Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5) (4 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

W
ith a clean, moist cloth, Roberta Brown wiped down the table she’d just cleared, glancing up as a tall stranger walked through the restaurant door. He looked around at the few occupied tables, and then took a seat on the far wall where he’d have a good view of the door. She noticed his wide shoulders and interesting face. For a second, the gun on his hip put her off, but then his gaze met hers and he smiled. An unfamiliar pang made her breath catch. She left the rag on the table, went to the sideboard under the clock, and picked up a menu.

“Good evening,” she said in her most polished voice as she arrived by his side. She handed him the paper.

“Evenin’,” he replied, taking the menu, but his eyes didn’t leave hers.

My, he’s even more handsome up close!
Heat crept into her cheeks, and she hoped they weren’t turning red. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Please.”

Relieved at something to do, she turned for the kitchen. Pushing through the swinging door, she went directly to the stove, reached for a mug on the shelf above, and poured, noting a slight tremor in her hand.

“Roberta, is everything all right?” Daisy asked, concern in her voice. The petite seventeen-year-old was stirring a pot of stew, her face rosy pink from the heat of the stove. “Your hand is trembling.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she replied, irritated at herself for letting a handsome face affect her so. Widows weren’t supposed to have longings and desires. They were like horses whose race had been run and were now out to pasture. She thought of her late husband, Harvey, and how they’d met over a cup of coffee after church. He’d been tall and handsome, too, much like the man out in the dining room. Her older brother, Frank, had approved of the hardworking farmer and encouraged her to accept his hand. Their years working the land together hadn’t been easy, but they had been years full of love, kindness, and respect. She’d known how lucky she was. Harvey was a gentle man who wouldn’t hurt a flea. He didn’t believe in carrying a gun on his hip, and never had. Not every woman was so fortunate. Janet, her girlfriend from back home, had written over the years with frightening stories of abuse at the hand of her husband. He’d hidden a hardened past from her until after the wedding. Soon, he’d gambled away every cent of their money and ended up in prison, leaving Janet without a penny to her name. Her life had been one of toil and hardships, making Roberta all the more grateful for the caring husband she’d had. And the wisdom of her brother, who’d watched out for her future.

Daisy, still frowning with worry, went to the door and peeked out into the dining room. “Oh!” she said, a smile replacing her frown.

“What?” Susanna asked from her position at the break table; she was cutting the last of the biscuits and placing them on a greased baking sheet.

Having already set the mug of coffee on the counter, Roberta pulled a small tray from underneath. She added a small pitcher of milk, even though she’d forgotten to ask the stranger if he’d like any. Someday, if the right man came along, maybe she’d consider a new marriage. That wasn’t out of the question. “It’s nothing!” She shouldn’t sound so peevish, or the girls would surely think her behavior odd.

“What’s nothing?” A masculine voice tinged with humor brought Roberta around. Jake, Daisy’s beau, stood at the back door, his hat pushed back and a teasing gaze aimed at Daisy.

Daisy shook her head impishly. “Only a handsome stranger in the dining room who’s caught Roberta’s attention.”

Jake stepped in and went to Daisy’s side, kissing her cheek. “As long as he doesn’t turn
your
head. There’d be trouble if that happened.”

“You’re a tease, Jake.” She gave him a little push that didn’t move him at all.

“Maybe so, but I can’t help remembering how Dalton Babcock came to town and tried to steal Susanna away from Albert. That was a close call.”

Susanna laughed merrily. “No one could steal me from Albert, Jake.”

“That’s not how it looked to us.”

Susanna wiped her hands on her apron, finished with the sheet of biscuits. “Is that so? Well, it just so happens that Albert received a letter from Dalton last week. Seems now that his assignment in San Francisco is coming to an end, he’s planning to return. Maybe even settle in Logan Meadows.”

“Really?” Daisy’s eyes widened. “All the single girls will be excited to hear that news. When?”

“I think almost immediately. He sounded happy that things had gone well, said he received a bonus for all he did to keep the bank’s money safe. I’m glad.”

Still standing close to Daisy, Jake asked, “How does Albert feel about that?”

Warmed by the lively banter, Roberta listened, feeling young and alive.

“Albert likes Dalton. Says it never hurts to have an experienced gun he can count on if need be. And he says he’s going to start looking for a gal for Dalton right away.”

Daisy laughed, then reached for a cloth-covered basket of golden-brown biscuits and added it to the large oval tray resting on a tray stand. “These two bowls of stew are ready to go out, Roberta.”

“Let me deliver this coffee and I’ll be back directly.”

Roberta breezed out the door, the tray held up with practiced skill and an inexplicable excitement making her steps light.

CHAPTER SIX

W
hat in the world am I doing!
Tabitha flipped the page of the horticulture book laid open on her desk.
Sitting here with my window shade still rolled up as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Normally, by this time of the evening the store would be buttoned up and she’d be upstairs, bathed, and snuggled deep in her bedroom chair, reading a novel. Few things she liked better in life—as a matter of fact, she couldn’t think of one.

