Worth the Wait: A Ladies of Harper's Station Novella

by Karen Witemeyer

  “So what brings you out here, Mrs. Adams?” Hazel McPhearson’s voice brought Tori back to the matter at hand.

  Tori ignored the twinge of shame that always jabbed when someone addressed her as Mrs. Adams. She insisted the ladies of Harper’s Station address her as Miss since she’d never been married, but when trying to win over new customers, sometimes it was better just to let the misunderstanding slide.

  “I’m expanding my business,” she explained, allowing her enthusiasm to pour into her voice. “Thanks to a partnership with Mr. Porter’s freighting company, I’m offering goods delivered directly to homes for those living between Harper’s Station and Wichita Falls. It would save you the time and hassle of having to make the long trip into town by bringing the store to you. We can provide ordinary staples or even the occasional extra item.” She raised up on her tiptoes and reached over the side of the wagon to collect a bolt of green calico that seemed to have snagged the woman’s attention.

  “For a very small delivery fee, you can—”

  “Put yer stuff away,” a harsh voice growled behind her.

  Tori spun around. A tall man marched straight for them, his face tight, his eyes belligerent. Her gut clenched. She dropped the cloth and backed up a step.

  “We don’t need any of yer fripperies.” He stomped straight up to Tori, his arm raised.

  Panic stole her breath. Her heart thumped painfully in her breast. Her mind flew to the pocket pistol holstered at her thigh. Should she?

  CHAPTER

  3

  On top of them now, the man brought his arm down.

  Tori whimpered and threw herself to the side. As she staggered out of his reach, she grabbed the fabric of her skirt, determined to defend herself and Mrs. McPhearson from the brute who must be her husband.

  Only the brute didn’t notice her dodge. He didn’t become enraged when his blow failed to meet her flesh. In fact, a grim look of satisfaction etched his features as his hand connected with . . . the calico?

  As if the unassuming cloth were a plague ready to unleash against his farm, he shoved it back into its crate and lunged against the side of the tall freight wagon as he stretched out his powerful arm and grabbed hold of the lid. With a deep grunt, he snagged the cover and dragged it over the box, then stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Tori released the skirt she’d raised to midcalf and fought for composure. He’d never intended to touch her. He’d been after the calico. Not her.

  “Colin McPhearson! You’ve got no call to treat our guest with such rudeness.” Hazel rammed her hands on her hips and glared at her husband, obviously not intimidated in the least by his rough manner. “And how dare you handle her goods without permission. Your hands are probably filthy.”

  Mr. McPhearson’s face lost a shade of its belligerence as he shuffled back a step. “I ain’t no crusty backwoodsman,” he grumbled. “I washed at the pump.”

  Hazel huffed but ceased her tongue lashing. She turned to Tori and offered an apologetic smile. “My husband, Colin.” Her eyes narrowed as she twisted to face her man again, apparently warning him to behave. “Colin . . . this is Mrs. Adams, a shopkeeper from Harper’s Station.”

  “And I’m Benjamin Porter,” a deep, wonderfully assertive voice said from behind Tori, “the freighter who transports Ms. Adams’ merchandise.”

  Ben. Strength soaked into Tori like rainwater into a wilted flower, firming her resolve and shoring up her confidence. The height and size that once made her uneasy now acted as a balm to her brittle nerves. She hadn’t seen him come around the back of the wagon. Her full attention had been fixed on Mr. McPhearson. But however he came to be standing behind her, she thanked God for providing an ally. Ben wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She might not feel completely comfortable alone with him, but to face an outside threat? She’d choose no other.

  Ben stretched out his hand toward the other man. McPhearson glanced at the offering, grunted, then reluctantly unfolded his arms and shook it.

  “I don’t mean to be inhospitable,” McPhearson grumbled, “but ye got no business danglin’ yer fripperies in front of me wife, temptin’ her with things we can’t be affording.”

