The streetlight shone through the front display window, allowing her to avoid hitting any of the barrels or boxes of merchandise on her way to the small office in the back. Once inside, she lit a small oil lamp, closed the door, and sat down at the desk. Luke had left the papers in neat little stacks beside the sales ledger. She put the lists of inventory aside. She could count, for goodness sake, and they’d be going over that when they cleaned out the storage room, probably tomorrow. The schedules for delivery were fairly clear as well, although when she got to the actual accounting book with its complicated entries of debits and credits, she had to slow down. Accounts Receivable and Accounts Payable were new terms. What seemed to her should have been a credit was actually listed as a debit and the numbers in the other column were considered a credit. She was going to have to ponder on that.
The oil in the lamp was nearly gone by the time she leaned back and rubbed her eyes. Her mind was swimming with what were assets and liabilities such as expenses for wages, maintenance and office supplies, and repairs. There was a lot more to running a business than simply having items to sell. From what she could make out of the Profit and Loss statement—she’d have to ponder on that more closely too—was that the store was making enough money to have a solid footing. She wouldn’t become wealthy, although, if Luke Cameron’s investors were correct, that might happen in the future. For now, she wasn’t about to get greedy.
Abby doused the lamp as she opened the office door and made her way through the store. She was about to leave when she heard a noise outside. Standing stock-still, she tuned her ears. What sounded like shuffling and then a heavy thud came from outside the store to the right. Making her way to the window, but staying in its shadow, she looked out. She widened her eyes.
John and another man were rolling what appeared to be a barrel toward the street where a buckboard waited. She hadn’t even heard it arrive—but then, she’d been in the back with the door closed. As she watched, they hefted it onto the back where one barrel already stood. They disappeared around the corner of the store only to reappear a few minutes later with another barrel. Abby remembered now that the cellar below was only accessible from the outside. She’d nearly tripped over the door that lay flat on the ground like a lid on a jar when she’d walked around the property earlier. The door had been nearly hidden by shrubbery overgrowth and had a stout lock on it.
What on earth were the men doing? She watched as the two men made several more trips, bringing more barrels out before climbing unto the buckboard and driving off.
Abby let herself out of the store and mulled the situation as she started walking in the opposite direction toward the boarding house. John had said the cellar wasn’t good for much since it had dirt floors, although Luke had said they could put in wood pallets for the inventory they were going to remove from the storage room. Maybe John had enlisted a friend to him clear out old barrels that had been left to rot down there. Maybe he wanted to have the cellar cleaned out and be ready for the inventory tomorrow. That would account for why he was doing it in the middle of the night. Although, from the lavender tint to the sky, dawn was not that far away. She’d have to hurry to be back in her room before others started waking up.
Still, it spoke well of John that he would give up his sleep to impress her—or at least, Luke—with the semblance of a clean cellar for the inventory. He no doubt wanted to keep his position. Which was fine with her.
Perhaps one day, he’d be as loyal to her as he obviously was to Travis.
Chapter Five
John was already at the store when Abby arrived the next morning. Granted, she had slept in a little later than usual since she’d gotten home barely before dawn, but then John had been up most of the night, as well. She had no idea how much junk had been in the cellar, or how many wagon-loads he’d had to remove. She’d only spotted the buckboard when she’d been ready to leave.
She was tempted to tell him thanks, but she hadn’t really wanted anyone to know she’d been there looking over the accounts. Besides, Luke had already arrived, and she certainly did not want him knowing how intimidating the books were.
He wore denims and a blue chambray shirt today instead of his usual black attire, although he still had his six-gun strapped to his thigh. A muscular thigh that the tight pants did nothing to hide. Strange how the change of clothes seemed to change him. In his gentleman’s dark frock and waistcoat, she could easily picture him at one of the gaming hells, presiding over a game of poker. Today, he looked more like the cowboys she’d seen at the train stops once past the Mississippi River. She glanced down. He was even wearing brown leather boots with hand-tooling on the sides like the cowboys favored.
It looked like he was dressed to work instead of supervise. Somehow, that idea pleased her. “Are we ready to start moving the inventory out of the storage area?”
“In just a bit,” Luke answered. “I ordered wood pallets for the floor. The lumberyard said they’d deliver first thing this morning.” He turned to John. “Is there anything that needs to be cleared out down there while we wait?”
The man shook his head. Abby wondered why he didn’t mention he’d worked last night to clean it out, but maybe he didn’t want to sound like he was fishing for a compliment. Men had their pride, especially when they were talking to other men.
“Nothin’ down there.” John glanced at her. “Except some rats and maybe a snake or two.”
Was he trying to intimidate her? It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen huge sewer rats in the allies of the Bowery. And other vermin going through the garbage, as well. Of course, he wouldn’t know that since Travis thought he was getting a gently-bred, educated lady who’d recently fallen on hard times and been left to fend for herself in the world. Well, at least the last half of her concocted story was true.
Obviously, she had not won John completely over to the idea of her running the store. Abby forced a benign expression. “I’m sure once we start moving things in down there, they’ll retreat to safer territory.”
