Suddenly her appetite returned, as loud and demanding as her rumbling belly. She lifted her fork, scooped a more than adequate lump of potatoes onto the tines and raised it to her mouth. If her circumstances didn’t improve, she might not be able to afford many more meals, so why not eat up? The company was good, the food hot and there was no amount of worrying that could erase the lousy day she’d just endured.
With a toss of her head, Kristen wondered what was on the menu for dessert. She thought she might be able to eat a pie—or two—on her own. The knots that had plagued her for hours had finally unraveled, and she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to enjoy the respite.
Undoubtedly she would spend the night staring at the darkened ceiling in her room, formulating the details of the plan taking shape in her head.
Now the ladies had managed to lift her spirits and she wasn’t silly enough to ignore the warmth flooding her veins. It had nothing to do with Mrs. King’s excellent chicken or the company, although both of those were enjoyable enough. And, thank goodness, it didn’t have anything to do with the state of her personal life—the romantic aspects of it, that was.
No, the quickening of Kristen’s pulse was the first flickering glow of providence. It was long overdue, so she savored the heat of optimism as fully as the meal.
Chapter Nine
The Emporium was nearly empty, the hour too early for most residents of the town to be out and about. Kristen was pleased there was only one other customer in the place. It gave her the clerk’s undivided attention.
Thank goodness for late nights and deep sleepers.
The fallout from the gunfight still raged. Random shots, more numerous as the hours passed and the whiskey at the saloon flowed, punctuated darkness until the early hours of the morning. Word around town was that the shot killing Ernie was stray, intended for some unscrupulous horse thief. Tempers flared over the senseless act, making a few of Brown’s Point more vocal citizens demand retribution. Whether or not anyone would ever be brought to justice for the act was doubtful but there was enough noise being made for a “necktie social” to keep everyone awake, even those who were safely in their beds.
The hullabaloo turned to Kristen’s advantage. She took her time perusing the available goods. The items on display were shoddy by comparison to the finer pieces she would have been able to purchase back home but there was no helping it; these goods would have to do.
“I’d like six skeins of blue embroidery thread. The same number of wide-eyed needles, please. And six of those lace-trimmed linen hankies, if you will.” She pointed to her selections, and watched the clerk remove the items from the display case. When the small pile was placed on the counter before her, she nodded her approval. “Perfect, thank you.”
“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
“No, this will do.” She reached into the buttoned wrist of her left glove and pulled out a small wad of cash. It was intentionally kept separate from her own funds; she didn’t want to chance confusing the girls’ money with her own. If there was any change due them, they would be sure to get it. Kristen paid the man, and then slid the extra bill back into her glove. The coins she dropped into the paper sack with the embroidery supplies. “Have a nice day.”
“You too. And come again, please.”
She acknowledged his invitation with a smile and fast nod before she took a step back from the sales counter.
“You’re up early.”
Jack’s observance, as well as his presence, caught her off guard. She jumped, visibly startled.
“Whoa there, calm down,” he said, reaching a steadying hand out and placing it on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to give you such a fright. I’m sorry.”
She shook away his apology with a wave of her hand. “You didn’t frighten me, so there’s no need to apologize. I just didn’t expect to see you behind me, that’s all. It seems like you and I are destined to bump into each other, doesn’t it?”
Jack pulled his hand back, and stuck it casually in his pocket. She noticed he carried a rifle in his other hand. It was the first time she had seen it, so its presence caught her attention. Her gaze fixed on the weapon’s long barrel. It was polished to a high shine, and she wondered how much effort it took to keep it so pristine. The stock, a dark wood, looked equally well cared for. Jack’s hand fit around its widest part with room to spare. She had never taken such notice of Jack’s hands before and hadn’t realized they were so large. While the weapon appeared heavy, he carried it with apparent ease. The man and rifle were a good fit for each other.
He chuckled, the deep gravelly sound of his voice sending a lightning-fast shiver up Kristen’s spine. She smiled, and hoped she didn’t look as wobbly as she felt.
