paused. “It wouldn’t hurt to have some candles on the tables, too.”
Roy just stared at her, as if he couldn’t begin to wrap his thoughts around the notion of candlelight flickering away—not in a place where boot-stomping music frequently flowed from the jukebox and trading jokes hardly fit for elegant drawing rooms was almost a tradition.
“I don’t mean anything as elaborate as candelabras,” she explained, clearly noting that she’d rendered the bartender speechless.
“I had something more along the lines of metal, lantern-style candle-holders with a rustic finish in mind. They would have to be small enough to leave plenty of room for other things, of course. Have you decided on what you’re going to serve?” she asked Dev.
“I’m still mulling it over.” Which was true enough, he thought. The only firm decision he’d come to was to do his best to get his wife to help him make some choices in the food department. He didn’t plan on mentioning that just yet, though. First things first, he told himself. He’d won her agreement to offer advice about sprucing up the Heartbreaker. Now he had to try to ease her around to actively participating in the improvements.
For the life of him, he couldn’t picture himself picking out chintz. Jeez, he needed her.
In more ways than one, something told him. But he wasn’t thinking about the other ways. It was bound to lead to more frustration, and he’d done enough tossing and turning and tearing up the sheets—alone. He had a business to consider, and he was concentrating on that if it took every once of willpower he had.
“Were those all the changes you had in mind?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” she replied after a short hesitation. “If you really want to appeal to a wider range of customers, it seems to me you have to take into account that some people might not appreciate the more, ah, macho aspects of Western history on display here.”
Dev crossed his arms over his chest, reminding himself that she hadn’t called him macho. Not this time. No, she’d set her sights on something else.
“You don’t mean the row of horseshoes nailed over the front door, do you?” Roy asked, sounding worried again. “It’d be bad luck to take them down, I’m thinking.”
Amanda gave her head a slow shake. “No, not that.”
“Humph. Well, I reckon the longhorns might give some folks pause,” the bartender allowed, waving a hand toward the broadly curved cattle horns set high on a dark paneled wall, “but—”
“No, it’s not that, either,” she said, breaking in with another shake of her head.
Then what in tarnation is it? Dev could all but see that question forming in Roy’s eyes.
As if she’d caught it, as well, Amanda scooted around on her stool and faced the rear of the bar. Switching her gaze back and forth, she studied the oil paintings hung at opposite sides of a wide mirror. Bordered by heavily carved gold frames, both works of art featured full-figured women wearing next to nothing, the first reclining on a length of lacy material and the second playing cards with a man—or maybe customer would be a better word—in the middle of an old-fashioned brass bed. No one knew for certain how long the pictures dating back to a lustier era had held prominent places at the saloon. One thing for sure, it was long enough for them to achieve legend status.
Roy looked at Dev. “Oh, Lordy,” he muttered one more time. “I’ve got the feeling she means…”
As his voice drifted to a halt, Amanda dipped her chin in a brisk nod. “Yes,” she said. “I do.”
THE MERCANTILE, housed in one of the largest buildings on Main Street, was a modern-day version of a general store. From alphabet blocks to zodiac calendars, the Mercantile sold it all. It had clothing. It had housewares. It had office, pet and hobby supplies.
And it certainly had fabrics, Amanda thought as she headed toward the long counter at the rear of the store, where thick bolts of whatever suited a person’s fancy could be unwound and measured out. It came as no surprise to find that she had to skirt around several other customers and the clerks helping them locate exactly what they needed on the many shelves and racks comfortably cluttering the place. Most everyone in Jester wound up shopping here. Only the small post office across the street probably saw more of the town’s citizens on a regular basis.
What did turn out to be somewhat surprising, however, was the sight of Ruby Cade standing behind the counter. In the months since the slender redhead in her early thirties and the career air force man she’d married had shared in the lottery win, Ruby had bought the old Tanner farm, and now she seemed to spend a good deal of her time there. These days, it was more common to see her business partner and co-owner of the Mercantile, Honor Lassiter, presiding over the store.
Ruby’s mouth curved in a faint smile as she took notice of her latest visitor. Amanda waved a greeting in return, thinking that the green-eyed woman with milky fair skin and a dab of freckles had once smiled widely. Strangely enough, that had been before the jackpot winners were announced during one of the frequent periods when Sam Cade was away on military duty. Winter had turned to spring, but Captain Cade was still away somewhere, and his wife was said to have filed for a divorce in his absence.
So much for money buying happiness, Amanda reflected to herself.
