“Mr. Wade!” Tabitha cried, her voice choked with embarrassment. “How long have you been listening to our conversation?”
“Long enough to know you think I intended to make a fool of you, of everyone here in Logan Meadows, which isn’t the truth at all.”
He stood tall, mussed, and devilishly handsome.
“I had to speak with Kendall before I said anything,” he said. “And then the sheriff. I’m sure you can understand that.”
As he proceeded into the shop, he removed his hat, exposing the sweaty hair underneath. Susanna glanced Tabitha’s way, a spark of merriment in her eyes. “I need to get to the restaurant. Nice to run into you, Mr. Wade. If I don’t see you before tonight, Tabby, break a leg.”
Tabitha glared teasingly at her friend’s abandonment. “I just may.” She laughed, deciding not to take herself so seriously. “Thank you again for helping out with the baking.”
Susanna left. They were alone. Mr. Wade’s large frame took up much of the space in her small shop. Her every little move felt like a conscious effort. Perhaps his wanting a book he could practice his reading with had all been a yarn.
Three breaths, five blinks, and one swallow later he said, “I’m working upstairs at the saloon. One of the rooms was in shambles. I should be finished later today.”
That was the reason for the cotton work shirt, his disheveled appearance, and his back and forth in front of her window. The feed store stocked building supplies.
“I’m on my way to the Feed and Seed for more nails right now.” He lifted a muscular shoulder, which brought a fluttery feeling to her lungs. He glanced around at the open space she’d created in the center of the room with Albert’s and Thom’s help. There were two rows of borrowed chairs, then three rows of long boards set atop overturned buckets. It would have to do for the time being.
“Looks good. Tonight’s your big night. You excited?”
He didn’t owe her any explanations about who he was and what his business was in Logan Meadows. He was free to do as he wished. She smiled. “More nervous than excited, I guess. Wish I hadn’t taken this on at all.” She liked the way his thoughtful eyes made her feel. Young. Desired.
“I’m sure you’ll knock ’em dead, Miss Canterbury.” He fingered his hat. “I best get back to work.” His gaze strayed over to the baked goods and lingered.
“Mr. Wade,” she all but blurted as he turned to leave. He slowly looked back. “Would you like a couple of cookies? Several batches are fresh from the oven.”
His eyes widened. “Will you run short?”
“Not at all.” I hope. Tabitha selected her largest walnut and one of Susanna’s pumpkin and placed them in his palm. “After our conversation last week I went through my books and found one I think will be of interest to you. It’s not a beginner, and yet, it’s not all that difficult either.” Tabitha hurried to her desk for the novel she’d put there to have handy on the off chance he stopped in. She returned to his side and held it out. He was just swallowing the first cookie.
“The Ad-vaaan . . .”
Tender warmth seeped into her heart as she watched him struggle. One small crumb clung to the corner of his lips until he brushed it away, and his earnest gaze dropped to the floor beside her.
“Adventures.”
He nodded. “The Adventures of Tom Sawyaer,” he read jerkily.
“Sawyer. The ‘aw’ creates a ‘so’ sound.”
In a swish of green, Daisy Smith breezed past the bookstore window.
“Can you excuse me one moment, Mr. Wade?”
“Of course,” he said with a gracious smile.
Tabitha rushed to the door. “Daisy? Oh, Daisy! Do you have a moment to spare?”
Daisy stopped and turned. The shade of her modest emerald dress brought out the beauty of her green eyes. Only seventeen, the girl’s youth and beauty always amazed Tabitha. It was difficult to believe she’d ever worked in a saloon. At twelve, she’d run away from her abusive father, and somehow, three years later, ended up here in Logan Meadows working at the saloon. Tabitha didn’t like to speculate on how that was accomplished, being young girls were a rare commodity, especially unprotected ones that were as pretty as her friend.
Daisy hurried back to where Tabitha stood in her doorway, and then they both stepped inside.
