The corner of his mouth tilted in a smirk, and he gave her a slow, sly wink. She could see the golden shards in his hazel eyes glint with intelligence. “I’m on to your secret.”
Flustered, she grabbed the envelope from him and held it behind her back as if that would make this all go away. “Mind your own business.”
“I do mind my own business. The good people of Buttonhole seem to think I do a fair job with the mercantile. You, on the other hand, seem to be minding everyone else’s business.”
“Are you implying I’m a busybody, Mr. Diamond?”
That slow smile widened into a full grin. Calder’s should have used his teeth for their illustration—they’re far better looking than the ones on that dreadful poster. Mercy, how could I let my mind wander at a time like this? Struggling to regain her wits, she inched back from him.
“Yep. I’m saying you’ve been busy, Miss Masterson. Busy in ways no one but me seems to have detected.”
Rose stared at him and tried to think of a way to end the conversation. The problem was, she didn’t want to lie. So far, she’d managed to speak the truth each time the subject of the Secret Giver came up. Folks might well have misinterpreted her meaning, but she’d never told a falsehood.
“You may think you figured everything out, Mr. Diamond, but my business is just that—mine.”
“You minded Mrs. Percopie’s business when you bought that fancy icebox for the diner. You minded Joel Creek’s business when you bought the plow.” Garret didn’t give an inch of space or argument. He drew closer again and continued on in a relentless litany. “Mothering might be considered family business, and you sent Mrs. Andrews that layette for the baby she adopted. You set Cordelia up in a laundering business with that high-volume washing machine.”
Rose lifted her chin and countered, “I wasn’t even living here when the church got the organ.”
“I admit, that threw me. Then I recalled you saying you’d visited Buttonhole before you moved here.”
She forced a laugh. “Plenty of people pass through town. It could have been any of them.”
“It could have been, but it wasn’t—” He gave her a stern look. “Was it, Rose? You saw a need, and you took care of it.”
“The Secret Giver sent me something, too.”
“That was downright clever of you. Diverting attention like that …” He shook his head in amazement. “Bet that fooled a few folks, too. You managed to do things like that, and ordering a rifle was a jim-dandy idea. You cooked up mighty interesting ways to keep the curious off your tracks.”
Rose fell silent. She’d run out of words, and the exasperating man had her backed into a corner. He’d discovered her precious secret and confronted her. The envelope crackled as she clutched it in her fist. Now what do I do?
Garret stepped closer still. “Give me the envelope, Rose. It’s time to mail it.” He slipped his arm around her and closed his hand around hers.
Clang! The bell sounded as the shop door opened.
Chapter 11
Aloud gasp sounded.
Garret kept Rose from bolting by wrapping his other arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. “Mrs. Blanchard. Mrs. Jeffrey,” he greeted in an urbane tone that didn’t match the thundering heartbeat Rose heard beneath her ear.
“Land o’ Goshen!” Mrs. Blanchard blurted out.
“Oh. It’s just Rose.” Mrs. Jeffrey’s tone carried pure relief. “Nothing untoward is happening, Bessie.”
“Then what is he doing?”
Garret didn’t move hastily. Rose desperately wanted to pull away, but her knees felt too weak, and she realized the wisdom of his actions. Jerking apart would only reinforce something indecent was under way. Instead, Garret kept hold of her.
Good thing, too. The thundering sound filling her ear couldn’t possibly be his heart, after all. Rose fought the dizziness that threatened to swamp her.
“I’m afraid I gave Miss Rose a shock, ladies.”
“She is pale,” Mrs. Jeffrey said. “Look how pale she is.”
“Are you okay, Rose? Has something dreadful happened?”
Garret confessed, “I gave her a fright.”
“Why, you could scare a body witless, coming down off that ladder. You need to be more careful, young man.”
He managed to rob Rose’s nerveless fingers of the envelope and scoop her into his arms. Rose tried to make a sound of protest, but he shushed her.
Mrs. Blanchard fumbled in her handbag. “I have those smelling salts in here.”
