A Bride in Store (6 page)

So her future business partner placed items on sale without a plan? She pinched the bridge of her nose. Axel had written that the store was floundering, and now she knew why. How did he deal with William’s sporadic attention to the business and his impulsive decisions?

“Are you all right, Miss Cantrell? I have some headache powders.”

“No, that’s not necessary.” She dropped her hand from her face.

She’d have to step lightly—Axel might soon be her husband, but he was surely more attached to his childhood friend than to her. She’d have to figure out a way to work with William—she had no choice.

Will couldn’t keep from glancing around his customer to where Eliza stood with Lynville Tate. The farmer evidently couldn’t decide which cologne smelled best on his own. Not that he’d ever had a difficult time choosing before—he bought whatever was cheapest. But today, he was sniffing each uncorked bottle Eliza held to his nose—more than once.

“I only need one of these. You gave me two.” Mr. Grant pushed a package of Veterinary Fever Remedy across the counter toward Will. “I need a cough powder.”

“My apologies.” How long would it take before he didn’t feel compelled to watch Eliza work? She certainly wasn’t incompetent. In two days, she’d practically taken over helping customers. Another two days and she might take over the whole store.

He returned to the medicine shelf and pulled off a similarly shaped package, double-checking the label this time. “I’m sorry your horse feels poorly. Have you applied hot poultices to his hooves or stomach?”

“No, but I’ll try it. Throw in some licorice. And do you have any saw-handle screws? I only need one.”

Crossing over to the licorice bin, Will could hear Eliza’s lilting voice respond to Lynville’s sickeningly charming rumble. He shouldn’t eavesdrop, but someone ought to make sure Lynville wasn’t trying anything untoward. Will took a piece of paper off the top of the bin and rolled it into a paper cone.

“I still think plain old bay rum’s the best.” Lynville’s chest puffed out a little. “It’s what a real man wears.”

“A good choice. I’m going to assume you could use more soap?”

“Of course.”

Why did Lynville just step closer to her? To prove he stank? Will flipped the licorice lid open, smacking it against the wall.

“How is your brush holding up, Mr. Tate? Badger bristles are the best.”

What on earth was she talking about? Had Irena taught Eliza how to shave her face last night?

Will dug the scoop in, hitting the bottom with a clang. Lynville looked over his shoulder and gave him a lazy smile. Hadn’t Lynville started sparking with Sarah? She was prettier and dressed nicer—and was silly enough to consider the clown.

“My brush is perfectly fine, miss, but I’d like your opinion on
a hat. I’ve wanted a new one for weeks but can’t decide which one makes me look more dashing.”

Will scrunched the paper cone in his hand. Lynville hadn’t so much as looked at a hat since he’d started frequenting their store.

He had to commend Eliza, though, for appearing oblivious to the man’s flirtations and acting as if every customer wore a grin too big for his face.

Will grabbed a saw screw and forced himself to walk out of earshot. He’d never sold as many things to Lynville as Eliza had stacked on the counter. Surely men wouldn’t continue to buy more than they needed because of some lady clerk. They’d run out of money eventually.

And once a wedding ring appeared on her finger, the excitement would die down.

“You seem preoccupied with that girl.” Mr. Grant leaned against the counter and glanced at his watch.

“Just checking on her. I haven’t trained her yet.” He put the licorice bag and screw in the man’s box.

“Doesn’t look like she needs training.”

Will forced himself to attend to his sums instead of looking at her again. “I think I have to agree.”

“So where’d she come from, and why’s she working for you?”

Will rubbed his lower eyelid and hemmed. “She was robbed on the train and needed work.” He didn’t know why he skirted telling the truth, except for some reason he hoped Axel wouldn’t like her.

Even so, Axel and Eliza should share the news, not him.

“You always were a sucker for pity cases.” Mr. Grant counted his coins and slid them over. “Much obliged.”

Will drummed his fingers on the counter, watching Lynville’s hands as he reached above Eliza to get a hat off a shelf, leaning more than necessary. He caught Lynville’s eye and glowered.

The man just smirked.

Before he could march over to assist with the hat and send Eliza
to the back room for a good half hour, she pointed to the hat he ought to purchase, brought it back to his pile, and tallied his bill.

And what a pile of things she’d sold to the rascal.

Once his old classmate left the store, Will leaned against the counter. “I hope Lynville Tate didn’t pester you too much.”

She wiped her hands with a bandanna. “I bet he bought more today than ever before.” She fluttered her eyelashes, and Will almost laughed at the comical exaggeration. Lynville deserved the pocket cleaning she’d given him for his outright boldness.

“He’ll be disappointed when he finds out Axel sent off for you.”

“You make me sound like something you order from a catalog.”

“Or a newspaper ad.” Will clamped his mouth shut—her bald-faced honesty was rubbing off on him.

She blinked a couple of times. “I suppose that’s right. But since I no longer come with the money advertised, he might just send me back.”

Would Axel be that shallow? A possibility. Maybe he ought to mention her penniless state as soon as Axel returned. Then his friend would form no attachment, and Eliza would be free to entertain other suitors—

No.
His thinking was going haywire, almost immoral—definitely unethical. Will ran his hands through his hair. “I’ve got to leave for a bit. Do you want to run the store, or shall I close?”

“Me?” She paused on the lowest rung of the ladder she’d just stepped onto. “You trust me already?”