“The book you ordered for Jake’s Christmas present came in last week. Let me get it for you.” She hurried to her desk and picked up the new volume of The Last of the Mohicans. Returning, she set it in Daisy’s hands. “I just love this story. I’ve read it at least ten times.” She sighed, thinking about the long-haired, heroic Natty Bumppo, who could set her blood humming through her veins. She glimpsed at Hunter and caught him watching her exchange with Daisy. She smiled, thinking he, in a way, reminded her of Natty. “Would you like me to wrap it for you?”
Daisy’s smile faded. “Actually, I’ll have to wait until payday. I don’t have the funds just yet.”
“Well, I was thinking about that. You know I’m having my book reading tonight and have just finished baking several batches of cookies. I know you love to cook, and in truth I’d much rather do something else with my time. What if we traded your labor and fixings for five batches of cookies, for the next five readings?”
Daisy gasped. “That’s not enough in exchange. I need to pay you something.”
“It is. By then the weather will turn and I’ll have to stop until spring. I’d say that’s a fair trade.”
A smile replaced Daisy’s hesitation. “Only if you’re sure.”
“I am. Will I see you tonight?”
She shrugged.
Tabitha reached out and touched her arm. “I hope I do.” Because of her past, Daisy kept to herself. If she wasn’t in the restaurant, she was at home. Tabitha wasn’t sure if she worried about running into an old customer, or if she was truly frightened of men, afraid they might take advantage of her. She wished she could help the girl more. “You best get on your way.”
Daisy hugged the book to her chest. “Thank you, Tabitha. Jake’s going to love this. Might take him a year to finish, but that won’t stop him.”
Daisy departed and Tabitha went back to Mr. Wade, who was staring down at the open page. “Thank you for waiting.”
He groaned. “I don’t think this book is easy enough.”
“That’s what sounding out is for. You’ll do fine. Try it and see. Since you’re actually a new part of the community, I picked something from the lending library. If you find it too difficult, or not to your liking, bring it back. Or better yet, come in when you have some time and read a few pages in my reading chair.” She gestured to the soft chair on the side of the front window. “I can help. Just like we did with the title. That way, you won’t get discouraged and be tempted to quit. Being able to read well will open up your world to people and places you won’t expect. Trust me. You’ll be amazed.”
His clean-shaven cheeks blossomed pink, and she realized she may have been a bit heavy-handed in her sell. He’d just finished the second cookie in two bites. She dared not give him any more.
He took the book. “Thank you. I’ll do that. Don’t know when, though. My next project is to add another hitching post out front in that ten-foot gap.”
“Another hitching rail? But the street is already a mess from overcrowding on the weekend! I can’t imagine more horses out there. And the flies they will create with their . . .” She tried to tamp down her rising displeasure. “I’ve spoken with the town council on the matter. It wouldn’t be bad if Kendall would get out there and clean the street on Sunday morning, before the horse manure had a chance to bake in the sun, but he’s not willing to do that. Every time I open my windows, the reminder floats in. Really, Mr. Wade, think of the other businesses around you. The Bright Nugget isn’t the only one on Main Street.”
His charming smile only angered her more.
“I am thinking of you, Miss Canterbury. During the day, when the saloon is slow, all your bookstore
shoppers can tether down at our new hitching rail. Won’t that be convenient?”
She looked at him in shock, feeling as though she was only just now seeing his true colors. He knew very well she didn’t have any customers during the day—or the night. He was playing with her. Making her the fool. And here she’d gone and lent him one of her books!
He reached out to touch her arm, but she stepped back. Dropping his hat on his head, he said, “I’ll consider what you said about the manure. Maybe we can work something out there.” He touched the brim and turned. “Good day, Miss Canterbury.”