Garret carried Rose to the press-backed oak chair over by the men’s boots display. She felt safely anchored in his arms, and when he let go, the mercantile rippled around her once again. “Here you are, Miss Masterson. Sit down and take a few slow, deep breaths to steady yourself.”
Mrs. Jeffrey shoved him to the side and muttered, “Give us a moment with her.” A few seconds later, Rose felt something yank at her sides and back. Jerking motions … What?
“I’ve loosened her stays,” Mrs. Jeffrey whispered. “Can’t you find those smelling salts?”
The acrid scent of ammonia and Rose’s violent cough answered that question. Rose jerked away from Mrs. Blanchard’s vial and gasped.
Garret stood over by the water barrel, struggling not to laugh at Rose’s predicament. With his back to them, he called out, “Shall I bring over a cool cloth or a dipper of water?”
“Yes. Yes, that would be just the thing,” Mrs. Jeffrey said as she smoothed hair back from Rose’s face and pinned the loose strands into the bun she now anchored firmly in the correct location.
“Here you are.” Garret subtly winked as he handed the cloth to Rose. With quiet intensity he said, “Rose, you don’t look like yourself right now. I’ll remain with you here while the ladies find what they need; then I’ll close the store and escort you home to be sure you make it there safely.”
“That’s unnecessary.” Rose tried to stand.
Mrs. Blanchard pressed her back down. “For once, stop acting hale as a horse, Rose. It’s only your pride speaking. Why, I nearly fainted recently, and Mr. Diamond escorted me home, too. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Mrs. Jeffrey patted Rose’s cheek. “Your color is returning. This is what comes from eating those ridiculous cold cereals for breakfast, dear. I know you’re alone, but you simply must stop shaking that nonsense out of a box and fix yourself an egg and toast.”
“And prunes,” Mrs. Blanchard added. “You need to start off your day with wholesome foods. Clearly your health is slipping.”
Ten minutes later, with her corset strings and shirtwaist all tucked back into her skirt—thanks to Mrs. Jeffrey’s kind assistance—Rose found herself being escorted by Garret toward her house. He’d flatly refused to let her go home alone, and the way he kept hold of her, she would have needed dynamite to blast him from her side.
Completely unsettled, Rose struggled to figure out what to do. Garret had just knocked her whole world off its axis. She wasn’t the sort to swoon—was this how women normally felt when they grew faint? Was it because she wasn’t accustomed to a man standing so close, or was it this man—who’d just discovered her quiet activities and posed a threat to her secret joy?
“Rosie, we’re almost home,” he soothed. “Are you feeling any better now?”
Embarrassed and desperately wanting to escape him, she muttered, “I’m perfectly fine, and you’re wasting those prunes.” She referred to the small box he carried—placed in his hands by Mrs. Blanchard with explicit instructions that Rose needed to have no less than three a day. The thought of eating that sickeningly sweet fruit each day was more than enough cause to make her swoon all over again. She shuddered. “I loathe prunes.”
“You’re not the only one. They’re one of the few fruits I can’t stand.” He shook the box. “You can give them to Old Hannah the next time you go clean her house.” He led her past her ramshackle fence and up toward the house. “Here we are.”
She sto
pped at the threshold and took a stance that would make a suffragette proud. “I’d be lying if I thanked you for bringing me home.”
Garret ignored her bravado, opened the door, and nudged her inside. Before she could gather steam, he ordered, “You go put on some tea. We’re going to talk.”
“Unthinkable.” She gave him a wry look. “The good citizens of Buttonhole think I’m dotty, and they’re most likely right; but I’m not about to do anything as foolish as inviting you in and risking my reputation and yours.”
“You’re right. We’ll have to be circumspect about our partnership.”
“Partnership?” She gawked at him as her stomach somersaulted. Was there no end to the ways this man could find to disturb her? Rose shook her head. “We have no partnership, Mr. Diamond.”
He looked into her eyes. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” When he got intense, the gold in his hazel eyes overtook the brown. She’d have to remember that.
