Winnie Griggs (3 page)

Everett followed him. “It was. And I’m looking forward to seeing how you’ll answer my last move.”

Adam sat down, studying the board. “I hear you have a new neighbor,” he said as he fingered one of the pawns he’d captured.

“Word gets around fast. If you haven’t heard a name yet, it’s Daisy Johnson. You remember her—the daughter of the peddler who was arrested for stealing the money from the fair last year.” Adam had been instrumental in getting the man cleared of the charges.

“
Falsely
arrested,” Adam corrected. “Yes, I remember her. Spirited young lady, if I recall.”

Everett agreed with that assessment but decided to change the subject. “So how is Reggie faring?”

“As stubborn as ever. She refuses to accept that she needs to curtail her more vigorous activities until the baby comes.”

Adam set down the captured pawn and slid his bishop across the board. “There,” he said as he stood. “That should keep you busy for a while.”

Before Everett could study the move, the door opened and in came his new neighbor, carrying the broom he’d loaned her last night, and a small parcel.

While she still wore a dress that had seen better days, there was a pleased-with-the-world smile on her face that overshadowed her dearth of fashion sense. From the bounce in her step it appeared she’d managed to sleep just fine last night. There was no hint of cobwebs in her hair this morning; rather, it was well combed and neatly pulled back in a loose bun.

And, like a shadow, her dog was once more right beside her. In the daylight, the animal looked only marginally more presentable than he had last night. Black and white with a shaggy coat, the mutt had obviously led a less-than-pampered life. One ear was torn, and there was an old scar on one hind leg. And if Everett wasn’t mistaken, the dog had one blue and one brown eye. Very disconcerting.

He took all that in within the few seconds following her entrance. It was the reporter in him, trained to notice even the smallest of details.

That quickening of his pulse—that was due to nothing more than curiosity as to what had brought her to his office.

Chapter Three

D
aisy paused when she saw that Mr. Fulton wasn’t alone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were busy.”

Mr. Fulton’s visitor turned, and she smiled in recognition. “Mr. Barr! How nice to see you again.”

Adam executed a short bow. “The pleasure is mine. I understand you’ve decided to take up residence in our fair town. Let me add my welcome to the others I’m sure you’ve already received.”

Now
this
welcome seemed genuine. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to setting down roots here.” The idea of finally having a permanent home was more than enough to carry her through all the work ahead of her.

“I’m sure I speak for my wife as well as myself when I say we’d be pleased to have you join us for supper one evening when you’re available.”

Her cheeks warmed in pleasure. “Why, thank you. I’d like that.”

“Be sure to let me know if you need help getting settled in.” Then Adam turned back to Everett. “It’s time I headed home. I’ll be back tomorrow, same time as usual, to see if you’ve figured out your next move.” He tipped his hat her way. “Enjoyed seeing you, Miss Johnson. Good day.”

Once he’d departed, Daisy felt her smile grow a bit more forced.

Which was totally unfair. After all, Mr. Fulton had been more than kind to her last night—in his own way, of course. But it was hard to remember that kindness when his disapproving demeanor reminded her so much of her grandmother.

“I don’t allow animals in my office,” he said stiffly.

He certainly wasn’t making it easy for her to remember his kindness. “I gave him a bath out by the stream this morning.” She did her best to keep her tone light. “And I assure you he’s very well-behaved. So he won’t leave tracks on your floor or bother any of your things.”

“Nice to know, but I still don’t allow animals in here.”

She sighed, then looked down at Kip. “You heard the man, boy. You’ll have to wait outside.” She opened the door and, meeting the animal’s gaze, tried to smile reassuringly as she pointed to the sidewalk. Kip, tail drooping, slowly exited. “I won’t be long.”

She turned back to Mr. Fulton and had to rein in the urge to glare outright.

But he apparently had no idea what she was feeling because he wore that infuriatingly condescending look on his face.

“You talk to that animal as if he understands you,” he said.

“Because he does.” She lifted her chin. “If not the words, then at least the feelings behind them. Dogs are smarter than most folks give them credit for.”

Mr. Fulton strode forward. “I trust your foot is better this morning?”

The thoughtful question put her more at ease. “Yes, thank you, good as new.” Then, remembering her reason for coming over, she thrust out the broom. “I wanted to bring this back in case you were needing it. I sure appreciate you loaning it to me. There was a wagonload of dirt that needed sweeping out of that place.”

He accepted the cleaning implement and set it against the wall. Then he waved her to a chair in front of his desk. “So you’re finished cleaning.”

If only that were true. “Afraid not. It’s going to take more than one day to take care of all that needs doing. But I made a good start.” She took the seat he’d indicated.