More than he trusted Axel to work hard when no one watched. “Sure.” He forced himself to turn around and grab his hat rather than soak in the beaming smile brightening her face. “I’ll leave keys in case I don’t return quickly. Close whenever you wish.”

Her hand grabbed his arm. He tensed, yet she kept a firm hold.

“You’ve got another gun to fix, and you told that one man you’d have his purchases ready by five.”

“I have plenty of time to finish the gun.” He extricated himself
and found the customer’s shopping list. “Nothing unusual you can’t find.”

She stared at the paper with a stern tilt to her lips. “This isn’t exactly a good way to do business.”

“That’s right—it’s not.” And being fascinated by an unattainable, frumpy co-worker was definitely not good for business either. “Your fiancé should be here helping. I’m going to go find him.”

He’d find Axel and drag him back before nightfall.

Chapter 5

If Silas Jonesey hadn’t been sitting on the porch of his tiny cabin watching him approach, Will would have turned around in defeat. This was the last place he could think of to check for Axel, but his gelding wasn’t tied here either.

Will surveyed his friend’s impressive spread. At only twenty-six years old, Silas had cultivated his fields and improved his buildings more than some who’d owned property twice as long.

“What’re you doing up my way?” Silas called from his rocker, where he was busily sharpening a knife on a whetstone.

“Looking for Axel Langston.” Will slid off his saddle and led his horse to the thick green grass under the hackberry tree. “Has he been by lately?”

“Naw, told him I didn’t want his company if he only came to drink.” Silas crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Those fancy pills of yours didn’t help, by the way.”

Will shook his head and tried not to sigh too loudly. “I told you they wouldn’t, but you insisted on trying something.”

“Well, if Dr. Forsythe’s medicine turned me back into a drunk, then some other medicine ought to fix it.”

A pill for everything? That’d be nice. Then he wouldn’t have to go to school; he’d just consult a list and cure the world. “I’m sure Dr. Forsythe didn’t intend for you to drink like a fish.”

Silas drew his dark eyebrows together. “It was supposed to cure melancholia but didn’t do a lick of good.”

“Potions and magic won’t cure you.” Will tromped up the stairs and slid onto the porch rail. “You have to face the fact that your wife is gone and work through those feelings with God’s help—not medicine. When Nancy left me for—”

“Don’t go comparing your girl calling things off to my wife leaving. You have family and can get married anytime you want.”

Will scanned the horizon, too pink for him to stay much longer. “I don’t know about that—the pickings are slim.”

“Just don’t choose a mail-order bride,” he spat.

Will kept the smile off his face. “Not all mail-order brides are bad—I’m sure Everett and Carl would vouch for them.”

“Not Axel’s father, not the man who married the German woman, and not me.”

Will rubbed his jaw, his stubble as scratchy as Silas’s personality lately. “There’re plenty of unhappy couples without the brides being ordered by mail.”

“At least they’re unhappy
together
.” Silas thunked his legs onto the railing.

Will pulled a mint from his pocket. “Try taking one of these a day.”

Silas caught the candy and frowned.

“It’ll sweeten your disposition.”

Silas chucked the mint back at Will.

He pocketed it and wiped off his grin. “I still wait outside church in case you show up.”

“Isn’t it enough I got off that tonic?” Silas stared at his hands as he rubbed them together.

“God wants you back, Silas. You. As you are.”

He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “He doesn’t want me angry.”

“You’re only angry because you want to be.” The man knew exactly what he ought to do yet refused. “Anger has gotten you nothing but years of gut ache. Give it up.”

“So what if it’s turned me sour? It’s fueled me into getting my back forty under control and then some. I’ve got more wheat growing than any other homesteader in the area. An orchard even. Lucinda wouldn’t complain now that I’m better off than almost anyone around these parts.”

Will took in the man’s pristine acreage. “Treasures that rot.”

“I don’t recall asking for a sermon,” Silas muttered. “Actually, I don’t recall asking you over at all.”

“What’s stuck in your craw today?”

“Today I’ve been alone again for six years.” Silas played with a cracked fingernail. “Seven months of having someone to call my own wasn’t enough.”

Will laid a hand on Silas’s stiff back. No use in any more talk. The man had probably used his vocal cords more in the last five minutes than the last five weeks—though his isolation was more Silas’s own fault than anyone else’s. Silas had been dealt a bad hand, though. Will couldn’t imagine the life of an orphan, let alone how an orphan would feel upon being abandoned a second time by the person who mattered most in his life.

Maybe one day Silas would return to God and lay down his anger. In the meantime, Will couldn’t do much besides pray. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair, then. Got any idea where I might find Axel? No one’s seen him at any of the saloons.”

“Have you asked his pa?”

“His parents’ is the only place I haven’t checked.” He’d hoped to avoid them—he just couldn’t imagine Axel willingly staying home for more than two days. And learning of his absence would only aggravate his father’s normal irritability.

Forcing her sleepy eyes to stay open during a jaw-dropping yawn, Eliza followed her nose to the dining room table. The baked sugar smell that had woken her turned out to be a stack of muffins. Enough for ten people, not just two women.

Irena Lightfoot pushed through the kitchen door with a plate of scrambled eggs in one hand and a pitcher in the other. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” Though a fancy white-and-blue scarf obscured her face, her low-hanging brows suggested a frown.

“I couldn’t sleep any longer.” She took the pitcher from Irena’s knobby hands and filled their glasses. “I’m famished.”