  Hazel drew in an outraged breath. “Are you saying I’m too weak-willed to be trusted with financial decisions, Colin McPhearson? ’Cause if you are, I’ll—”

  “Calm yerself, woman.” McPhearson held both hands up as if to placate his wife. “I ain’t sayin’ any such thing. Ye know I trust ye with our money. It’s just . . .” He leaned closer to Hazel angling his face away from Tori and Ben, yet the air was so still, Tori could make out his words. “A man’s got ’is pride, wife. Don’t ye think I want to buy ye all them pretty baubles? I’d fill the house with ’em if I could.”

  Hazel visibly softened at his words. She moved closer and took his hand.

  “In a few wee years, I’ll ’ave this place turnin’ a profit. Then we’ll ’ave money fer more than the necessities.”

  Hazel peered up into her husband’s face. “I love you, Colin McPhearson, and never once have I doubted your ability to provide for our family. But winter’s coming, and both of little Sarah’s dresses are inches too short and worn paper thin. New fabric is a necessity.”

  McPhearson blew out a breath and ran a hand over his face. He looked toward the barn, where Sarah and Lewis scampered about, each chasing a different puppy around the horse trough. Tori recognized the guilt lining the man’s face as well as the frustration balling his hand into a fist.

  She’d been there. More times than she cared to remember. Wanting desperately to give her child everything he could possibly need yet falling short time after time. For two years she’d scoured dirty laundry, the only job she could find that would allow her to keep her son with her. She’d slaved over boiling pots until her back ached, scrubbed on washboards until her hands grew raw and cracked, and pressed wrinkles until she perspired so much she forgot what it was like to feel clean. And all the while, her wages barely covered room and board.

  Nevertheless she’d been determined to create a better life for her and her son, so she saved every penny she could spare, and a few she couldn’t, praying she’d one day have enough to convince a bank to give her a loan so she could open her own store. Having grown up a shopkeeper’s daughter, she knew the business inside and out, from creating displays to managing inventory, from keeping the accounts to brokering the best deals with suppliers. Yet bank after bank turned her down, labeling her a bad investment simply because she wore a skirt instead of trousers. If it hadn’t been for Emma, she might still be sweating in a laundry somewhere, struggling to make enough to buy Lewis a new pair of shoes.

  McPhearson was no different.

  “I just finished putting in the winter wheat,” the man murmured to his wife. “The account’s been paid off and our credit extended with the store in Wichita Falls. We won’t ’ave ready cash ’til June.”

  Tori’s heart ached. She had to find a way to help them. Her attention darted to the children, laughing and carefree, unaware of the pressure weighing on their parents. She knew better than to offer charity. There was no faster way to insult a hardworking man or woman than to offer a handout. She should know. She’d been on the receiving end several times in those early years, and never once had it failed to raise her ire. If only she could work around . . . That’s it!

  “I’m willing to barter.” Tori took a step away from Ben’s solid presence, finding her footing and confidence once again. Negotiation. That’s what the situation called for, and she could haggle with the best of them.

  The McPhearsons turned their gazes toward her, Hazel’s full of hope and expectancy, Colin’s doubtful and suspicious.

  “We don’t ’ave nuthin’ of value we’re willing to trade.” His words emerged in a gruff tone, as if they scratched his throat as he gave them voice.

  Tori lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eyes. “It’s been my experience, Mr. McPhearson, that one rare
ly sees value in the items constantly at hand. The everyday becomes mundane. But an outsider with a keen eye for what might be attractive to others sees things differently.” She gave a little tug to her jacket hem to punctuate her words. “I know what my customers are looking for in Harper’s Station, what I’d be able to sell at a profit. I daresay, if you give me a chance, I’m sure to find something we can agree upon as a fair trade for a few yards of calico.”

  Hazel released her husband’s hand, slid her palm up past the crook in his arm, and tightened her hold to hug him into her side. “Please, Colin? It won’t hurt anything to look. Surely we can find something suitable.”

  The man took one look at his wife’s face and relented with a nod. “All right. But keep away from me tools. Those ain’t up for discussion.”

  ———

  Ben hung back as Tori took charge and followed the McPhearson woman toward the house. The husband trudged along behind.

  Halfway across the yard, McPhearson turned back and called to Ben. “Ye comin’?”

  Ben shook his head. “Nope. I’m just the driver. Ms. Adams owns the shop. She makes all the buyin’ decisions.”