Just being in Jack’s presence brought a whole new level of pleasure to the morning. His appearance also did peculiar things to her stomach. Perhaps she should have postponed the shopping trip until after breakfast. A full stomach might have eliminated the unsteady feeling sweeping over her.
“It does, doesn’t it? Still, I should have announced my presence, or at least cleared my throat.” He paused, looking deeply into her eyes.
Had someone else gazed at her this way, Kristen would have felt like a bug on the end of a child’s fingertip, open to scrutiny and having its antennae and legs counted. But Jack didn’t make her feel like he pried where he shouldn’t, or that his gaze was anything less than proper. His assessment was as gentle as a soft, warm breeze blowing off the ocean, and she felt in the brief moment that she was back at home and standing on the beach facing the open Atlantic.
“I have to admit, I was enjoying the pleasure of observing you.”
The unexpected flattery brought heat to her cheeks.
“Whatever do you mean?”
He shrugged, the nonchalant gesture bringing his shirtfront tight over his shoulder muscles. “That’s self-explanatory, isn’t it? You were so engrossed—so charmingly engrossed—in selecting your sewing supplies that I became…well, I suppose I became engrossed in watching you. By the way, what exactly are you sewing? It looks like you’ve got enough thread and whatnot to stitch a whole ships’ sail. Is that what you’re planning? To build a ship and sail it out of here, its mast hung with a blue-hemmed sail?”
The joke made Kristen laugh. A ship! In this land-locked frontier?
“Oh, yes, now you’ve discovered my secret.” They began to walk toward the front of the store. A woman with a pair of squabbling children had entered, and the serenity of the shop had vanished. By mutual unspoken agreement they headed for the exit. “A ship, that’s what I’m sewing up. And it’s going to be one dandy of a vessel, too!”
“I knew you were a woman of many mysterious talents, but I had no idea ship-building was in your vast repertoire.” He stood aside, holding the door wide. They stepped out onto the walkway, leaving the noisy children behind.
The day was beginning to warm up, and the sun was still far from high in the sky. It was going to be another scorcher. A ship sounded less silly and more like wishful thinking as they walked slowly along the wooden sidewalk.
“Mysterious? Is that what you think I am?” Back home she might have eschewed the question, not wishing to be thought coy, but here it felt natural to speak one’s mind—to a point.
Jack slung the rifle over his left shoulder. He crooked his other elbow and offered it to her. Kristen’s hand slipped into the space provided like it was meant to be there.
“To be quite frank, yes. I can tell you’re keeping a secret or two.”
If you only knew.
Trying to appear casual, Kristen asked, “Oh? And how can you tell what I’m keeping hidden, Jack?”
He shook his head, chuckling again. “Oh, no, I didn’t say I could tell what you’re hiding, only that you are hiding something. And as for the how of it? I guess it comes with the territory. Business-wise, that is. In my line of work it pays to be able to size someone up, to take quick stock of their character and form
a gut feeling about them. Instinct, I guess.”
“I’m not trying to pry, but what line of work are you in?”
They reached the intersection of the town’s two main streets. On one corner a rectangle of grassy scrub grew, encouraged to some semblance of green by the presence of an ancient cottonwood tree. The tree’s branches formed a wide, sheltering canopy. Beneath the tree two benches provided a place to rest, or to watch passers-by. Jack nodded toward the spot. When Kristen nodded her agreement, they crossed the street and walked into the shade.
“Of course you’re not prying. We’re unraveling mysteries, aren’t we? Anyhow, I’m a sawmill man. Actually the only mill in the county, so I get a fair chance to meet and greet, and do business with, all kinds of people.”
“Have you worked in the mill for long?”
They sat side by side on one of the benches. Jack rested his rifle, its butt on the ground between his feet and the barrel pointing up into the tree branches. Kristen placed her sack of supplies on the bench by her side. They both rested their backs against the tree trunk. The air was marginally cooler.
