Winnie Griggs (9 page)

This was going to be a good test as to just how well that sunny disposition could survive real adversity.

* * *

Wednesday afternoon, Everett heard an unusual racket out behind his building and went to the window to check it out.

What in the world? Daisy was driving a horse-drawn wagon into the yard, a wagon loaded with washtubs and other laundry equipment. Had she loaded all that up on her own? Didn’t she know how to ask for help?

He set his coffee down and headed for the stairs. By the time he stepped outside, she had jumped down from the seat and was moving toward the back of the wagon.

She paused a moment when she spotted him. “Oh, Mr. Fulton, I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“Not at all. I’m just curious as to what you think you’re doing.”

Daisy continued on her way around the wagon. “I’m getting set up for laundry day tomorrow. Miss Winters is loaning me her equipment.”

“Forgive my curiosity, but why didn’t you just arrange to do the laundry at her place? Surely she would have let you have the use of her washhouse.”

Daisy let down the tailgate of the wagon. “She offered. But I figure in order to make this work, I’m going to have to do some work the night before and the night after. That’ll be much easier to do if I’m working from my own place.”

So she realized it would take more than a day’s work to get it all done. “How many of her customers did you agree to take care of?”

“Three other gentlemen besides you and Mr. Dawson. I also agreed to take in the wash for the mayor’s family, since Mrs. Sanders hurt her foot yesterday.”

Five individuals and a family of four? “It sounds as if you’re going to have your hands full.”

She nodded. “I’ve got all the work I can handle—and since it’s only one day a week for three weeks, I can manage it without wearing myself down to a nub.”

He joined her at the back of the wagon and helped her up into the bed. She began pushing items toward him, and he lifted them out and set them on the ground. It felt as if they’d been working as a team for some time.

“Is this one of Fred Humphries’s wagons?” Fred owned the livery stable and had several wagons and carriages that he rented out.

“It is. I traded him a dewberry cobbler and the promise of two more in exchange for the use of this rig and horse.”

Everett happened to know that Fred’s new wife had a reputation as an excellent cook, so Fred was no doubt just being obliging. Foolishly sentimental of him, but the livery operator had revealed a softer side of himself since his marriage.

Once the wagon was unloaded, he turned to help her down. Rather than simply giving her his hand, however, he impulsively grasped her waist and swung her to the ground. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she instinctively placed her hands on his shoulder. He liked the feel of them there, the warmth and the implied trust.

Their gazes locked. Her feet touched the ground, but for several heartbeats neither of them pulled away. The look in her eyes, the sound of her breathing, the faint scent that was so uniquely her were like silken ropes holding him in place. Was surprise the only thing she was feeling? Or was it threaded through with something stronger?

His own pulse quickened, and he felt a vein in his neck jump.

Then her dog ran up, barking, and the spell was broken. Both of them dropped their hands and took a step back.

“Thanks for your help.” Daisy had stooped down to rub her dog’s head, effectively hiding her expression from him. But her friendly tone sounded forced. She stood and moved to the front of the wagon, still not meeting his gaze. “I should get this rig back to the livery. I told Mr. Humphries I wouldn’t keep it long.”

He followed and handed her up. Their contact this time was brief and entirely businesslike. With a short nod and a stiff smile, she set the horse in motion. He watched as she expertly turned the wagon and headed off with her dog trotting alongside.

Everett didn’t move. What had just happened? He’d come very close to crossing a line he had no business crossing. Not only was Miss Johnson his employee, but she’d made it very clear she planned to set down roots in Turnabout. And he planned to move on at his first opportunity.

Even if that wasn’t the case, they were totally wrong for each other. And he needed to make that perfectly clear to her.

And to himself.

* * *

Daisy walked slowly back to her place. She wasn’t sure exactly what had happened when he helped her down. For the merest heartbeat of time, she’d thought he might try to kiss her. What a ridiculous notion.

But what
would
have happened if Kip hadn’t interrupted them? What would she have done if he
had
tried to kiss her?

