The Secret Admirer Romance Collection

by Barratt, Amanda; Beatty, Lorraine; Bull, Molly Noble

  Except when she opened her supply drawer, she couldn’t find any typewriter ribbon tins, never mind one with a new ribbon inside. After spending several minutes searching the desk drawers and shelves of her eight-by-eight-foot office, she knelt down on the new planked floor to see if it had rolled under her desk.

  From that position, she saw Jack’s boot step up from the hard-packed ground of the freight shop onto her new floor. “You praying?”

  “No, but I ought to because I can’t find what I’m looking for.” She started to rise and he held out his hand, which she accepted. She didn’t know why Jack, being the third son, had an ingrained sense of courtesy lacking in his brothers, but she was grateful God had made him that way.

  He handed her a slip of paper. “Can you run uptown for us? We’ll need those after dinner, if it’s possible. Add whatever you need to the list.”

  “Sure enough.” She tucked the list with Jack’s hen scratch into her pocket. “Pa doesn’t want to go today?”

  “He’s helping me with that broken wheel.”

  Which left her to run the errands. And since she needed a typewriter ribbon, she would have to visit Adam’s store at some point. First or last? Last, she decided, as it would prolong the heady sense of anticipation of their meeting, with nothing to stop her from running home in misery afterward when he failed to acknowledge that she was alive.

  But there was always hope.

  Adam unpacked the fragile porcelain bonbon dishes from the first crate. Since the catalog hadn’t given full descriptions, he hadn’t known what he would receive after telling the dealer to send an assortment of special items not usually found in a general store.

  He smiled when he pushed away a handful of straw and saw the pink fluted vase dressed in floral accents and covered in a shiny glaze. His mother had one just like it. Memories rushed in and he closed his eyes. His chest tightened as if a band squeezed the air out of his lungs. Leaving his past lying in the crate alongside the delicate vase, he rushed outside.

  She’d had one like it.

  He sucked in the morning air with its whiff of wet vegetation from the banks of the nearby Tongue River. Across the road, the pastoral scene of the park drew him forward until he stood beneath his favorite tree. He would clear his head and shore up his emotions while keeping an eye on the store.

  Why had he ordered pretty, delicate things to attract women when they only reminded him of what he had lost? Why—because he’d thought it was the better solution to avoid answering all the friendly questions men asked when making purchases. They wanted to discuss the weather and his background, the railway and his past. No matter what was going on in the world, they wanted to know about him.

  And that was his business alone.

  Women, on the other hand, tended to talk among themselves as if he weren’t even there. Several times he’d been privy to personal conversations better said in someone’s kitchen than a general store where anyone could hear and then retell with embellishment, yet he’d seemed to be as visible as a pickle keg.

  That suited him fine. He liked running a store. It was talking with the customers that clammed him up tighter than an oyster.

  A woman strode down the opposite side of the street with a familiar purposeful gait. Normally he didn’t notice such things, but he’d once overheard someone say it was a pity Janet Smith had been raised by a family of men without a woman to influence her behavior.

  Adam was sorry she had lost her mother, and thought she’d turned out just fine. Not that he had an opinion one way or the other.

  She clutched a sack in one of her swinging arms, which meant the men had probably sent her on another round of errands. And she was headed to his store.

  Back inside, Adam guarded himself against unwanted memories. He lifted the ten-inch vase out of its straw nest and set it on the glass-topped display case.

  Footsteps announced Miss Smith’s arrival. “Oh, that’s pretty.”

  Without answering, he set the vase inside the case on the center of the top shelf where customers could see it from the front as well as down through the glass countertop.

  “What else did you get?” She peered over the side of the crate.

  He lifted it off the counter and set it on the stool behind him. Answering her question would invite a response. A response would lead to a discussion. A discussion today meant more talk the next time, which could allow room for personal questions. It would be better if he concentrated on business.