“All my life.” Jack removed his hat, setting it beside him. “My grandfather owned the mill. He built it when my father was a boy. My father should have taken his place when Grandfather died, but my parents were killed when I was a child so I inherited the place. Granddad knew it would come directly to me, so he brought me into the business when I was barely old enough to wear long pants. He taught me everything, and gave me a livelihood that I know and love. I owe him for that. I always will.”
“Were you young when your parents were killed?”
Jack answered without hesitation. “I was. Very young, actually.”
“Did your grandparents raise you?”
“They did. And I had one of the happiest childhoods ever. Now that Granddad is gone, Granny keeps me hopping but I can’t say I mind. Much.” He flashed a grin, and then went on. “She’s a wonderful woman, and like I said, I owe them everything.”
His admiration for the couple was apparent by the gleam in his eyes. Kristen was touched by his love, and admired the way he made no effort to conceal his feelings.
“Do you know you’re the second man who’s told me in as many days that he was raised by grandparents?”
Jack’s brows knit. “Is that so?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Now that the statement was out, there was no way to retrieve it. Had it been possible, Kristen would have recalled the observation, and swallowed the words down. Chalk it up to Aunt Irene’s intuition, but somehow she knew without being told that Jack didn’t have a fond bone in his body where Patrick Godsend was concerned. He was never overtly rude to the other man, but it didn’t take a Pony Express messenger to deliver the news that the pair barely tolerated each other.
She thought fast, hoping to turn the tide of the conversation, but Jack thought more quickly.
“Who?”
“Hmm?” Kristen swatted a slow hand at a mosquito buzzing near her ear.
Jack repeated the question. His voice had a sharpness to it she was unaccustomed to hearing. It annoyed her as much as the persistent mosquito but since swatting at Jack was out of the question, she answered him.
“Patrick Godsend. Pastor Godsend’s grandson.”
Even scowling, Jack looked handsome, and despite the displeasure dripping off his features, he was still, in an unaccountably unnerving sort of way, charming.
He rubbed his shoulders hard against the tree trunk, the rasping of his jacket on bark the only sound for a moment. The combination of his bear and man demeanor was almost impossible to ignore. Kristen grappled with herself; the impulse to throw her head back and laugh was strong.
Fortunately self-restraint won out over her sense of humor.
“Humph! So his grandfather, the preacher, raised him?”
“That’s right.” Knowing bears crave honey more than anything else, Kristen attempted to placate him. “And that’s probably the only thing the two of you have in common, isn’t it?”
Her plan backfired. Jack’s prickliness intensified, something she didn’t expect and wasn’t prepared to deal with.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
All desire to laugh fled, replaced by a tinge of indignation. He had no right to put her on the defensive, but that’s what he had done.
“It doesn’t mean anything, not really.”
He wasn’t the only one who could scowl—she pulled her brows together until her forehead hurt. Narrowing her eyes, she turned to face Jack.
“I just meant that you two don’t seem alike, other than your upbringings. And even that’s not really the same. Poor Patrick only had one grandparent to depend on.”
“‘Poor Patrick’! Why, it doesn’t look to me like he’s spent one minute of his life being poor—or suffering, either. No, those lily-white, never-touched-a-tool hands of his tell a completely different tale. Your ‘Poor Patrick’ is pampered, and probably spoiled, and hasn’t so much as lifted one finger to do a hard, honest day’s work in his whole life. Poor Patrick, my foot.” Jack crossed his arms over his chest, lowered his chin and glowered.
The tantrum was more than Kristen wanted to deal with. Fleeing Boston had taught her a number of things, one of which was that she didn’t have to put up with any man’s guff. Let them have their fits, unreasonable demands and other eccentricities of the male gender. For all she cared, every man on earth could jump up and down, cross his eyes and toes or wave his fists in the air—and whether they did or didn’t, she wasn’t about to put up with their foolishness.
