by Beverly Long
But he thought it might take more than one free Saturday night to do that. Perhaps it would be better if he just carried on, kept his commitment, and discovered that there was absolutely nothing special about the woman.
“I told you I’ll take her and I will. I just hope she’s a better dancer than Bart.”
***
There was absolutely no reason to worry about Freida and her niece. After all, Freida could take better care of herself than most men he knew.
Even so, at half-past four that afternoon, the time Jed knew that Freida most generally closed up the Mercantile, he stood across from the store, his toes growing colder and stiffer in his boots with each passing second. The afternoon sun had held some warmth but now that it was gone, the temperature was dropping fast.
It was another ten minutes, when the day had slipped well into night, that the two women finally opened the front door. Freida pulled the door shut firmly behind her and then double-checked to make sure it held.
See. They were fine.
But instead of going home, like he’d told Bart he was doing, he watched them walk across the street, toward the Livery. Wymer Hayes had Freida’s rig ready, like he’d been doing for the past five years. That was the courtesy extended to a widow. When Freida’s husband had been alive, it would have been his job to get his own horses.
Women needed special consideration. This land was hard enough on a man. Even big, sturdy women like Freida needed a helping hand from time to time.
Freida’s niece looked like she might need more care than the average woman did. Not that she was frail. She had a womanly-enough shape, certainly one that could catch a man’s eye, with her full breasts and her narrow waist. But yet she seemed delicate. Her fingers were long and narrow, her wrists so small that it’d be no challenge at all to wrap his fingers around them.
The skin on her face was unlined and smooth and her lips were soft, like she’d done a good job protecting them from the weather.
He didn’t know if she’d taken his advice or if Freida had stepped in but at least she was wearing a scarf wrapped around her head and she had gloves on her hands. There was just enough daylight left that he could see the bright blue cloth, a strong contrast to the black cloak she wore. His own spine tightened a bit when the too-light fabric blew in the breeze—it wasn’t hard to imagine the cold draft blowing up her back. Damn fool.
But then, what business of it was his if she got chilled?
Hell. It could be a good thing. She could get a devil of a cold and be too sick to even remember there was a dance tomorrow night. She could get so sick that she’d be in bed, unable to even work at the Mercantile.
He wouldn’t have to see her again until she boarded the stage, headed for back home. Perfect.
Except that it wasn’t. The damn fool woman had stood close enough to him that her scent lingered in his lungs. It tugged at his senses, making him lose the ability to reason.
There was no other explanation for his sudden desire to see Bella Wainwright home, to see her safe from the harsh winter wind, to see her healthy enough to come to the dance.
He watched Freida climb up onto the wagon and waited while Bella stopped to pat the horse on its forehead. From his vantage point, it looked like she was whispering something in the brown mare’s ears.
He felt warm suddenly, like there was a sudden burst of summer sun heating up the back of his neck. And he knew that his sudden warmth had little to do with sun and warm breezes but much more with the thought of her leaning close into his body, pressing her full breasts against his chest, and whispering in his ear.
He watched them drive away and didn’t move again until a sharp whistle shattered the still, evening air. “Hey, need your horse, Sheriff?” Wymer yelled.
For one crazy minute he thought about following them. He knew he could knock on Freida’s door and she’d invite him in to share their supper. She wouldn’t mind. There’d been more than one night in the last five years that he’d done the same.
But it was different, now. She was there. With her curly hair and her black eyes. Temptation with a capital T. And his father had already proven to the town, two times over, that McNeil men didn’t do well when confronted with Temptation.
“Well?” Wymer prodded.
Jed didn’t want to go home to his silent house. But his options were few. He could play some cards at the saloon, have a drink or two with friends. But that would require him to be sociable and in the end, he wouldn’t be any less alone.
“No,” he said. “I’m on duty tonight.” He turned back toward the Sheriff’s office. He’d let Bart go nuzzle Patience’s neck and the woman could blow sweet, warm air into his ear.
If one of them had to be a fool, it was better Bart than him.
CHAPTER FIVE
The following morning Bella remembered to put her cloak on and to grab a lantern before venturing forth to pee. It was still cold, chilly enough that her breath turned to steam and her lips became immediately dry. She was ten feet from the outhouse when she saw the squirrel, less than a foot away from the door of her destination. It was a huge squirrel with ragged fur.
“I don’t like company in the bathroom,” she said, hoping the animal would take a hint. He didn’t. She waved her arms and stomped her feet. Nothing.
She took another step forward. It was a squirrel, for goodness sakes. They had those in Chicago. There was no reason to freak out.
But it was the largest squirrel she’d ever seen. A mutant squirrel. And it could have rabies. She stared at its mouth, trying to see if it was foaming.
Damn, but she had to pee. She started to whistle. “If you come inside with me, I’m going to start to sing,” she threatened the squirrel. She kept walking. When she got to the small building, she whipped open the door and slipped inside. She peeked out. The animal was gone.
Her heart was still thumping hard in her chest by the time she lifted her skirt and finished her business. All over a squirrel. How in the world was the going to handle Rantaan Toomay? Averil and her father had been right to be worried. She was out of her league.