  “What can I do for you?” His practiced tone was steady and businesslike. He swiped the chaff from his counter to avoid looking at her.

  “I need a typewriter ribbon.” She plunked her sack on the counter without care for its contents.

  He cringed at the sound of metal clunking on his glass counter. While she leaned forward to see better, he raised the sack and slid his hand across the smooth surface to check for cracks.

  “Did I break it?” Her voice held enough remorse to soothe his irritation.

  “Not yet.” Needing a cushion of some kind, he reached for a magazine he’d been reading earlier and set the offending sack on top of it with care.

  “Yes, well.” She brushed something away from the side of her face. “About that ribbon?”

  By far, Janet Smith used more ribbons than anyone else in Miles City. She must be writing a book to go through ribbons like she did. Or was she replacing them before they were worn out?

  He set the box holding the tins of typewriter ribbons between them. It wasn’t any of his business how many ribbons she used as long as she had the money to pay for them. Yet, while he waited for her to choose one, the price he’d have to charge niggled at him. The Smiths worked hard and didn’t have a wallop of money to throw away.

  She looked over each tin as if choosing a jewel, and then picked one that was identical to the rest. “I’ll take this one.”

  Her satisfied tone was like a punch to his gut. No matter how much he wanted to keep quiet, he couldn’t stop his words from spilling out. “At seventy-five cents apiece, it’s a good thing they can be flipped over and used until the ink dries out.”

  He closed the lid at the same time her mouth opened.

  She stared at the tin in alarm.

  So, she hadn’t known. He turned away to tuck the box back in its place, moving slow to give her time to recover.

  As the impact of his words rolled through her thoughts, Janet tapped the new tin with her index finger. Three ribbons at seventy-five cents apiece was the same price as two gallons of ink. Pa wouldn’t like to hear that at all. For that money, she could write the invoices the old-fashioned way for the rest of her life.

  “You’re right, Mr. Hazelton. It’s good they made them so a person could flip them over. Here you go.” She set her money on the magazine, lest it clink against the glass, and then picked up her sack. Hoping for a smile, she peeked up at him from under the brim of her hat.

  He slid the magazine to the counter’s edge. After rolling it into a U shape, he poured her money into his other palm. “Thank you for your business.” Without a look in her direction, he continued to empty the crate he’d been working on when she’d entered his store.

  She pocketed the tin with the new typewriter ribbon and walked away with the sound of straw rustling in her ears.

  One smile from him would have brightened her day. She would even have forgiven him for laughing at her silly mistake of not using the typewriter ribbons until they were worn out, if only he had looked at her so she could see his face alight with humor.

  But as usual, he’d barely acknowledged her.

  As she passed one of the city’s several saloons, someone bellowed out. Chairs scraped across the wooden floor. Not wishing to get bowled over when someone came flying out, she rushed past the open door.

  She was thankful to have a houseful of God-fearing men who shared the workload and didn’t waste their evenings in a saloon. With Sam at business school, she didn’t know how he spent his time away from
the family, but prayed he kept Pa’s teachings in mind no matter what he did.

  Later that evening, Janet looked out the kitchen window while washing up the supper dishes. The sight of black typewriter ribbons bordering the pumpkin patch showed off her foolishness for anyone to see. She had thought the used cotton ribbons useless for her office but strong enough to train pumpkin tendrils to stay in their space. At the end of the season, she had planned to salvage the rain-washed ribbons and store them for the next year.

  But if there was a chance she could save the family money, as well as her pride, she needed to get the typewriter ribbons out of the garden before Adam spotted them and said something to Pa or her brothers.

  “You’re good with that, Janet?” Pa asked.

  “Pardon me?”

  Pa stood at the door with his hand on the latch and Jack by his side. “We’ll be at the Thompsons’ if you need us.” He gave her a measured look beneath his thick eyebrows. “You all right?”

  His regard warmed her right through. It also gave her an idea. “Yes, Pa, and don’t worry if I’m not here when you get back. I might be in the office.”