Mr. Fulton wasn’t at all the kind of man she’d been praying to find. She wanted to spend her life with a man who valued family and affection, who knew how to laugh and who wasn’t afraid to show emotion.

Someone who liked dogs and kittens, for goodness’ sake.

Best she stay focused on those things and not on how very nice it had felt to be in his arms.

Because only disappointment lay that way.

Chapter Nine

W
hen Daisy turned the corner of the building, she was surprised to see Everett still there. How were they supposed to act toward each other now?

Kip’s bark drew his attention, and she noted his cynically amused smile was back. It appeared he wasn’t having any bothersome thoughts about their encounter. So why wasn’t she more relieved?

She also noticed he’d been busy in her absence. “You set up my washtubs. Thanks so much, but you didn’t have to do that.”

As usual, he ignored her thanks. “I placed them here so they would be near the clotheslines but would drain away from them.” He waved a hand. “But if you prefer to have them somewhere else, they’re easy enough to move.” His tone indicated he didn’t think that would be particularly wise.

“No, no, this is perfect.” Apparently, they were supposed to pretend that moment of awareness had never happened. Then again, perhaps for him it hadn’t. Had she read more into it than had been there?

Of course she had. Why would a stuffy, undemonstrative man like Mr. Fulton want to embrace her?

He brushed his hands together, no doubt getting rid of some speck of dirt. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Actually, I
could
use your help with one more thing.”

He raised a brow as if he hadn’t expected her to take him up on the offer. “And that is?”

She pointed toward the clotheslines he’d referred to earlier. “I checked those yesterday and they seem sturdy enough. But I’ll need more line for all the clothes I’ll have to hang. Miss Winters gave me some extra cord she had lying around, and I’d like to string it from that pole to the pecan tree, assuming it’s long enough.”

“Let’s have a look.”

She fetched the cord, and they determined by the simple expedient of stretching it between the two anchor points that it was indeed long enough. Everett retrieved a hammer and some nails from his place, and in a matter of minutes the task was accomplished.

Daisy stepped back and reviewed their work. It was easier than focusing on him. “Thank you for all your help. I hope it didn’t put you out too much.”

He merely shrugged. Didn’t the man know how to accept a simple thank-you with grace?

Keep this businesslike,
she reminded herself. “Would you mind bringing me whatever articles you want laundered? I’ve asked the others to do the same. I’m going to get everything marked and sorted tonight so I can start bright and early tomorrow.”

“Marked?”

“That’s one of the tips Miss Winters shared with me. It’s how she keeps everything identified to a particular customer. She sews a couple of small identifying stitches on each piece—different colors or different patterns for each person. Once the clothes are ready for pick up, she removes the stitches.”

He nodded approvingly. “Clever.”

Of course he would appreciate such an efficient system.

Mr. Dawson came around the corner just then, toting a large sack. “Ah, here you are. No one answered my knock, and I thought I heard voices back here.”

“Hello. Sorry—I should have been keeping an eye out.”

“No need to apologize.” He nodded a greeting to Everett. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all,” Daisy hastened to reassure him. “Mr. Fulton was just helping to get everything prepared for tomorrow.”

“Was he, now?” Mr. Dawson gave his friend a speculative look.

But Everett’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t speak.

With a grin, the cheeky young man turned back to Daisy and lifted the sack. “Where would you like me to put this?”

“If that’s your laundry, just set it there on the porch. I should have everything ready for you by Friday afternoon.”

“That’s fine. I can’t tell you how glad I am to have someone fill in during Miss Winters’s absence.”

Everett interrupted them. “It appears you have no further need of my assistance, so if you’ll excuse me, I have some things of my own to tend to.”

“Of course. Thanks again for your help.”

Later that evening, as Daisy sorted through and marked the mountain of laundry piled in her storeroom, she thought again about that moment when Everett, however unintentionally, had held her in his arms. Even if it hadn’t meant anything to him, she
had
felt something. Was she developing feelings for Mr. Fulton, feelings beyond those of a neighbor and friend?