  McPhearson nodded. “Seems my woman’s determined to make a few buyin’ decisions of her own.” He shrugged. “I’ll have to keep an eye on her. If Hazel has her way, she’ll probably trade away me favorite chair. Finally got the thing fittin’ me backside just the way I like it.”

  “Colin McPhearson,” his wife scolded from the porch, where she and Tori had paused to eavesdrop on the men’s conversation. “No one in their right mind would take that lumpy, broken-down thing. There’s a better chance of me breaking that old chair up for kindling than there is of a sensible woman like Mrs. Adams taking it in trade.”

  “Don’t be criticizing me chair, woman,” McPhearson blustered, raising his voice but putting no real heat behind the words as he stomped the rest of the way across the yard.

  Ben contemplated going after them to keep an eye on things—his heart had plunged into his gut when he’d spied the angry farmer barreling down on Tori a few moments ago—but McPhearson had proven to be more bark than bite, and Ben had promised to watch over Lewis.

  Besides, Tori seemed to have things under control. Ben grinned. The woman was brilliant. Barter, indeed. He shook his head as he made his way along the side of the wagon up to the team. He had no doubt she’d find a way to make the trade. He’d seen her eyes go soft as she gazed at the little girl running around in her too-short dress. She’d hid her compassion well from the McPhearsons, the slight relaxation of the lines around her eyes practically imperceptible. They’d detect no pity from her, only a determined businesswoman keen on making a sale.

  He saw more. Oh, it wasn’t easy. Not with a woman who hid nearly every emotion she felt. The first few times he’d delivered supplies to her store, he thought her cold. Aloof. Until he’d noticed the way she interacted with her son. Her reserve didn’t completely disappear even on those occasions, yet warmth and affection oozed through it, as if slipping through the cracks of a retaining wall.

  That’s when he’d recognized the truth. Victoria Adams was a warm, caring, beautiful woman hiding herself behind a shell of stoicism. Why, he didn’t know. But ever since that day, he’d made it his aim to study her, to learn her tells as if she were a poker player sitting across from him in a high-stakes game. It had taken months of careful study, but he’d finally learned to decipher the small nuances of posture and expression that escaped her defenses.

  “She’s a tough one, Hermes,” he murmured to his lead horse, a giant black Shire that stood over seventeen hands, “but I think she’ll be worth the trouble.” He patted the beast’s neck, his gaze searching out Lewis to make sure the boy was keeping out of trouble. “Ma would like her, don’t you think? Seeing as how they’re cut from the same cloth. Smart, hardworking ladies, dedicated to their boys. Tori would fit right in at family dinners.”

  Helios, the second Shire of the team, raised his head and turned to look at his master as if asking to join the conversation. Ben obliged, stepping around to the front and petting the second animal’s white blaze. The two horses were nearly identical, both in looks and temperament. Black coats, white blaze and socks, docile, strong, obedient. They were the best team he’d ever owned, and he babied them like they were his kids. The only difference between the two draft animals was the white belly on Hermes, and Helios’s preference for carrots over apples.

  He’d searched long and hard to find the perfect pair for his freighting business after scraping and saving for two years to accumulate the funds needed to purchase them. He knew what it was to work for something he wanted, something he valued. He’d expend no less effort to win Tori’s trust and affection. And God willing, her hand in marriage. She was his matched pair. He felt it in his bones.

  “Mr. Ben, Mr. Ben. Look!” Lewis ran up, a fluffy black-and-white pup cradled in his arms.

  The pup barked at the horses and squirmed in the boy’s arms as if to get free. Helios snorted and yanked his head up at the unexpected commotion. Ben grabbed hold of the Shire’s cheek strap with a firm hand. It wouldn’t do to have him upsetting Hermes as well.

  “Easy, boy,” Ben crooned as he patted Helios’s neck. “There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just a pup.” He turned back to Lewis. “Not too close to the horses, scamp.”

  Lewis backed up a step as he got the dog under control. Ben nodded his approval. Even reached out a hand to pat the cute little fluff ball on the head. Looked like an Australian shepherd. Good stock dogs.