  “I don’t like you working out there alone when it’s dark.”

  Jack raised an open hand toward her. “If it’s your poetry you’re working on, I could bring your typewriter to your room.”

  Pa scowled. “You’ll do no such thing. You think I want to hear that clacking through the night?” His features softened as his gaze fell on her. “Do what you have to, girl. We’ll check on you when we get back—wherever you are.”

  The glow of his love enveloped her as she finished the dishes. Once in the garden, however, the sight of her own foolishness pushed every feeling away. Whether she could get the ribbons back on the spools wasn’t her worry. It was that Adam would discover what she’d done and think less of her when she wanted him to look at her with admiration instead.

  Her hands blackened with sticky ink as she worked at knots weathered by the sun. In the fading light, she saw where an extra stubborn tendril had wound itself around the ribbon and tightened the final knot. She needed the scissors to cut it loose.

  She carried the loose mass of the first two ribbons to the freight room in her outstretched hands, for the first time wondering where she would put them. The workshop table seemed like the perfect choice except it was littered with wood chips and axle grease.

  Stepping into the office, she surveyed her domain. Along with the new floor, Pa and the boys had built a desk with counter space along one wall. She let the ribbons fall onto the clean wood surface. It was her mistake. She would sand the stains out, if that’s what it needed.

  She left her office to search the work area where Pa and her brothers kept their tools and treasures, careful not to touch anything that mattered. The scissors were half hidden between some tins at the back of a shelf and she yanked them out, eager to get the third ribbon cut and put away before Pa and Jack got home.

  In her haste, the end of the scissors knocked one of the tins off the shelf. It hit the hard-packed ground with enough force to spring the lid open. Janet’s heart plummeted to the bottom of her ribs as the familiar letters written by Ma’s own hand spewed onto the dirt.

  Instead of smearing them with her inky hands, she left them where they lay and ran to the garden to finish her task. Later, when her hands were clean, she’d pick them up and put them back in Pa’s hiding place. Perhaps she’d read one or two to bring back the memory of sitting on Ma’s knee while she read poetry in a soft voice to her young children. Janet had fallen in love with the cadence of the words, which inspired her to create her own poems. Someday she’d hold her own child on her lap and pass on Ma’s legacy.

  Janet lay awake for most of the night. She’d scrubbed her fingers raw with a small brush, and the cracks in her skin stung.

  Dreams came and went. Hazy visions of coffee tins with Ma’s letters spilling out. Unreadable words with inky smears. White notepaper with red hearts. And sometime during the night, Adam’s face appeared with a smile just for her.

  She awoke with her heart pounding in her chest and the agony of knowing she cared for a man who wouldn’t even look her way.

  Her morning prayer was for release from whatever hold Adam held on her heart. A vision returned—a letter with red hearts. She squeezed her eyes closed and prayed again, longer this time, with as much faith as she could pull together.

  The simple explanation was that she’d picked up Ma’s letters and replaced them in the tin before going to bed. Thoughts of Ma in the evening always led to dreams of her.

  But it didn’t explain why Janet spent the day composing poetry with Adam in mind, much to her own annoyance.

  By evening, however, Janet had come up with a plan to win Adam’s smile. If she couldn’t get him out of her mind, she’d find a way to keep him there.

  All she needed was the nerve to carry out her daring deed.

  Chapter 2

  Word of the new fancy items must have spread through Miles City because Adam had more people coming through his door than ever before. Most of them, both men and women, came to look at items they had only read about. The ones with more money and experience, congratulated him on ensuring the progress of the new state.

  Several days after uncrating his new purchases, a gaggle of women entered his store.

  “There it is.” The mayor’s wife pointed at the pink vase. “Do you think it’s from Italy?”

  Adam backtracked out of there. If they asked him a direct question he’d answer; otherwise, he wasn’t about to stand around discussing pottery. He busied himself with tidying up the items on display, while keeping an ear open for the ladies across the room.