“More likely they’ll start eating holes in the burlap bags to get at victuals.” He looked at Luke. “Better to keep everything up here in the storage area.”
“That would require my investors to put up money to build an extension,” Luke replied.
“Isn’t that what you—they—wanted?” John retorted.
“Eventually, perhaps. It depends on how successful we are with the initial proposal.” Luke gestured in her direction. “I’m sure Mrs. Sayer doesn’t want to invest her capital on a venture at this point, either.”
“No, I don’t.” From what she’d been able to make out—if she understood the paperwork she’d gone through last night—the profit margin was large enough to fund building, but she wasn’t going to take the risk. “Using the storage area for a tea-room of sorts will give us an idea if the plan will work.”
Luke nodded. “Besides, I asked the lumberyard to bring some enclosed crates, as well. Anything that can be gnawed at will be placed in those.”
Abby gave him a genuine smile. “That was thoughtful of you.”
“Pragmatic,” he answered. “Inventory lost is profit lost.”
They were interrupted by the sound of horses’ hooves and creaking wagon wheels approaching. “That must be your order,” she said.
“And on time,” Luke replied.
For the next thirty minutes, Abby watched as Luke supervised the men unloading the wagon and then disappeared into the cellar along with John. She’d wanted to help, but quickly realized she was more in the way while the men carried the unwieldy heavy pallets down the stone steps and then lugged the big wooden crates, as well.
However, once that had been done and the wagon gone, she stepped into the storage room and began removing items that she could carry down. Luke stopped her.
“It’s dusty down there. You’ll ruin your clothes.”
It wasn’t as if she’d not gotten dirty before. She and Ben had had to hide in some rather nasty places som
etimes to evade getting caught. But John wasn’t the only one to think she came from at least a respectable Eastern background. Luke thought her proper, as well.
“I can’t just stand around while you do all the work.”
He handed her the list of inventory that had been laying on the office desk the night before. “You can help by checking off the items as I take them down.”
“I’ll probably need to be down there, too, so I can see where everything goes.” John spoke up suddenly. “So she can run the counter, too.”
Abby was glad the shopkeeper had volunteered his services. “Of course! I’ll be glad to. Thank you for helping.”
He shrugged. “Seein’ as how I’ll be the one goin’ down there to fetch things, it’ll be easier if I know where everything is.”
“Makes sense,” Luke said. “Let’s get started, then.”
It was late afternoon by the time they’d finally cleared everything out of the storage room. It looked vastly bigger empty than it had before.
“I think we can probably fit two sofas in here along with several armchairs and a few small tables,” Abby said to Luke as they stood in the doorway.
He grinned, his teeth flashing white as he wiped dirt off his face with a rag. “You can start furnishing the place tomorrow. How about if I get cleaned up and take you to dinner?”
Her pulse quickened and what felt like a dozen butterflies fluttered in her stomach. No one had ever asked her to a meal before. “Dinner? Just us?” As soon as the words came out, she wanted to push them back into her mouth. What a stupid thing to say.
He studied her before he answered. ”We’ll be in the public room at the Occidental Hotel.”
Criminy. Did he think she was afraid to be alone with him? She wasn’t, although her skin tingled a bit like it did before she and Ben pulled a heist. And maybe her breath became a bit more shallow…
“I want to discuss how we’re going to handle this new enterprise,” he added.
That statement dissolved any kind of anticipation she might have been feeling. “Ah…yes. That’s a good idea.”
Of course, he wasn’t interested in her company for dinner. He wanted to talk business. They would be working together, after all.
It would behoove her to remember that.
♦◊♦
“I don’t care what you say.” Delia framed a few loose hair strands around Abby’s face. “If the man’s taking you to dinner, he has courting on his mind.”
Abby rolled her eyes from where she sat on the small bench in front of an equally small dressing table in Delia’s room and pulled her wrapper tighter. She would have tried to stand, but Delia had already pushed her down twice while admonishing her to be still so she could fix Abby’s hair. “He is the one who said he wanted to discuss business.”
“Hogwash.” Delia plucked another curl loose. “What a man says is not always what he means.”
“I don’t think there’s much room for misinterpretation,” Abby replied. “He wants to talk about how we’re going to handle this women’s club idea.”
“Aha! He said we,” Delia pounced on the word. “As in you and him.”
She started to shake her head, then stopped as her hair got pulled since Delia was still fiddling with it. “Since I own the store and Travis arranged for a group of investors to expand, Luke has to work with me.”
“Aha!” Delia said again. “You called him Luke.”
Abby sighed since she couldn’t move her head. “It’s a little silly to call him Mr. Cameron when he’s been doing manual labor hauling the inventory down to the cellar all day.”
“Um. There’s nothing like a man sweating and toiling and showing off his muscles,” Delia said.
Abby started to reply, then closed her mouth. She couldn’t deny that was true. She had—unobtrusively while she was checking off items of course—watched him bend, lift, and carry. The exertion soon had the cotton chambray shirt clinging to him, molding beautifully broad shoulders and strong back muscles as well as bulging biceps. And the denims fit like a second skin, too. Men in New York favored pantaloons, and some still wore knee breeches. Neither revealed nearly half what these blue denim creations did. It was a wonder Western women got any work done. Or maybe it was just the way Luke wore them. His black attire fit him equally well.