  “Sarah said I could name him.” Lewis grinned, all trepidation vanishing as excitement took over. “He’s the biggest pup of the litter, so I thought I’d call him Hercules. What do you think? Just like the strong man in the stories you tell me.”

  Satisfied that the horses were calm, Ben put a hand to Lewis’s shoulder and steered him a couple paces away. He hunkered down and offered his fingers for the pup to smell, enduring the friendly licks and shameless begging for attention before giving in and ruffling the dog’s ears.

  When he and his brother had been kids, they’d run across a book on Greek mythology in their teacher’s collection and had enjoyed the adventure stories so well, they’d started naming all their animals after the ancient characters. They still did as adults, though Bartholomew had more of an opportunity, running a livery in Seymour. Ben had saved the names he’d chosen until he’d found the draft horses that lived up to them. Hermes for the Greek god of trade and the guardian of travelers; and Helios for the Greek god of the sun who relied on mighty steeds to pull his golden chariot through the sky.

  “Hercules is a big name for such a little pup.” Ben raised a brow in feigned concern. “You sure he deserves such a tag?”

  Lewis looked down at the fuzzy fur ball, scrunched his forehead in thought, then lifted his chin in the same stubborn way his ma did. “Well, even Hercules started as a baby.” He lifted the puppy into Ben’s face until they practically touched noses. “He’ll grow, just like the other Hercules did. He’ll get strong and brave and be the best dog ever!”

  “I reckon you’re right.” Ben eased the pup away from his face and pushed to his feet, rubbing Lewis’s hair as he stood. “It was Hercules’s actions that made him a legend, not his name. A man should always remember that. It isn’t his name or his clothes or how much money he has that matters. It’s the way he conducts himself—with honor, kindness, and courage—that makes a lasting difference in the world.”

  “So you like the name?” The boy blinked up at him, giving Ben no idea if his attempt at conveying a life lesson had penetrated.

  Oh, well. He winked at the boy. “I think it’s an outstanding name.” He tilted his head and scrutinized the pup a second time. “This one’s definitely hero material. You picked well, Lewis.”

  The boy beamed and ran back to the little girl waiting for him by the trough. Ben’s heart gave a tug as he watched the two put their heads together and giggle ove
r the puppies’ antics. Lewis had wormed his way into Ben’s heart months ago. It hadn’t taken long. The kid was so eager to please and so hungry for male attention, a rare commodity in a town full of womenfolk. Now Ben couldn’t imagine his life without the little guy.

  Although . . . a secret smile slid across Ben’s face as he watched the two young’uns crawl around in the dirt like pups themselves . . . he could imagine giving Lewis a little brother or sister to play with. That would be a pleasure indeed.

  CHAPTER

  4

  Half a dress length of royal blue calico sprigged with yellow flowers and another of gray-and-pink-plaid wool remained behind at the McPhearson homestead when the wagon rolled out. Tori glanced over her shoulder to wave farewell to Hazel and Sarah, who watched their departure from the porch. Lewis called out his own good-bye, which was quickly seconded by a tiny yip as the boy snuggled his new puppy to his chest and raised one white paw in a doggy wave.

  She must have temporarily lost her sanity. As if a four-year-old boy running through the shop wasn’t bad enough, now she had a pup to watch out for. Tracking mud everywhere, getting into mischief, and—she took in the rapture on Lewis’s face as he held the dog close to his heart and murmured little-boy secrets in its ear—and making her son happier than she’d ever seen him.

  She turned back around in her seat, her own joy swelling inside. Sanity was overrated.

  “Pleased with yourself, I see,” Ben said as he guided the horses back onto the main road.

  Ben? When had she started thinking of him as Ben? And how was it that the irritating man could read her every thought as if she were a plate-glass window without even a lace curtain to dim his view? It was unnerving.

  “A dog is a good investment,” she answered primly. “It will teach Lewis responsibility and provide him with a playmate when I’m busy in the store. Besides, Hazel knew I was being generous in offering the gray wool in exchange for the five pints of blackberry jam she brought up from the cellar. I could see it in her face. When we came out of the house and she saw Lewis with the puppy, I swore I could hear the calculations clicking through her head. She recognized she had a chance not only to balance the scales but to get the calico, as well.”