A Bride in Store (19 page)

Will.

Had they caught Axel? Would he be the one to tell her? What if he’d decided to visit her just to . . . visit? Please no, she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. “Did you ask Will over?”

Irena turned on the bench with a little groan. “No, but I sure wouldn’t mind him looking at my foot again.”

Will spotted them from the porch before reaching the front door. He pulled off his hat and walked into the side yard. “Good evening, ladies.”

“Are you scrounging around for someone to feed you, boy?”

Will smiled at Irena. “Not many men will turn down food.”

Irena rolled her eyes, though a twinkle enlivened them. How could her husband and son have left a woman who found such pleasure in filling stomachs? “Then I’ll check the ham and add an extra place setting.” She hobbled off without another word.

Eliza hugged herself harder. She’d not seen Will since he’d walked her home in a daze after they’d found the sheriff—whom Axel had not visited as the Finches had hoped.

Will’s eyes were as focused on her now as they’d ever been.

She couldn’t stop her stomach’s fluttering, but she’d refuse to heed it. “I doubt you came to mooch.” She spread her feet, planting her bootheels in the grass to steady herself if he was going to deliver news of Axel’s capture and upcoming trial. She half wished her former fiancé would escape so she would never have to face him. Then again, she wanted her money. “Did they catch him?”

Will shook his head. When she sighed, his mouth puckered. “You seem relieved.”

He’d probably think her insane if she admitted why. “Has it gotten out that we . . . that he and I . . . almost wed?”

“Unfortunately, you’re the talk of the town.” He played with the hat in his hand. “But more so, I think, because you’ve stayed hidden away.” He looked at her with pity-filled eyes. “They think you’re devastated.”

“What woman wouldn’t be?” Not that she was distraught over the loss of Axel himself, but what he’d promised her.

“Of course.” He dug his toe in the dirt and flicked up a pebble. “So . . . why haven’t you been to the store?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What would I need at the Men’s Emporium?”

He furrowed his brow right back at her. “Work.”

“You can’t afford to pay me.”

Well, that shut him up. He stared off at the clouds on the horizon.

Had he thought she’d work for nothing? Even if she wanted to work with Will, he’d be going to medical school sometime. And what if pesky emotions got the better of her again before he left? It was best to start housekeeping now.

He ran his hands through his hair as he always did when tongue-tied.

What else was there to say? It was the end of their time together. Might as well end the conversation . . . drift apart . . .

“Dinner’s ready!” Irena called out the front door.

Eliza started toward the house.

“I know I can’t pay you much, but surely—”

She held out her hand to stop him. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine working for Irena as her housekeeper, and I’ll seek similar jobs.”

“You’re giving up owning a store?” he sputtered.

She steeled her back. “I haven’t much choice.”

He grabbed at the back of his neck, but she wouldn’t stand around for him to argue with her.

“As you said, Will, sometimes dreams die.”

“Sometimes dreams die.”

Will put the last repaired firearm under the counter and drummed his fingers, surveying his empty shop. From the front.

The pungent smell of new lumber and sawdust blanketed him like a pile of suffocating quilts. What good would come from having this counter built if no customers came and Eliza wasn’t there to appreciate his efforts?

For the first time in months, he’d finished all his gunsmithing jobs and no one needed assistance. He should restock or something.

Surely his customers would return once the shock of one of their own belonging to a bunch of train robbers wore off. Then they’d realize he couldn’t have been involved. Not a boy who’d bandaged wounded animals, not the man who cared for them when Dr. Forsythe gave up. What kind of criminal spent an entire night holding a widow’s hand until she met her Maker? They’d remember who he was soon enough and return.

They had to.

How often had he raided his nest egg to buy medicine for people who offered only a lump of butter or a handful of eggs for his visits?

And this was how they repaid him?

Boot stomps on the porch made him shake his head at himself. He needn’t have fretted so—the townsfolk just needed time. Or so he hoped.

Lynville Tate stepped in and dragged off his hat.

“Good afternoon.”

Lynville jumped and turned to face him. “Whatcha doing there?”

“Miss Cantrell suggested I sit up front to greet the customers.” He walked around the L-shaped counter. “What can I do you for?”

“Um . . .” He licked his lips, and his gaze darted around the store. “I’d hoped Miss Cantrell might assist me.”

Really? The man was back to flirt already? Will crossed his arms. “She no longer works here.”

Lynville spun on him, his hat smashed against his hip. “You fired her just because she almost married your no-good friend?”

“You know me better than that.” Will fought to keep from rolling his eyes. “She’s chosen not to return.” Which meant he probably had as much chance at winning her as Lynville.

“Ah.” Lynville relaxed and glanced out the window. “So where can I find her?”

“Leave her alone, Lynville.”

He sized him up. “You got your eye on her?”

Even if he’d admit it to someone other than himself—he wouldn’t fight Lynville over a woman so grieved over her attachment to a train robber going sour that she was giving up her long-held dreams. She’d not refuted the town’s gossipers when he’d visited her at Irena’s. She
was
devastated over losing Axel.

He’d assumed she’d be happy to have escaped a marriage to a criminal, but evidently he’d imagined her attachment to the Axel she’d fallen for through letters to be far weaker than it truly was. “I’d think you’d be gentlemanly enough not to swoop down on her like a turkey buzzard.”

“I would do no such thing.” Lynville flipped his hat onto his head. “A woman all alone in town needs someone to cheer her up after such an incident.”

“You don’t think Mrs. Lightfoot is adequate?”

“The bearded lady?”

“I don’t understand how facial hair signifies she’s inadequate.” He eyed the man’s pitiful mustache. “Unless you’re saying something about yourself.”