In stunned silence, she watched him walk away. He was just as bad as Kendall. Or worse. And to think she’d been worried that she and her aunt had doused his desire to improve his reading. Ha! Turning on her heel, she headed for the stairs. It wasn’t a good day. Not any longer.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
From the front door of the Bright Nugget, Hunter watched as the town poured out to support Miss Hoity-Toity. By the stunned look on her face earlier, he knew that she was annoyed with him. Well, that was just too bad. He was annoyed with her as well. Who ever heard of shoveling manure from the street? He didn’t know where she was from, but this was Wyoming! He sucked in a deep breath to chase away his aggravation. Still, he hoped that she’d sell a few books for all the trouble she’d gone through to get people into her store. He had to admit, it was a good idea. The bar was near empty, but that wasn’t unusual for a Tuesday night. Not every night could be Friday or Saturday.
Buckskin Jack, one of the regulars he’d paid to play the piano tonight for an hour or two, pounded away at the keys as if he were churning butter. Hunter supposed the gap-toothed man was trying to give a good show for the half dollar Hunter had promised, but his enthusiasm was wearing a bit thin. Their normal musician, Farley, had taken ill a few days ago with a bad stomach. Hunter was anxious for his return.
“Guess her public reading wasn’t such a dumb idea after all.”
Hunter turned to find Kendall watching the street over his shoulder, a bar glass and towel moving in his hands. “At first I thought the notion kinda harebrained,” Kendall went on. “A scheme of sorts. Now, not so much.”
“Harebrained?” Hunter said dubiously. “Miss Canterbury seems to have a pretty knowledgeable head on her shoulders.”
“I see whatcha mean.”
Four spur-wearing cowboys rode up and stopped in front of the bookstore.
“I can’t figure where she’s gonna put ’em all,” Kendall complained. “Who woulda thought cowboys would enjoy listening to a book being read to them like they was babies. Wouldn’t they rather drink whiskey? And play cards? I don’t get it.”
Hunter turned and gaped at Kendall. Didn’t the man know anything? Miss Canterbury was a darn fine-looking woman. She wore her age well, a saying Thorp was partial to about women on the wagon trains. And she was single, probably the most important reason of all. But, even better, Hunter liked the things she came up with. Too bad she wasn’t his partner. Surely, the saloon would be standing room only if she got ahold of the reins.
“You serious, Kendall? They’re not coming to listen to the story, they’re coming to watch the show. She’s single, if you’ve forgotten. Nothing better for drawing men than an unmarried woman.”
Kendall shrugged. “You’re right. I guess I’m just trying to make myself feel better about her good fortune and our lack of it.”
“That’s not very neighborly.”
“You need to send for that girl. That Italian singer.”
To their left, Frank Lloyd stepped out of the bank and locked the door, testing the doorknob to be sure it was firm. Wasn’t hard to guess where he was headed. He stopped in the doorway when he reached the saloon.
“Boys,” he said friendly-like. “You coming to the reading?”
“Can’t,” Kendall replied. “Work to do.”
The banker’s brows arched as his gaze swept around the nearly empty room. “Why don’t you close her up for the night? Not often you have a civilized chance such as this.”
Lloyd had to shout because Buckskin Jack, having seen activity at the door, began a jaunty rendition of “Sweet Betsy from Pike,” intending, Hunter was sure, to draw whoever it was they were talking with into the saloon. Hunter’s ears rung so loudly from all the sour notes the half-sober fella hit, he wondered if he shouldn’t cut his losses and pay the man to stop playing, now that he knew just how awful he really was.
“I’m doing inventory later,” Kendall said without missing a beat.
Frank smiled and shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
When the banker left, Hunter turned and headed for the back door. “I’m going up to my place and get my book. I’ll be right back.”
They weren’t going to have a rush of drinkers tonight, no way, no how. Philomena didn’t even glance up as he passed the table she used when business was slow. Her head bent over some knitting project and a cup of coffee at her side.
Ducking out of the saloon, Hunter hadn’t gone more than five steps toward the back of the sheriff’s office when he heard a woman’s halfhearted cry for help.
He stopped.
Listened.
It was difficult to discern where the sound had come from over the thunderous piano music trailing him out the back door. Not hearing anything more, he continued until he reached the stairway to his apartment. He stopped again and listened carefully. Fifty feet beyond, far enough out from the Storybook Lodge not to make a stink, soft light glowed from the insides of Tabitha’s outhouse.