“I’ll go off to the diner and eat so folks will know I’ve left you here. I’ll sneak back after dark. We’ll meet in the backyard by your strawberry barrel.”
“You can wait until the crack of doom before I do such a thing.”
“You still must not be feeling well. You’re not your usual, cooperative self. Go rest. I’ll see you later.” He turned and whistled loudly as he left her standing at the door.
Rose fought the urge to slam her door, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her reaction. I have to remain calm if I’m going to convince him to—Who am I trying to fool? Garret Diamond is just as stubborn as I am. She closed her eyes, rested her forehead against the door, and let out a loud, unladylike groan.
Sitting still and dallying over a cup of after-dinner coffee tried Garret’s patience. He’d made a point of going to Percopie’s Diner immediately after leaving Rose. The incident in the mercantile could have been a catastrophe, and with the way news spread through Buttonhole, folks would be quick to comment if he’d have spent more than just a few moments at Rose’s.
“More coffee, Mr. Diamond?”
He glanced up at Hattie, then picked up his cup and tilted it. “I still have half a cup. That’ll do. Thanks for asking. You brew a fine pot here.”
Hattie scanned the diner. It was early yet—too soon for much of a supper crowd, so she slipped into the chair directly across from him. “Mr. Diamond, I wondered if—well …” She sighed and glanced over her shoulder. Her face flushed as she whispered, “I need to ask a favor.”
He wondered why she was whispering. “What is it?”
“There’s been some talk around town of earning money for a church bell. That always means an auctioned box social.” She sighed again. “Please don’t be offended, but I—well, I don’t want you to bid.” Her gaze skittered toward the door, to the kitchen again, then down toward her lap. “Some of the nicest young men in town aren’t as well off as you.”
Garret took a gulp of coffee. “Anybody I know?”
“Lester Artemis.” Her eyes took on a sparkle. “He works at the Gazette. He just loves my fried chicken.”
“He’s a lucky man. I wish you both well.”
Hattie popped up from the chair and whispered, “Thank you! Oh—will you please tell Mr. Hepplewhite, too?”
Garret nodded and left the diner, sure he’d wasted sufficient time there. The fact that Hattie had spent those few minutes sitting with him certainly helped keep folks from speculating that he’d set his cap for Rose.
He stopped midstride. Rose. I’m setting my cap for Rose. When did that—how did that happen? The woman has worked her way into my heart, and I’m going to have a real fight trying to turn her affections toward me when I can’t even get her to buy stuff from my store!
As soon as it grew dark and the lamplighter finished his rounds, Garret slipped out of the back door of his place and headed toward Rose’s back door. He had to protect her reputation, so he didn’t take a direct route. Finally he reached her house, sneaked around, and tapped lightly on the back door. When she didn’t respond, he got irritated. She was trying to ignore him, and he wouldn’t put up with it. He rapped more firmly.
Rose finally flung open the door and glowered at him. From the light of the lamp she held, he could see she still wore the same dress she’d had on at his store. Judging from the color in her face, she either had a high fever or a raging temper. “What is all of that racket?”
His own temper flared to life. Vexed that she’d taken her sweet time to answer, he scowled right back. “The crack of doom. Now get out here.”
Chapter 12
Her eyes widened at his audacity. “Garret Diamond, I don’t know what’s come over you, but you’re bossy as a war general. I have little patience for anyone who decides to try to run my life.”
“Come outside.”
“What if I said I’d get too cold out there?” She gave him an exultant smile.
He’d never cross her threshold at night, alone, and she clearly realized it. He wasn’t about to let that irritating fact stop him. “It’s a balmy night. If you said you’d be cold, you’d be lying … and you don’t lie. Which is why you didn’t deny what I said back at the store.” His patience was slipping faster than a skinny man’s sleeve garter. “You, Rose Masterson, are the Secret Giver.”
Her eyes nearly shot fire at him. “You, Garret Diamond, are a pain in the neck.”