Lynville scrunched his nose. “All I’m saying is a girl who’s been heartbroken needs a distraction.”

Ah, that was the strategy. “She’s not that fragile. A decent man would wait until she healed before—” Will stopped short. Surely
she’d never choose to be a farmer’s wife once retailing got back into her blood.

But then, he needn’t give Lynville helpful advice either. “Do you need something from my store?”

“Not really. I think I’ve bought plenty here lately.”

Will couldn’t help the smirk. “I believe you have.”

“I’ll bid you good day, then.” Lynville pushed up the brim of his hat a touch before leaving.

How he wanted to stick his head out the door and holler
Leave Eliza alone!
Instead, he tromped to the back for his feather duster. He sighed and yanked the duster off its nail.

He wouldn’t believe Eliza could give up her dream of running a store so easily. Yes, he
had
once told her that dreams sometimes died, but he hadn’t thrown his school dream onto a garbage heap to rot—it simply refused to live no matter how often he attempted resuscitation. Hadn’t he offered her the work she needed? Her refusing the position made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

However, Eliza wouldn’t be content cleaning houses for long. She’d find some way to become competition before he was ready.

Ugh, competition. Not what he needed.

The bell tinkled up front.

Customers were what he needed. He walked over an aisle to see the door. “May—”

And of course Eliza stood there beside an empty counter, not greeted the moment she stepped inside. He groaned at his failure and walked toward her. “I suppose you don’t need help finding a razor strop or a bucket of nails.”

“What’s this?” She pointed at the counter, her eyebrows high.

“A counter, up front, as you suggested.”

She blinked, her eyes as big and luminous as ever. “You said you had no money for this.”

He didn’t know what to do with the duster in his hand, so he tucked it under his armpit. “A patient built it as payment for helping
his sick child last year. He’s good at carpentry and had a pile of salvaged lumber.” He waited until she looked at him. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

“Well, you did.” She shrugged as if the counter didn’t mean anything.

He’d meant the counter as sort of a gift since he could no longer hand her and Axel his part of the store, but her nonchalance felt as if she’d tossed his handpicked flowers in the trash.

Her eyes roved the store. “No one’s here?”

“Business has been poor.”

“Because of Axel?”

“They’ll get over it.” And he’d tell himself that over and over again until it became true. Because how would the store stay afloat if they didn’t? “I need your help, Eliza. I’m not going to be able to get this store to make a profit without you.”

She tipped her head. “You haven’t taken any of my advice before.”

He looked pointedly at the front counter.

Her gaze followed his. “You can’t afford me.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that. Are you going to demand an exorbitant hourly wage?”

“I’ve seen your books, Will.”

He rubbed his temple and swallowed. Did she think less of him because he couldn’t balance the ledger? Did she know how hard he struggled with figures? “You mean you looked at them after I told you there was no need.”

“No need, eh?” Her hard glare almost knocked him over. “What
are
you hiding from me?”

The daggers she threw at him from her big brown eyes made his lungs deflate. “You think I’m as shady as Axel.”

“Your ledgers don’t balance, and—”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t want you looking at them. I need more time to figure out what I miscalculated.” Maybe he ought to poke a pin in his pride and take the books home to Ma. She was
a math enthusiast, but no grown man took things home for his mother to patch up unless absolutely necessary.

“Even if you correct the books”—Eliza shrugged—“you’re still too far in debt to hire someone.”

He held out his hands, palms up. “Unfortunately, that’s so, but what about splitting any profits?”

She looked askance and shook her head. “This isn’t the kind of store I want to run anyway. If I ever run one, it’ll be my way. A setup just like F. W. Woolworth’s.”

A small flame of stubbornness and yearning still flickered in her eyes. Good. She’d get over this need to do something else faster than Axel ran out of town. “Can’t you work with whatever’s already here?”

“No. The inventory is all wrong.” She frowned a little and sighed. “I won’t even entertain the idea. I came here for recommendations. You make house calls when someone needs doctoring, yes?”

He nodded. Was there any other way to entice her to work for him?

No. He had nothing, and she knew it.

“I figured you’d know who has money to pay their medical bills and who might have houses in need of help. I’d also be willing to help nurse invalids or the bedridden.”

So he’d be the storekeeper, and she’d be the medical professional? Could the world turn any more topsy-turvy? “Mrs. Graves might like the prestige of another maid. But she’ll not pay you well.” And did he really want her working in the same house with Nancy? “Maybe Mrs. Raymond, the banker’s wife, but I think Señora Nogales’s girls work for her. I’d hope you wouldn’t want to underbid the girls—the Nogaleses really need the money.”

Eliza’s shoulders slumped.

“Instead of focusing on families, maybe you should approach businesses?” He held up his duster. “I wouldn’t mind if you cleaned all this sawdust instead of me.”

A twitch of amusement played at the corner of her mouth. “How are you going to pay me again?”

“How about the same way my patients do? Bartering. Goods.” He picked up a pair of suspenders. “How about these? They’d look good with that plain button-up shirt of yours.”

She pulled at her collar but didn’t smile back. “I think I’ll pass. I’m afraid you’d quickly run out of things I’d want from your shelves.”

“How about a top hat you could glue some lace to?” He scanned her unadorned shirtwaist and dull navy skirt and couldn’t keep the question in any longer. “Why do you dress so plainly anyway?”

“If I don’t draw attention to my femininity, male customers are more likely to bypass flirting and get on with business.”

He scratched the side of his face. “So you think Lynville hasn’t been buying an awful lot because—”

“Maybe the strategy hasn’t worked here as well as it did in Pennsylvania.” She scrunched her lips.

He couldn’t keep from smiling at a woman who found polite male deference less than chivalrous.