Whatever had possessed her father to drive cattle through this country? She, at least, had a roof over her head. From what he'd told her, he'd had a few saddle blankets and the future promise of a hot bath sometime that week to keep him warm. It was no wonder that after he’d met his contact here, that he’d wandered into the saloon.
Bella opened the door of the outhouse and was grateful to see the squirrel had truly abandoned his post. She made her way slowly back to the house.
Had it simply been bad luck that her father had encountered Rantaan Toomay? Or were the two destined to meet? Had the Bad Magic looked for an opportunity to clash with Good Magic?
It seemed obvious by the explanation her father had given that that was not the case but then again, Bad Magic was not always obvious. It slid in, like slime under a back door and when a person unwittingly ventured forth, it tripped you and brought you to your knees.
If that was true this time, if it had been a planned encounter, a challenge of sorts, then it might not be so simple to stop the sequence of events that had ended in the curse. The Bad Magic would be determined. She would have to be more so.
She didn’t need to be distracted by some sexy sheriff with broad shoulders and a walk that made you want to follow him anywhere. No way. Maybe it was a blessing that he apparently had some innate dislike of strangers.
Or maybe it was just her?
He acted like she was a damn inconvenience—sort of like running out of material for the display window when you were almost done. Or having an assistant manager decide she simply couldn’t abide lavender, when your whole theme was based around the color.
Bella had managed to keep her cool when those things had happened. She’d had some motivation, of course. She hadn’t wanted to have to tell Averil and her father that she’d lost yet another job.
She had some even stronger motivation now to handle the sheriff
. Her family’s future and more depended on it.
He had been, she had to admit, quick to act when she’d told him that Freida thought the Mercantile had been broken into. It had almost been enough for her to forgive him. When he’d insisted on going to Saul’s, she’d been surprised. He’d nagged at her about her bare hands and head and she hadn’t been as irritated as she’d pretended. After all, he was right and she was pretty sure, that in some awkward way, he was trying to tease her, to perhaps make up for the harsh words they’d shared at his office.
Then he’d bought the music box and she’d been thrown for a loop. The Blue Danube. Who would have expected that? She hadn’t heard the song in years but the notes had come back to her as if she’d heard them yesterday. Her mother had also had a music box that had played the song. Bella could remember lying on her mother’s bed, watching her dress or put on her make-up, and she’d wind and rewind the music box, so that the song played over and over again.
After her mother had died, her father had packed away the music box. Bella had never asked about it. She’d hoped she’d never hear the song again.
But then today, when it had played, the memories had been good memories and she wondered if she’d made a mistake. She hadn’t been able to resist listening to it one more time on the way back to the Mercantile and the sheriff had indulged her.
While that was perhaps a half point in his favor, it would be both futile and dangerous to encourage him. Futile because she was only in this time for a short while. Come December fifth, once Toomay was dead, she was going to meet her father as planned and they’d return to her time.
Dangerous because she might slip up and give the Sheriff a reason to be suspicious of her. She didn’t need that. Knowing her luck, she’d ramble on about something decidedly modern, like a microwave or flush toilets and he’d have all kinds of questions.
No. Her best strategy was to keep her mouth shut and simply endure the dance. It would be over before she knew it and she could focus on her reason for being here.
Bella opened the door of the cabin and Aunt Freida, bless her heart, was pouring pancake batter into a deep, cast-iron skillet. In minutes, the cakes were a golden brown and so fluffy that Bella’s mouth literally started to water.
“You’re spoiling me,” Bella said.
“It’s my pleasure,” Aunt Freida said. “Are you sure you want to work again today? Maybe you’d like to have the day off—that would give you more time to get ready for the dance.”
She already had pretty toes and there was absolutely no hope for her hair. It wasn’t like it was a real date anyway. She should probably wear a big scarlet O for Obligation on her chest. “I’d prefer to work,” she said. “Perhaps more spying at Saul’s?”
Aunt Freida laughed and sat down at the table with her own pancake. “We never did get a chance to talk about that. What did you think of his store?”
“He has some nice things,” Bella said. “But I think Sheriff McNeil got it right when he said that you have what people need and Saul has what people might want.”
“Jedidiah said that?”
“Yes. He went with me to Saul’s.”
Aunt Freida paused, her fork mid-air. “Jedidiah hates to shop.”
Bella felt a nervous flutter in her chest. The man had been like cat hair on a black skirt—hard to shake. Did he suspect her of something? Was he interested in her? She didn’t know which question scared her more. Another time, another place, oh yeah, baby. He was hot. But she didn’t really need the long arm of the law looking over her shoulder. “He bought a music box,” she said.
Aunt Freida put her fork down. “Well, I never. What does he plan to do with that?”
Bella didn’t know but now that she’d seen the delicate wood box and heard the waltz, she wanted one for herself. Even if she didn’t have an undercover assignment, she intended to visit Saul’s again soon.
She carried her now-empty plate over to the dry sink. She pulled the two bowls off the shelf that she’d seen Freida use the night before to wash and rinse the dishes. She walked over to the stove, picked up the kettle that had been heating while they’d eaten breakfast, and poured warm water into each of the bowls. “I’ll wash these plates and then we can go to the Mercantile,” she said.