  While straightening a pile of assorted magazines, a folded paper dropped out. He set it aside until the magazines were all aligned. Since he couldn’t take action without knowing what he was dealing with, he unfolded the paper with its floral design and read the neat, but unfamiliar, script:

  I saw you brooding beneath the tree, if only your thoughts were just of me.

  It wasn’t addressed to anyone, nor was it signed. The outside was blank.

  Deciding it must have come in with the magazines, he flipped through them looking for more. And then he searched the floor and around the area. When he didn’t find another one, he aimed it at the wood box and was about to let it go when he had a thought.

  What if someone dropped it before it was finished and came looking for it? Perhaps someone lost it on the way to being delivered. Or what if it was unrequited love, and the person who received it threw it out?

  He was still mulling over the possibilities when the ladies took their leave. Although they didn’t buy anything, the admiration in their voices told him he was headed in the right direction with his store.

  Adam decided to hold on to the note for a while. He pulled open the drawer where he kept his cash and other valuables and tucked it inside so it would be handy if someone asked for it. Of course, if he had lost it, he would never inquire if someone had found it, but there was no harm in keeping it safe.

  A few days later he came in from the back storeroom and found the mayor bent over the counter looking in the display case. “Hello, Mr. Eider. Is there something you’re interested in?”

  The mayor straightened. “Afternoon, Adam. I see you’ve been changing your stock around.”

  “Yes, sir. With the new hardware store opening on top of the other stores, I thought I’d try selling something other than coffee and pickles.”

  “Yes, the air is quite different in here.” He cocked his head. “Is that perfume I smell?”

  Adam gave him his best sheepish look. “A crate of soaps and toiletry items came in yesterday. The ladies seem to like them.”

  “I don’t know if I should laugh or offer congratulations. You never struck me as a ladies’ man, but you’re bringing in quite the arsenal to attract their attention.”

  “Don’t say that.” Adam held his hands up as if the mayor
had pulled a gun on him. “Why, I brought in a good supply of toiletries for men as well. They’re over here if you’d like to look.”

  “Some other time, Adam.” He looked down at the pink vase. “The wife and I are celebrating thirty years next week. She has her heart set on that vase.”

  Adam took the vase out of the display case and set it on the counter. “Congratulations, sir. Mrs. Eider has a good eye for the beauty of fine workmanship.”

  “There’s just one thing, Adam. I believe one of the reasons she wants it is because it is unique. No one around here has seen another like it. But—” He shrugged.

  “No worries, Mr. Eider. I believe the pottery manufacturer only makes one-of-a-kind items. The shape might be the same, but not the colors. It truly is a unique piece.”

  “Fair enough. What do I owe you?”

  Adam told him the price, adding, “If you’d like me to keep it here until you’re ready for it, that won’t be a problem. I have a spot in the back so no one’s the wiser.”

  “That’s fine, Adam, just fine.” The mayor was almost to the door when he snapped his fingers and turned around. “You could think of changing the name of your store. Call it something special to show what you’re carrying.”

  Adam nodded. The thought had visited him a few days earlier.

  He walked outside and looked up. Hazelton’s Store was a good name, but the mayor was right. He needed something with flair. A title that would appeal to both genders and still convey the uniqueness of his shop.

  After a personal picnic in the park, Janet found Adam in the street staring up at the top of his building. He didn’t pay her any mind as she took a stance beside him. Shielding her eyes from the noon sun, she looked up, too. “What are you looking at?”

  He snapped his head over and glared at her. “You snuck up on me.”

  “I did not. As usual, you weren’t paying attention.” With another glance up to ensure nothing was about to fall on her head, she entered the building. Unlike the businesses that were all joined together on the congested blocks of Main Street, Adam’s store was filled with light from windows on three sides that allowed customers to have a good look at what was on offer.