“There.” Delia finished her fussing with Abby’s hair. “That should do it.”
Abby glanced at herself in the little mirror above the dressing table. Delia had arranged most of her hair on top of her head in a swirl of curls with a few ringlets dangling down over one shoulder. The effect made her look like a real lady.
“And now this.” Delia returned from her wardrobe and held up a deep blue silk gown. “Thank goodness we’re about the same size.”
“I can’t wear that.”
“Why not? It will bring out the color of your eyes.”
“I don’t think Luke—Mr. Cameron—is interested in the color of my eyes.”
“Fiddlesticks.” Delia removed the gown from its hanger. “He’ll get lost in the depths of them.”
Abby looked heavenward. “I doubt very much that he’s the type to wax poetic about the color of my eyes. He’s more interested in the color of money.”
“Balderdash. He’ll forget all about gold, silver or greenbacks once he gets a glimpse of you.”
A sound escaped her, something between a snort and a laugh. “I told you. Luke—Mr. Cameron—wants to discuss business.”
Delia waved a dismissive hand. “He may think he does. He’ll change his mind once he sees you in this. Besides,” she said when Abby still hesitated, “what else do have to wear that would be suitable for the Occidental? It’s a fancy hotel.”
There was that. Besides her traveling outfit—which still needed cleaning—the rest of her clothing, including the new things she’d bought, were serviceable and plain. She was going to be nervous enough trying to remember which piece of silverware to use first. Her only etiquette lessons had come from the Sisters of Mercy, and they didn’t use a bunch of forks and spoons to say nothing of crystal goblets and real china. She didn’t need to draw any more attention to herself by wearing a work dress.
“All right. Just this once.”
“I have another gown you can wear next time,” Delia said as though she hadn’t heard, and pulled the wrapper’s ties loose.
“There’s not going to be a next time,” Abby’s words were muffled as Delia carefully started placing the gown over her head. “This is business.”
“If you say so.” Delia said cheerfully.
She was proving very efficient as a lady’s maid. In less than five minutes, she had the gown laced—a bit too tightly for Abby’s comfort—and had shaken out the folds of the skirt. Then she tugged the neckline a bit lower. Abby tugged it back up. “I’m not trying to seduce the man.”
Delia grinned. “Doesn’t hurt to try.”
“Will you stop?”
“Oh, all right.” She puffed up the short sleeves on the gown. “He’ll take notice anyway. The color suits you. It really does.”
Abby refrained from grimacing. Obviously, her friend was hell-bent on romance blooming. “He’s not going to get lost in the color of my eyes.”
Undeterred, Delia shrugged. “We’ll see.”
♦◊♦
He was lost in the color of her eyes. Luke looked across the table in the Occidental dining room and wondered what kind of witchery was this? The Abigail Clayton he’d seen at the train station had looked entrancing and a bit vulnerable. The Mrs. Sayer at the store today had been completely proper. Even a little prim in her high-necked, longed-sleeved calico. But the woman who was sitting across from him tonight was a siren. The gown was the same color as the deep blue of the bay and brought out the sapphire in her eyes. And she’d done something with her hair. The burnished gold curls piled high were loose enough to make a man wonder if he pulled out just one pin, would all of it cascade down past her shoulders and touch the swell of
her breasts? The tops of which were just visible at the neckline of her bodice. A bodice that left no room for imagining what curves lay behind it.
And, damn it, he knew better than to fall for an attractive woman. Belle Fontaine had been beautiful, too.
Belle, whose name meant “beauty” and whose heart was black as coal. What had begun as a friendly competition two years ago between him and his best friend Karl when Belle—the famous singer at the world-renowned Southern Hotel in St. Louis—started flirtations with both of them that turned deadly after she’d secretly declared to each of them that the other had defiled her. She had been mightily persuasive with crocodile tears and bruises marring her milky-white wrists. They’d both been taken for fools, and she’d moved on to a gent far wealthier after the duel.
If there was any redeeming quality to the whole sordid incident, it was that Karl’s equally hot-headed twin brother Kelvin had been working for the U.S. ambassador in London for the past two years. Otherwise, more than one person might be dead since he was as hot-headed as Karl had been.
“Is something wrong?” Abby asked.
Luke blinked, bringing the woman presently at the table into focus. It was unfair to make such a comparison between the two women. He knew that. But, what the deuce was Abigail trying to do? “Nothing wrong. I was wool-gathering.”
“You must have spotted a wolf among your sheep.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Sorry. I was trying to make a jest of your wool-gathering.” She shrugged. “Your eyes flashed as though you were angry about something.”
He was slipping if he’d let any emotion show. Gunslingers and card sharps—he had experience with both—never let their opponents know what was going on inside their heads. Was Abigail that intuitive? Or, did she have a hidden past like he did? He recalled the incident with the pickpocket. She’d sensed, and actually caught, the street urchin. Not many people would be able to do that.
Gunslinger: A Six Guns and Prairie Roses Novel Page 4