Except, maybe, waiting for Mr. Wade to walk by after having supper at the Silky Hen.

Her eyes wandered away from the sketch of a blooming larkspur to the flickering flame dancing in the lantern. She wasn’t really reading, but thinking. Thinking of her life, and her situation since moving to Logan Meadows. Sometimes seeing her friends in their marriages made her wonder if she’d chosen wisely. To remain single, so she could accomplish her heart’s desire of owning a bookstore. A bookstore couldn’t laugh or talk or keep her warm in its arms.

Once she hit thirty, there would be no denying her spinsterhood, business owner or not. With each passing day, her odds of making a meaningful union, if she so chose to, diminished. The situation revolved around the word
meaningful
. In truth, she didn’t have to remain single another day if she accepted one of the men here. Bachelors had made their interest known soon after she’d arrived. Kendall Martin, the owner of the Bright Nugget, who crossed her path almost daily, had told her straight out he’d even let her be a part of
his
business, if she cared to pair up.
How romantic.
She shook her head at the distasteful thought. The man, somewhere in his midfifties, and to her knowledge never married, was coarse and uneducated. He wasn’t the worst in his cleanliness, but he certainly wasn’t the best. When his eyes landed on hers in that oh-so-meaningful way, she had to stay the automatic shiver that threatened to take over her limbs. She’d happily remain an old maid for the rest of her years before yoking herself to him,
thank you very much.

There was Winthrop Preston, or Win, as he liked to be called. The livery owner had become a good friend. And she liked him well enough. She was a few years older, but if she let him know she was interested, she felt sure the kindhearted fellow would ask for her hand immediately. He’d slipped into her church pew a few times, smiling shyly.

Her best fit was Dr. John Thorn. In his early thirties, they were a good match in age, but she’d had minimal interaction with him since moving here, even though their businesses were both located on Main Street. She’d not chase someone who hadn’t shown any curiosity in her—there were limits to her boldness.

If she were
really
desperate, there was always Dwight Hoskins. In her first days here, he’d come by on several occasions, testing the waters, so to speak. He was handsome enough, but everyone had steered her away from Hannah’s ex-brother-in-law with stories that had tinged her ear tops red. A country bumpkin was one thing; a shady, dishonest schemer, quite another.

There were also some ranchers farther out, and others from New Meringue, but not one of them moved her in any way at all beyond friendship or repulsion.

Shamefully, she banished the picture that popped into her head of Mr. Wade in his buckskin shirt.
There
was a man who could make a woman stand up and take notice. As appealing as he seemed now, he was a total stranger, she admitted to herself. One she knew nothing about. He could be an outlaw on the run. A bank robber. A totally unscrupulous man.

Stop pouting. Things aren’t so bad the way they stand.
She’d made a good name for herself in the community. She was respected. And a businesswoman. That had been her goal since she’d been a young girl. She’d get by. A bit on the lonely side, but that was better than in a bed of regret. The majority of men expected their mates to stay home. Do as they were told. They had power over their wives’ every move. Her father’s domineering ways were a very good reminder of reality when she began to imagine differently.

The thought of her parents always brought a healthy serving of guilt. She was their only daughter, only child. As much as she hated to admit the fact, she’d let them down. If only they could understand her dreams. As the years marched on, their unhappiness at her refusal to court any man turned into anger. She took a job in the library, working when other young women were looking for a husband. In her free time she read, whisked away to some foreign romantic place. On her twenty-seventh birthday, they’d been dumbfounded when she announced her intention to travel west. To a place where she could afford to realize her dream with the dowry that she wouldn’t be sharing with a husband. Infuriated by her decision, her father, a rich man thanks to his speculative investments, had announced he’d put her money into a trust. One she couldn’t touch until her thirty-third birthday. If she insisted on the crazy idea of opening a bookstore, something far below their family’s standing, she’d do it on her own, without any help from them.

Someone knocked on her door. Tabitha glanced up. Recognizing Bao, wife of Tap Ling, owner of the town’s laundry business, she hurried to the door and pulled it open.

“Bao, what are you doing? It’s late. You should be home.”
It’s not safe for you after dark.

Sometimes horrible stories reached Logan Meadows. Lawless men murdered migrants, with little or no repercussions. Tabitha’s skin crawled at the thought. The shy woman, dressed in the same loose-fitting black pants and shirt that her husband wore daily, was unable to hide her growing stomach.

Bao gave a small polite bow. “Miss Canter
bury
, I see light. Run back for skirt so you not have to pick up.”

“Thank you. But you didn’t need to do that.” Tabitha took the garment from Bao’s hands, reddened from the harsh soapy water she used every day. “I don’t want you to ever do it again. Where is your daughter, Lan?”

“Home with her father.”