Aunt Freida stretched her legs out and crossed her arms over her chest. She had a big smile on her face. “Now who’s getting spoiled?”
A half-hour later, when they arrived at the Mercantile, Aunt Freida, having unpacked all the stock the day before, took her rightful place behind the counter. This gave Bella two choices. One, she could stand to the side, feeling more awkward and agitated by the moment that she was literally twiddling her thumbs waiting for Toomay to show up. Or, two, she could run the risk of offending her aunt and try to bring some organization to the general chaos.
When her aunt was busy with a man who minutes earlier had rushed through the door, apparently desperate for a wagon wheel, Bella slipped toward the sewing section. She thought it must be the sewing section because her aunt had dumped bolts of fabric, rolls of lace, long strips of ribbons, and assorted buttons and spools of thread on the flat surface. Although, there were also a few boxes of nails, some cans of beef stew and tins labeled Tooth Powder.
Yuck. She’d used some of that same tooth powder this morning and it was not all that tasty. Infinitely better, however, than going days without brushing her teeth.
She pushed everything that didn’t appear to be textile related off to another shelf and started organizing. Fabric was either rolled or folded, lace was placed in a row, widest to narrowest, ribbons were sorted and strategically draped over fabrics of corresponding colors. She found a couple small boxes for the buttons and they got grouped first by color, then by size, and she didn’t stop until she had them all lined up, like little boxes of dominos. She did the same with the thread.
Customers came and went, and each time the door opened, she looked up. It took her a good half an hour to admit that she was looking for Sheriff McNeil and another to convince herself that the only reason she cared was that she intended to avoid the man.
But everyone who entered was a stranger. The men who came in tipped their hats, the women nodded and generally smiled. On the way out, after obviously having gotten information in addition to whatever purchases they’d come for, they said things like nice that you could visit, Bella or hope you enjoy your stay in Mantosa, Bella.
She should have been thrilled that her cover was holding but instead, she felt sort of sad that she was duping this whole town. She didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, for at that moment, Deputy Schneider burst through the door.
“Morning, Freida,” he yelled. “You were right about the snow. It started about a half hour ago.”
Then he looked Bella’s direction and his eyes widened. He walked toward her. “Morning, Bella,” he said, his tone lower, more subdued. “What the hell have you done?” he asked, his voice very serious now.
And she wondered if it were possible that he knew? Her stomach tightened. “Pardon me?” she asked, buying time to think.
He smiled at her. It was a sea of freckles parting and he suddenly looked about fourteen. Her stomach relaxed and she let out the breath she’d sucked in.
“Good lord, woman,” he said, shaking his head. He looked over his shoulder. “Freida, how the hell are we supposed to find anything now? You’ve gone and let her straighten up.”
Freida’s heels clicked on the wooden floor as she crossed the room. She glanced at the table then grinned widely, which proved that she had all her teeth with one notable exception on the upper right side. She inspected the lace, running the back of her hand across the pieces, like a musician might caress piano keys. She patted the tidy bolts of fabric and nodded when she saw the ribbons draped across them. She chuckled when she saw the boxes of buttons and the neat spools of thread. “Girl,” she said, looking up at Bella. “I know you didn’t come all this way to fix up my store but I swear, I’ve nev
er seen anything quite so pretty.”
Bella shrugged and felt a little embarrassed. “I like organizing things.”
“That’s never been one of my better traits,” Aunt Freida said.
Bart rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Freida. Your secret is safe with us,” he whispered dramatically.
Her aunt belted him on the shoulder. Hard enough that the Deputy swayed. “Don’t get smart with me, young man. Don’t ever forget, I’ve seen your bare bottom when you’re momma changed your wet pants.”
Bart’s freckles turned pink and he rubbed his shoulder. “Christ, Freida. You’ve got a good left hook. I’ll tell Jed he can stop worrying about you and whether anybody is trying to rob your store. Only a fool would cross you.”
Aunt Freida nodded and looked confident as she folded her arms across her large breasts. “Where is Jedidiah?” she asked. “I thought he was working days this week and you had the night watch.”
“That’s what I thought too,” Bart said. “The man worked all day yesterday and then decided for some crazy reason, that he wanted to work last night too. Not that I minded,” he added, winking at Aunt Freida. “I had supper with Patience and her folks. I think they’ve taken a liking to me.”
“Of course they have,” Aunt Freida said, sounding amused. “No matter. You can tell Jedidiah that the door was secure this morning with no signs of anybody fussin’ with it.”
“Hell, he already told me that. Man must have checked it every hour last night. Even so, he asked me to keep an eye on the place.” Bart rubbed his shoulder. “I didn’t necessarily expect gratitude but I didn’t expect to be sporting bruises, either. Hell, Freida, now I know how you convinced Jed to go to the dance. You threatened him with your fist.”
Bella lifted her chin. “Did he say he didn’t want to take me?” she asked.
Bart held up both his hands. “No need to be narrowing those black eyes at me,” he said. “And no, he never said he didn’t want to take you. But any fool would know that you’re exactly what Jedidiah McNeil fears most.”