She wanted to find a good man to marry, of course, but that didn’t mean she should fall for the first gentleman who showed her a bit of kindness. Besides, he obviously didn’t have any feelings toward her other than those of an employer. It had been his own brand of neighborliness that she’d mistaken for something more.

Because, of course, he’d associated with debutantes and sophisticated ladies during his prior life in Philadelphia. She knew how poorly she compared to such women—her grandmother had always made that very clear.

She wouldn’t apologize for who she was. She just aimed to find herself a man who would appreciate what qualities she did have.

And that obviously wasn’t Mr. Fulton.

If that left her feeling disappointed, so be it. She’d get over it.

* * *

Everett rose bright and early the next morning. Truth to tell, he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep last night. He’d felt a restlessness, an edgy kind of disquiet that kept him from settling down. But today was a new day, and he intended to take control of his life again.

He looked out from his kitchen window and wasn’t surprised to see Daisy already heating water over a fire. Two of her tubs were half-filled with water, and she was currently pouring the contents of a steaming kettle into the third. The sun was barely up. When had she found time to get so much done?

In that, at least, he intended to emulate her. Without her incessant humming and singing to distract him, he’d be able to focus and be much more productive than he’d been these past few days. Which was a good thing, because the paper was scheduled to go out tomorrow and he hadn’t even started laying out the type. It wasn’t like him to be this far behind schedule. Of course, that schedule was carefully structured to include time for unexpected delays, so he still had time to get the job done if nothing else interfered with his work.

But first he would bring Daisy a cup of coffee. That would keep him from being distracted by thoughts of her missing breakfast.

She greeted him cheerfully, apparently undaunted by the mountain of work before her. She thanked him profusely for the coffee, but as soon as she’d gulped it down, she turned right back to her work.

So, no idle chitchat today. Which was fine by him. He had work of his own to tackle.

Throughout the rest of the morning, Everett found himself missing the sound of Daisy’s voice and her cheerful clattering about. Had her presence insinuated itself into his routine to the extent that he felt its absence?

He checked on her through the window a few times to see her variously working with the scrub board, stirring the clothes in steaming water or cranking it through the wringer.

At noon, he stepped outside and insisted she pause long enough to eat. They ate together on her porch in companionable silence. She shared bits of her sandwich with her mutt, but he didn’t call her on it. And as soon as she finished eating, she thanked him and went back to work.

If he’d worried about there being any awkwardness between them after that little incident yesterday, his fears were put to rest. She was the same sunny, smiling Daisy as ever.

* * *

Daisy wiped her brow as she set the basket of wet laundry on the ground below the last bit of unoccupied clothesline. Not only was the day hot, but using kettles of boiling water had sapped a lot of her energy.

But the washing was done, and once she had this final load hung she’d be finished with this part of her job. Of course, it would soon be time to take down the earlier loads and begin ironing and folding.

It was going to be a long evening. Not that she was complaining. She’d prayed for other earning opportunities, and that’s exactly what this was. With the money she earned from this job she’d be able to purchase some additional paint and lumber.

Mr. Fulton had done his part to make things easier on her. Not only had he helped her get everything set up yesterday, but he’d checked on her several times today—bringing her coffee this morning and a meal at noon. He’d even stepped out here a couple of times just to make certain she was okay. Not that he’d admitted such, but she knew.

Kip’s bark alerted her that she was no longer alone. When she turned, sure enough, Everett was back.

“I see you’re still at it,” he said by way of greeting.

Dredging up enough energy to smile, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “Just finishing hanging up the last load.” She placed the final pin on the final garment, then turned. “What time is it?”

“Just past four-thirty.” He shook his head. “I still say it seems a hard way to earn a little extra money.”

Why did he keep saying that? Was he trying to discourage her? “Nothing I can’t manage for a few weeks.”

“So now that you’re done with the hanging, do you plan to take a break?”

“A very short one. The first load will be ready for me to take down in a little while. And that means I’ll need to start sorting and folding.” She tried not to let her tiredness show. “I can start on the ironing tonight, but I probably won’t have time to finish.” She gave him a hopeful look. “I can finish it while I’m cooking tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.”