The silly building had garnered a laugh from him his first day in town. About twice the size of a regular privy, hers was a tiny replica of the bookstore with all the frippery and finery of the larger building. When no one was looking, he’d taken a fast peek inside. Along with the obvious necessities, there was a miniature pump that flowed into a bucket. A pipe at the bottom of the container disappeared into a round hole that had been drilled through the lower portion of the wall, and the waterline was stretched out to a small kitchen garden, something he was surprised to find in town. If that hadn’t been enough, the place had a latched roof so anyone inclined who wanted fresh air could raise up one side of the roof. Pretty ingenious, he grudgingly admitted. The small building was the fanciest outhouse he’d ever seen, and a darned good idea.
“Help me,” a voice called faintly. “Help me, please.” It was Tabitha, a controlled panic coloring her tone.
Hunter rushed over. “Miss Canterbury? What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“Oh!” came the unsteady reply.
Several seconds crept by.
Laughter from the folks congregated in the bookstore reached them.
“Mr. Wade, thank heavens you heard me! Be careful out there. There’s a skunk rooting around my back door. I tried several times to escape, but it’s as if he knows I’m frightened, and that I don’t have time to waste. Every time I open the door, he stands his ground and threateningly shakes his tail.”
Her voice wobbled. Was Miss Hoity-Toity about to cry?
“I-I’d hate to get sprayed when I’ve invited all those people to my store.”
“I see your point.” Turning, he examined her back porch. The darkness made seeing much of anything near impossible. “I can’t see much from this distance. You wait here, and I’ll take a gander. Maybe it’s gone.”
“Please don’t shoot it, Mr. Wade!”
He squelched a smile. “No? Why not?”
“It’s not the poor animal’s fault. He must have smelled my trash. After baking this morning, I didn’t make the time to properly take it to the dump this afternoon, as I should have. There were eggshells and greasy papers from butter. I’d hate to see a creature come to a bad end because of my stupidity.”
He looked down at his gun. “No, I won’t kill it, if it’s even still here. I better get moving. It’s almost six o’clock and you have a packed house.”
“Packed?”
“Absolutely packed.”
<
br /> “Yes, yes, please do. I appreciate your help tremendously.”
There she goes again, using those long words. “You’d do the same for me.”
Hunter walked the path to her shop with a sharp eye, the faint aroma of the stink kitty apparent on the chilly air. He stopped every few feet to scan the darkness. Most likely the critter was gone; if not, it could have burrowed down into the dirt of her foundation. He didn’t want to get sprayed either. He’d experienced that once when he was a boy, suffering the consequence—and Thorp’s laughter—for weeks.
He took the three steps to her back door, and still didn’t see what she’d been frightened by. Nope, the skunk was gone.
He returned to the outhouse. “All’s clear,” he said, thinking how embarrassed she would be when she actually came out. “The animal has either hightailed it away, or is in hiding, and we won’t find him tonight.”
She didn’t answer.
“Miss Canterbury? You still there?”
“I am, Mr. Wade.” The reply was soft, hesitant. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough. Would you mind terribly leaving now before I come out? I can’t seem to bear the thought of facing you tonight. Not after such an embarrassing situation.”
“Totally understandable.” Sometimes she sounded just like a little girl. “Good night,” he said, his previous annoyance feeling trite. “Knock ’em dead.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tabitha placed the bookmark between the pages, and gently closed the volume. Books were like people and should be treated with respect, handled carefully, and loved until their timely death.
A thunderous applause erupted. She glanced up, gratitude for this night weighing light in her heart. They’d loved it! At least so far. Thank heavens Mr. Wade had come to her rescue. For all his rude behavior before, his sensitivity to her embarrassing situation made her wonder. Maybe he wasn’t the tough saloon owner he pretended to be. After Mr. Wade had cleared her way, she’d skirted inside while gathering her wits, said her hellos, and began. By then, everyone was seated. Perhaps they believed her delay was a dramatic part of the performance.
Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5) Page 10