“How are you?” Ruby asked. “Honor’s been telling me that the Devlins have become our best customers in recent weeks.”
“I’m fine,” Amanda replied, “and I suppose Honor must be right.” Just the children’s things alone had meant several trips to the store. Amanda could only be glad that her sisters and brothers had settled in and the schedule she and Mabel had set up was working well. Normally she’d be heading home after closing the Ex-Libris to take over from the doting nanny, but this afternoon she had an errand to do first—courtesy of her husband.
“I imagine it must have taken a lot to furnish that big new house,” Ruby said, smoothing a hand down the front of the denim jumper she wore with a cornflower blue blouse. “What can I help you with today?”
“I need some cotton chintz, several yards of it, that I’ll be having made into tablecloths.”
Ruby nodded. “I suppose a big house means plenty of dining space, as well.”
“Actually, the tablecloths are for the Heartbreaker,” Amanda explained.
One of Ruby’s eyebrows winged up. “The Heartbreaker?”
“The Heartbreaker,” a deep male voice said yet again from behind Amanda.
She turned to find Dean Kenning, decked out in his white barber’s coat, standing a short step away. “As it happens,” she told him, “I’m making a few improvements at the saloon.”
He stared her, his expression turning wary in a heartbeat. “Does Dev know about this?”
“He’s the one responsible for my getting involved in the first place.” Amanda knew that nothing could be more true. For a second time, her husband had won her agreement to help him without her being quite sure how he’d accomplished it. The man was devious, she thought. That had to be it.
Dean shook a head topped by a thatch of dark brown hair without a speck of gray in it. The barber not only cut his own hair, it was fairly plain that he dyed it as well. “Tablecloths at the Heartbreaker,” he muttered. “Please don’t tell me they’re going to have flowers sprouting all over them.”
Amanda thought about saying yes and wouldn’t daffodils be wonderful just to see what how much pure horror that would produce on the big man’s ruddy face. “No,” she said instead, resisting temptation as she turned back to Ruby. “I’m thinking of something more in earth-tone shades.”
“I may have just what you want,” Ruby replied after a second’s consideration.
In a matter of moments Amanda, with Dean at her side, was studying a subtle print featuring small squares of deep russet and creamy beige. “I’m glad you were here today,” she told Ruby. “You may be spending a lot of time at the farm, but it’s obvious that you’re still on top of your merchandise. This is perfect.”
Ruby smiled her faint smile. “Glad to be of service. I do like it at the farm, but the Mercantile is special, too.”
“Got to wonder why she likes it so much out there,” Dean said under his breath as Ruby called a clerk over to help measure and cut the fabric.
Amanda pretended not to hear that comment, even though she had little doubt as to what was going through the barber’s mind. If she’d gotten wind of a few recent rumors about a tall, dark and definitely attractive man—a man who wasn’t Ruby’s air force officer hus
band—taking up residence at the Cade farm, Dean must have heard them, too. Local gossip thrived at the barbershop even more than it did over tea and pastries at the bookstore. Not that it was any of her—or anyone’s—business, Amanda reminded herself.
Ruby rolled up the cut chintz and set it on the counter. “Anything else you need?”
“Yes. Some sheer ivory lace.”
This time, both of the store owner’s brows went up. “If it’s for the Heartbreaker, I can’t wait to hear what you intend to do with it.”
Amanda had to grin, thinking that this was one task she would enjoy doing. “You know the paintings of the, shall we say, generously endowed women hanging in back of the bar?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Ruby murmured.
“I plan to do some discreet draping and cover them up.”
“Cover them up!” Dean repeated, sounding scandalized. “Those two gals are practically an institution in this part of Montana.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll still be able to see them through the lace,” Amanda informed him with a sidelong glance. “Just not in all their, ah, glory.”
Dean looked like he wanted to groan in protest. Instead, he said, “I’d better head out. If I stick around, you’re liable to tell me Dev’s going to start playing Beethoven on the jukebox.”
“What did you come in for?” Ruby asked before he could leave.
He blinked. “Land sakes, it went right out of my head with all the talk about tablecloths and lace. I popped over to spread the news that Luke McNeil just made an announcement. According to the sheriff, the park pavilion falling down last month was no accident.”
No accident.
The words echoed in Amanda’s mind. At least that puzzle had been solved, she thought, remembering how the picnic pavilion had collapsed without warning during Jester’s Founders’ Day celebration. Fortunately only one person had been injured, and that injury had proved not to be critical. But everyone knew it could have been much worse.