“I saw you heading out for a walk this morning,” he said as he took his own seat. “Checking out what our town has to offer?”

Had he been
spying
on her? “Actually, I went out and gathered up the materials to make my own broom. There’s still a lot of cleaning to do, and I didn’t want to wear yours down to a nub.” She smiled. “Besides, me and Kip needed to get out in the fresh air and sunshine for a bit after stirring up all that dust and dirt this morning.”

He raised a brow. “You’re
making
a broom.”

Why did he sound so surprised? “It’s not difficult. The hardest part is finding a stick that’s straight enough and sturdy enough to serve as the handle.” She’d learned to be resourceful, not to mention frugal, in the time she’d spent traveling with her father.

Then she remembered the other reason she was here. “I spotted some dewberry vines out behind the schoolyard when Father and I were here before.” She smiled, pleased with herself. “’Course, most of them won’t ripen for another week or so, but there were some that were ready to pick. I gathered up a bunch and they made for a right tasty breakfast.”

Something flickered in his expression, but she couldn’t quite read what it was. Not that it mattered. She handed him the cloth-wrapped bundle. “And I brought you some, as well.”

He didn’t seem particularly eager as he accepted her gift.

“I assure you that wasn’t necessary,” he said. “All I did was loan you a broom.”

“
And
brought me supper last night.” Daisy watched him unwrap the cloth. “Anyway, it’s not much. But they
are
quite tasty.” She didn’t believe in not returning favors. “Thank the good Lord there’s a plentiful crop of them this year.”

He stared at her offering for a moment without saying anything. Was something wrong?

“It’s quite kind of you,” he said, finally looking back up. “But shouldn’t you keep them for yourself?”

Was he feeling sorry for her? That wouldn’t do at all—she wanted friendship and respect, not pity. “Don’t you like dewberries?” She couldn’t quite keep the starch out of her tone.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted them. It’s just—”

“Then it’s settled,” she said firmly. “I can pick more when they ripen—the vines are thick with them.”

Looking for a way to change the subject, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Do you have any idea what sort of business used to be in my place?”

“I haven’t a clue. Someone who’s been in Turnabout a lot longer than I have could probably tell you.”

That confirmed something she’d already guessed. “So you’re not from around here?”

He spread his hands. “I’ve only settled here recently. I lived in Philadelphia before that.”

“Philadelphia. That’s over on the east coast, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “It is.”

She’d seen a map of the entire country once, and the east coast seemed a far piece from Texas. “So how’d you end up way out here?”

His expression closed off again. “Just looking for a change of scenery.” He straightened a few papers on his desk. “So what do you have left to do?”

Had she gotten too nosy? Curiosity
was
a weakness of hers. “I’ve sorted through most of the furnishings downstairs, but I’m sorry to say most of what was in there wasn’t fit for anything but firewood. There were a few pieces worth salvaging, though. And I found an old bed frame upstairs that’ll be good as new once I get some new rope to string it with and some ticking. I figure I can collect some straw and then stuff me a fresh mattress. Before you know it, I’ll have a proper bed to sleep on.”

He shifted in his chair when she mentioned her bed. Her grandmother would chide her for being so indelicate.

She’d best change the subject again. “Do you know of anyone looking for help? I need to find a way to earn some money.”

He leaned back in his chair. “What kind of work are you qualified to do?”

Something about the way he asked the question got her back up. “I can cook, clean, do laundry—I’ll take just about any honest labor I can find. I’m not afraid of hard work or of getting my hands dirty.”

“I haven’t heard of anything, but you might want to check with Doug Blakely over at the mercantile. His store seems to be a gathering place for most of the townsfolk, so if anyone’s looking, Doug’s probably heard about it. In the meantime, how do you plan to get by?”

Now who was being nosy? “Don’t you worry about me. I have a roof over my head, and I know how to live off the land when I need to. Besides those berries, there are plenty of edible roots and plants around here if you know what you’re looking for.”

“You can hardly live entirely on berries and roots for very long.”

A gent like him probably didn’t have any idea what it meant to go hungry for days at a time. “You’d be surprised what a body can live on when one has to. I also plan to set me up a little kitchen garden out behind my place. I’m especially eager to plant some herbs. Not only will they add flavor to my meals, but I use some in my concoctions.”

“Concoctions?”

“Yes. I make balms and potions to keep on hand for cuts and burns and such. Father calls them my concoctions.”

“And is that something you sell?”

“Oh, no. It’s mostly for personal use, though I’ve given some away when I saw a need.” She lifted her head proudly. “Some of those folks
have
asked to buy more from me, though.” She shrugged self-consciously. “But I don’t really feel right taking money for healing potions.”