“Where
you
should be right now. I don’t mind walking down to your shop at all. As a matter of fact, I’m coming in tomorrow anyway to pay my bill.” On a tight budget, Tabitha usually washed her own clothes, but sometimes to help support Tap and Bao, she dropped off an item or two. It was a luxury she’d taken for granted back home. Maids, cooks—but no more. She was on her own. “You stay put from now on, all right?”

Two cowboys walked by in the direction of the saloon, giving her and Bao a wide berth. Tabitha hoped there wouldn’t be a drunken brawl tonight, or guns shooting off to wake her in a panic.

Bao gave another small bow and hurried away.

Tabitha locked her door and returned to her desk, thinking how silly it was that she was still downstairs. When a shadow appeared in the corner of her eye, she thought it was the laundress returning. Seeing that it was Mr. Wade walking from the hotel, she buried her face in the pages of her book, all the while stealing secretive glances at his manly profile. Her heart thwacked against her ribs. She didn’t want to be caught looking, and yet . . .

A soft tapping on her front window brought her head up.

Mr. Wade smiled.

Were her eyes too wide to be convincing? She hoped her astonishment didn’t look contrived. After a brief moment, she smiled back, picked up the lantern beside the book, and made her way to the door. Unlocking it once again, she pulled the door open. “Why, Mr. Wade, what a surprise.”

“Indeed,” he replied. “Didn’t expect to see you again tonight, Miss Canterbury.”

Her face warmed. “How was your supper at the Silky Hen?”

The darkness of the night softened his features. He’d shaved, but wore the same clothes he’d arrived in. Now that the stubble was gone from his face, she had to work not to stare at his strong, manly chin or his chiseled lips. His eyes appeared to smile.

“As good as Mrs. Donovan promised it would be,” he replied, rubbing his stomach. “I had chicken and dumplings with all the fixin’s—as well as
two
slices of chokecherry pie. I can’t remember a meal I’ve enjoyed more.”

His words were casual, but his eyes seemed to be assessing every inch of her face. This one was bold. Perhaps it was because they were alone. She tried to stifle the unladylike gulp she felt coming at his scrutiny, but was unsuccessful.

“So you didn’t forget to ask Susanna about the pie?”

He patted his stomach. “I’d never do that.”

He looked back the way he’d come, at the Bright Nugget two doors down, his mouth pulling into a small frown. “Seems pretty quiet tonight in the saloon. Only four men when I looked in.”

“That’s because it’s only Thursday. Tomorrow Kendall’s business picks up, and it can get downright disorderly on Saturday and Sunday.”

“Sunday, too?” Smiling now, a bit of wonder tinged his tone.

“Oh, yes. The Lord’s day makes no difference to
those types
. Sometimes inebriated cowboys actually shoot off their pistols in the middle of the street! Then Sheriff Preston or Deputy Donovan has to arrest them and lock them up until they can sleep off their intoxication. I think the town should start fining anyone who participates in such irresponsible behavior. Lightening their pockets might make a difference.”

He grunted. “Those types?”

“Men who enjoy wasting their hard-earned pay on drinking and gambling.” She leaned a bit closer. “
And on women
,” she whispered.

“I see.” He gazed off for a moment or two as if to ponder that fact, then glanced over her shoulder toward her desk. “Working late?”

“This isn’t that late for me. I’m just attending to a few things I didn’t want to put off until tomorrow.” Well, that was true, to an extent. In reality, she liked to read into the wee hours of the night. Reading was work in a way. It helped her give honest recommendations.

“If you say so. I best get moving so you can finish up and get some rest. I don’t mean to pester.”

“Will you be stopping in soon for that reader you mentioned?”

His lips curved into a boyish smile. “I plan to do that tomorrow. What time do you open?”

She reached behind her for the small poster she had on the receiving table and held it out. “Ten to five. Monday through Saturday.”

Mr. Wade touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “In that case,
Miss Canterbury, I’ll see you at ten.”

“I’ll look forward to it, Mr. Wade,” she found herself responding a bit too brightly, then watched as he turned and started for the small bridge that crossed over Shady Creek.

What is wrong with me! I’m acting like a flirt. Besides, Mother and Father would
never
approve of someone like him. He’s the kind of man they loathe.

Mr. Wade had long since crossed the creek and disappeared out of sight.

Tabitha closed the door with a soft click, turned the lock, and then pulled down the blind. Still holding the lantern, she leaned back against the door.
A handsome man tapping on
my
window. Imagine that.
She went upstairs, but before going to her armoire to change into her nightclothes, she took a moment at the balcony door, pushing aside the blue flowered curtain. Mr. Wade was out there somewhere in the chilly October air, planning to sleep on the ground. Winter was coming on, and frost would soon be on the pumpkins. She sighed.

Stop this nonsense! You have your lot, and it’s
this
store, in
this
town. You’re as happy as you can be. Don’t set yourself up for a heartache that may never heal.