“As long as you get your cooking done, whatever extra time you have is yours to use as you please.”

“Do you mind if I set up my ironing board in your kitchen tomorrow, or would you prefer I keep all my business on my side of the wall?”

“As long as it’s not in my way, do what works best for you.”

“Thanks. Now, you might want to step back. When I pull the plugs on these tubs, the water will likely slosh over on anything in the vicinity.”

She pulled the plug on the first tub, then moved to the second and did the same. Water came gushing out of both of them, flowing in wide, crooked rivulets toward the back of the lot.

The third tub, unlike the other two, sat flush on the ground. When she pulled the plug, not much happened.

“Looks like you’ll need to bail the water out of that one,” Everett observed.

“That’ll take an awful long time.” Not to mention more effort than she felt she could give at the moment. She could just kick herself for not thinking to elevate it a few inches off the ground before she’d filled it. Then she had an idea.

She looked to Everett hopefully. “Do you think, if I can lift the edge of this a few inches, you could shove a piece from the woodpile under it?”

* * *

Everett was affronted by her request. Did she think so little of him as to assume he’d stand by and let her lift that thing? He stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll do the lifting, and you slide the wood underneath.”

“Oh, but I don’t want to—”

“Miss Johnson, I don’t have all afternoon to argue this with you. Now, let’s find some suitable pieces of wood, shall we?”

Once they found the appropriate pieces of wood, Everett moved to the large washtub and got his hands under the bottom edge to tilt it forward. Some of the water sloshed over the lip and, since he’d had the bad judgment to stand on the downhill side of the washtub, the already damp ground he stood on became soupy as the water flowed back his way. He winced as he thought about the damage to his shoes.

Daisy quickly shoved the first scrap of wood under the washtub. Grabbing the second piece, she quickly moved around him to slide it under the other side.

In her rush, however, she lost her footing and landed with a plop right on her backside. Her mutt ran up and managed to sideswipe Everett. Like a row of dominoes tumbling, Everett also lost his balance and pitched forward. Unfortunately, his left hand ended up partially under the tub, and to add insult to injury—literally—his body weight added more pressure to the already crushing weight.

The pain was immediate and excruciating. It was all he could do not to blister the air with his imprecations.

Through the haze of pain, he was aware of Daisy scrambling to her feet. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Your suit is—” Then she caught sight of his predicament and immediately grabbed hold of the tub and lifted it enough for him to pull his hand out.

The throbbing agony tripled. He gingerly tried to flex his fingers and was relieved when he was able to do so, albeit not without exacerbating the pain.

“That looks awful!” She stared at his hand, stopping just short of touching him. “Oh, this is all my fault.”

It
felt
awful, too. But he refrained from saying so. “Please, just let me sit here a minute and catch my breath.”

“Of course. You stay right where you are, and I’ll go fetch Doc Pratt.”

“Nonsense.” He took another long breath, attempting to think clearly. He gingerly moved his hand again and tried to smother his groan. “I can tell it’s not broken, so there’s nothing the doctor can do for it that time won’t accomplish, as well.”

“Shouldn’t we at least get him to look at it?” She pushed a damp wisp of hair from her forehead. “Please—it would make me feel better.”

Why did she think that plea would convince him?

But somehow it did. “Very well. But you’re not going to ask him to come here. It’s my hand that’s affected, not my feet.” He stood. “I’m perfectly capable of walking to his office.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

Did she think he’d renege if she wasn’t with him? But it wasn’t worth arguing over.

“Give me a minute to change into something dry. And if you’d care to do the same—”

“Don’t be such a fusspot.” She sounded almost angry. “A little water and mud won’t hurt anything, but not getting your hand looked at right away might.”

Did she just call him a
fusspot?
And did she really expect the two of them to walk through town with mud-plastered backsides? He wasn’t sure which offense he found the more egregious.

She swept out an arm with her finger pointed, like a general ordering his troops forward.