“It appears you are a woman of many talents.” The sarcasm in his tone killed any chance that she would think he was paying her a compliment.

But she chose to ignore his lack of manners. Instead, she gave him her sunniest smile. “That’s kind of you to say. And you’ll see the proof of that when I open my restaurant.”

* * *

Everett realized he’d been harsher with his new neighbor than the situation warranted. But she’d apparently misread his tone. He glanced down at her offering of berries, and his conscience tweaked at him again. “Speaking of a job,” he said impulsively, “I can’t offer you anything full-time, but I do have a proposal for you.”

This time she leaned forward eagerly, apparently ready to forgive his earlier rudeness. “What did you have in mind?”

He was beginning to rethink his impulse, but it was too late to back out now. “Since you say you’re a good cook, what do you think about cooking for me?

“Really?”

Her hopeful expression brushed away the last of his hesitation. Besides, what could it hurt? “I’m the first to admit I’m not much of a cook myself, and I’m getting tired of the few dishes I’ve learned to prepare. I can’t pay you much, say two bits a day, but if you did the marketing and cooking for me, you could also share in the meal.” At least this way he wouldn’t have the distraction of worrying about her not having enough to eat.

She smiled at him as if he’d just handed her the keys to the town. Did that mean she’d forgotten his earlier rudeness?

“That’s more than generous,” she said. “And you won’t be sorry—cooking is something I’m good at. You’ll see.”

She folded her hands in her lap and struck what he supposed she thought of as a businesslike pose. “Just to make certain I understand what you’re wanting, are you looking for me to provide three meals a day, seven days a week?”

He waved a hand. “I believe I can get by with something a little less all-encompassing. I was thinking six days a week, with Sundays off. I’ll manage my own breakfast. And I’m not averse to eating the same thing twice, so if you prepare a large enough meal at noon, I can dine on leftovers for the evening meal.”

“That’s agreeable. When would you like me to start?”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“Not at all.” Then she fingered her collar. “Do you have much of a larder?”

“It would probably be best if you start from scratch and pick up anything you think you’ll need. I’ll leave the menus up to you. And I’ll let the shopkeepers know to put your orders on my tab.”

“Good. And don’t worry, I know how to be frugal with my purchases.”

A good quality, but he should make certain they were both working under the same definition of acceptable spending. “I will develop what I consider a reasonable budget for your weekly purchases. If there should arise a situation where you require more, we can always revisit the matter.”

“Agreed.” Apparently, she was finished with the businesswoman persona, because her face split into another of those delighted smiles. “Mr. Fulton, I’m beginning to think of you as my guardian angel.”

Now there was something he’d never been called before. And it was definitely
not
something he aspired to be.

“Not only is this job going to give me some security,” she continued, “but since you’ll only need me for part of the day, I’ll have time to find other odd jobs, as well.”

Other jobs? Did she even realize what she was saying? “That’s an admirably industrious attitude, but I imagine just getting your place in shape will take up most of your free time, at least for a while.”

She waved a hand as if that was of no consequence. “I’ll have to just fit that in when I can. Like I said, I need to earn some money, not just for staples, but to get my place furnished properly. Because the sooner I can open my restaurant, the better.”

She was back to that again. Oh, well, far be it from him to harp on a point once he’d made it. “If you’re serious about finding another job, as I said before, check down at Blakely’s Mercantile.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.” She stood. “Now I’ll get out of your way. I know you’re busy, and I have some more work to do over at my place. Besides, I’ve made Kip wait on me long enough.”

Would the rest of her meals today consist of nothing more than a handful of berries? “I was thinking, Miss Johnson, that I might do an interview with you for the paper.”

“With me?” She seemed genuinely startled at the idea.

“It’s not every day someone new moves to town and sets up shop.” Although that’s exactly what he and his companions from Philadelphia had done less than a year ago.

He saw her hesitation and pressed further. “It would be doing me a favor. I’m always looking for something fresh to print in the paper.”

Her face puckered as she contemplated his words. Then she gave him a doubtful look. “If you really think it will help you...”

He jumped in, not giving her time to change her mind. “Wonderful. Let’s discuss this over supper tonight. The hotel has a small restaurant where we can go. And eating there has the added bonus of giving you an opportunity to check out your future competition.” Not that he truly expected her to ever open her own restaurant.

“All right, I’ll do it.”

“And of course it will be my treat, since I am imposing on you for this interview.”

She fingered her collar. “That’s not necessary. I—”

He schooled his features in his haughtiest expression. “I assure you, for a business meal such as this, it’s customary for the reporter to pay.”