Kristen stood, grabbed her parcel and started out of the modest town park.
“Hey! Wait a minute! Where are you going?”
Jack’s protest quickened her step. Keeping her back to him, she stepped out into the street. It was tough to hide her satisfaction, but she kept her amusement on her face and out of her voice.
“I’ve had enough of you for now, Jack Sterling,” Kristen called airily over her shoulder. She worried he would follow, so she scooted into the path of a big black stallion and was relieved when its rider swerved around her. Raising her voice, and not caring one bit whether anyone heard her, she added, “You’re behaving like a spoiled little boy. I don’t have the patience for such nonsense. Good day!”
Chapter Ten
Had it been physically possible to do so, Jack would have put his own boot print on his backside. How could he have been so stupid?
He had ruined what promised to be a cozy moment with the first woman to stir his romantic interests in longer than… Good God in heaven, in longer than he could remember! Even when he wracked his brain, searching for the memory of another female who stirred him the way Kristen did, he came up blank. Perfectly blank, not even the slightest glimmer of recognition for anyone else who had ignited his undeniably finicky interest.
There was no accounting for it. He must be out of his cotton-picking, ever-loving mind. Any other excuse for his outrageous behavior was just that, an excuse. No, he had to be crazy. What else could it be?
Granddad would have an explanation for this temporary insanity of mine.
He huffed, exasperated, annoyed and just plain puzzled by his actions. Back home, he was completely in control at all times. But here? And with Miss Kristen Marsh? Why, he could barely keep a civil tongue. What a fool he had made of himself.
She was enough to drive every ounce of common sense right out of his head. No, that wasn’t the whole unvarnished truth. It wasn’t so much the lady that drove him nuts—although she certainly had a way about her that strongly affected him. No, it was the thought of Kristen doing anything—even talking—with that softheaded Patrick Godsend.
There was no rational excuse he could give her for his foolish behavior.
And there was no way he could simply ignore the fact that he’d acted like an escapee from a mental institution.
No, he’d have to clear the air when he next saw Kristen.
&nb
sp; So, a gift of some sort…preferably the frivolous-but-pretty variety favored by so many women. He knew exactly what to get.
Fortunately the shop was, once again, deserted. The morning bustle was over and the afternoon shoppers had not yet arrived. Jack walked right to the counter, his boots beating out a rhythm that matched the pounding in his chest.
Good God in Heaven, what if she decides not to speak to me again? I acted like a jealous colt, with less brains that brawn and probably laced up her view that men who aren’t from Boston—or the pulpit—are untamed.
A fresh wave of embarrassment hit him. Jack slapped his palm against the wooden countertop. The sting was but a small atonement, and he knew it.
The clerk’s glance shot from Jack’s hand to his face. Apparently he felt no threat, because he stepped closer. His pasty complexion made Jack want to shoo the young man outside, into the warmth of the day. He looked unwell.
“What can I do for you? And weren’t you in here earlier? This morning, with a pretty lady—yes, I’m sure it was you.” His welcoming smile stretched. “Of course, I never forget a face.”
“Never?”
“Nope. Never. Well, almost never, leastways.” Planting his hands on the counter, and leaning closer still, he asked, “So? What’ll it be?” He swept a glance from Jack’s hat to his boot tips. “We got a little bit of everything. Spurs, hats, denim workpants if the ones you’ve got are your only pair. Socks, though during these hot months there ain’t much call for the woolen ones but we got those too, if you’ve a mind for some. Let’s see…we got a fair selection of mining tools, although I got to admit Jake over at the Smithy has got some mighty fine hand-hammered items. Now, what else…?”
Jack held a hand up to stop him. “I already know what I need.”
The clerk scratched behind his right ear with an index finger that looked like it hadn’t seen a bar of lye soap in a month of Sundays.
“Well why didn’t you say so, then? You could’ve saved a feller the trouble of ticking off the display shelves if you’d let on you know what you need.”
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