He leaned back against the post and chuckled. “Now that we’ve established our identities, let’s negotiate.”
She crossed her arms and glowered at him. “Are you trying to blackmail me?”
“Not in the least. What I’m going to do is join you. From here on out, I’m a coconspirator.”
“This isn’t funny.”
He heard how her voice quavered and realized fear had triggered her temper. “I agree, Rose. This isn’t funny; it’s important work. It’s a ministry.”
Some of the fire seemed to leave her eyes. “I still don’t think you ought to stick your nose into my business. The sixth chapter of Matthew, verse three says, ‘But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.’ That being the case, you really do need to stop prying.”
He looked through the screen and lowered his tone. “Was it prying when you told me Cordelia Orrick needed that fabric?”
“Of course not.”
“So what is the difference if we work together to make life better for our Christian brothers and sisters?”
She rubbed her temples as if he’d given her a terrible headache. “I don’t want anyone to know.”
“I agree. There isn’t any reason for others to know. It’ll be a pact between us. I think you’ve been wise to keep your identity a secret, and you’ve chosen to give things that equipped others to work and earn for themselves.”
Her shoulders drooped as she let out a long, slow sigh of capitulation.
Garret opened the screen door. “Now hand me that lamp, and bring along your precious catalog. We have work to do.”
“It’s silly to order from the catalog anymore. The only reason I did it was to stay anonymous. The things can come from your store now.” Her eyes grew glossy, but she blinked away the moisture. “I felt terrible, hurting your feelings by not making some of those purchases from the mercantile.”
He reached in, took her hand, and gently tugged her outside. The screen door banged shut. “You were doing it for the right reason.”
Rose handed him the lamp and gathered her skirts about herself as she sat on the uppermost step of the porch. “I was going to get the four-drawer New Queen sewing machine, but I really like the Singer you have at the mercantile much better.”
“Then why didn’t you plan to order one of those?” He sat beside her and fought the urge to wrap his arm about her shoulders.
“It’s not in the catalog. Oh, don’t glower at me. I’m telling the truth.” She fished the crumpled envelope from her pocket and smoothed it out on her lap. After taking a deep brea
th, she tore it open and shook out a small stack of money and her order sheet. “You have plenty of fabric at the mercantile, but I thought it might be nice for her to have some supplies on hand. Often folks take the material to the seamstress but don’t think of all of the notions that go into making a garment.”
Garret moved the lamp so he could scan the order sheet more easily. She’d ordered a case of thread, hooks and eyes, Selisia waist lining, buttonhole twist, stays, and lace. Garret set aside the form and took her hand in his. He trailed his fingers across the edge of her cuff. A small, frayed section made him frown.
“Rose, how can you buy all of this for Lacey when you need new gowns yourself?”
She turned her hand so she could inspect the spot he’d touched. Relentlessly, he skipped his fingers along the stained apron pocket, the tattered ribbon trim of her skirt, then up to her collar where he traced the washed-and-worn-until-limp fabric. Very quietly, he stated the fact again. “You need new clothes.”
Her nose wrinkled as she took stock of her garments. “Oh my. I haven’t paid much attention. I really have let myself go. These are shabby, aren’t they?”
Soft laughter bubbled out of him. “Rose Masterson, you are so content helping others that you’re blind to your own needs. You’re the only woman I know who lacks even the smallest scrap of vanity.”
“I am content, Garret. Very content. I don’t want you to ruin my secret.”
He winked at Rose and covered her hand with his. “I’m not going to ruin it; I want to share it. In fact, I’m going to steal a page out of your copybook. We’re going to throw everyone off our tracks. Do you have some paste?”
“Yes.” She gave him a wary look.
“Good. Get it, a pair of scissors, and this week’s Gazette.”
“What for?”
“You’ll see.”
In no time at all, they sat side by side with a pair of Rose’s serving trays across their laps. Rose leaned over and laughingly added the “orse” she’d cut from the word “horse” after an “N” Garret pasted at an odd tilt. “Good. Now where did the sewing machine go?”
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