A Bride in Store Read online

  Eliza walked to the large front windows. Will crossed the street and offered his arm to a woman with a rounded back who wore a face-obscuring scarf. Was he going to suggest she stay with her? Surely it was wrong of her insides to cringe because the woman hid her face. Unless Axel returned before nightfall and made other arrangements, she really didn’t have many options.

  Mrs. Lightfoot listed to one side as she moved toward a chair. Will slipped his arm under hers to ease her leg strain.

  She sat down with a huff. “I haven’t been able to get into town until today. I’ve been out of medicine since last week.”

  Hadn’t he checked on her last Sunday? “I didn’t realize you’d need more already.”

  “Because I shouldn’t. I use more than I ought trying to alleviate the pain. It’s been terrible lately.” She settled against the back of her seat with a sigh that fluttered her head scarf, then glanced toward Eliza. “What’s your name, dear?”

  Will held an open hand out toward Eliza. “Mrs. Lightfoot, this is Miss Cantrell. She came in with the train that was robbed this morning.”

  “Oh my, is that what happened to your face?” Her voice wheezed as she threw a compassionate look toward Eliza.

  She touched her bandage. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Miss Cantrell is Axel Langston’s intended.” The last word tasted like camphor in Will’s mouth, bitter and cold. Why had Axel not mentioned he had arranged for a mail-order bride? “But he’s not in town at the moment, and she needs lodging. I was hoping you could take her for the night. I’ll compensate you once—”

  “No,” both women said in chorus.

  “I mean,” Eliza said, stepping forward, a hand to her mouth, “it’s not that I don’t need a place to stay, but I didn’t realize Mr. Stanton meant to pay. Surely Axel will settle my bill when he returns. He doesn’t know I’m already here.”

  Irena waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not worried about it, child. William refuses to let me pay for treatments, so this being the first thing he’s asked for, I won’t take his money.”

  Will frowned. He let Irena feed him dinner as payment every time—which he shouldn’t continue allowing since he obviously wasn’t helping much.

  “And no need to have Mr. Langston pay either. You’re welcome to stay with me.” Mrs. Lightfoot straightened a leg and moaned. “If I can get back home, that is.”

  How had she managed to walk the eight blocks from her boardinghouse just outside of town? Half a dozen wagons had probably passed her, yet no one offered a ride? He hardened his jaw. Of course not. “My parents can take you home—Miss Cantrell as well.”

  Mrs. Lightfoot narrowed her eyes. “But the question is, will Miss Cantrell want to come? Does she know what I am?”

  “I haven’t had the chance to tell her anything.” And what would he have said? “Probably best you do that yourself.”

  She straightened in her seat and turned her piercing blue eyes toward Eliza. “Have you ever gone to a freak show, Miss Cantrell?”

  Well, that wouldn’t have been how he’d have gone about it.

  Eliza blinked. “A freak show?”

  “Yes, a circus sideshow where you pay money to see people with—” she moved her hand toward her scarf but dropped it back into her lap—“peculiarities.”

  “No. I did read about General Tom Thumb’s wedding years ago though.”

  “Well, I used to work for a traveling circus as a bearded lady.”

  Reaching up to his jaw, Will tried to imagine his stubble defining his character—or rather his whole life.

  Eliza’s eyebrows tilted in confusion. “I thought such things were a disguise or a costume or—”

  “Oh no. Many things were disguises, but some of us are truly the real thing.” Mrs. Lightfoot leaned forward on her cane. “My one and only pregnancy changed my life in more ways than one. My son turned out to be very small in stature, similar to General Tom Thumb, and he still travels around billed as the Smallest Man on Earth. But for some reason, in the months following his birth, I grew a beard.”

  Eliza nodded slowly, doubt flickering in her eyes.

  “When society shunned us, the circus provided us the best opportunity for employment, but I can’t travel anymore. So I settled here and established a boardinghouse.” She readjusted herself in the chair. “People often aren’t comfortable around me, so I don’t have many guests, but you’re welcome to stay with me. Right now, you’d be my only occupant.”

  “What do you say, Miss Cantrell?” Will held his breath. Would she turn down the offer? Had he invited Mrs. Lightfoot inside only to face more rejection? “She’s got room.”

  Eliza scratched her head. “I don’t want to take advantage of you just because you have no boarders.”

  Irena’s bushy gray eyebrows arched above her bright blue eyes. “You’re not opposed to lodging with a bearded lady?”

  Eliza put her hands on her hips. “If you’re kind enough to take in a penniless lodger, why would I be?”

  Mrs. Lightfoot settled back against her seat. “I like you, Miss Cantrell.” She stretched out her right leg again. “Now, if only I found my knees and ankles as agreeable.”

  “Let me get your medicine.” Will beckoned to Eliza with his head to follow him. “Thank you for not snubbing her,” he whispered as they walked down the center aisle.

  “Why should I be thanked for looking past a woman’s beard? I stick out like a sore thumb myself at the moment.”

  “Your stitches will heal and the scar will fade.” He walked around the back counter and flipped open his medical case.

  She stopped on the other side. “Though it certainly won’t make me any prettier.”

  Did she think that scar would keep men from noticing her when there were so few eligible ladies in town? It certainly hadn’t hindered his wandering eyes.

  The bell rang. Probably best she return to the front before his eyes wandered again. “Would you mind telling whomever that is I’ll be up as soon as I mix this for Mrs. Lightfoot?”

  “Of course.” Eliza turned and walked the aisle with purpose.

  Evidently his heart was completely over Nancy. Unfortunately it was tripping up over Eliza.

  Probably because she was new in town.

  Yes, that was it. He grabbed an empty bottle and unstopped a few others. He was merely attracted to her because she was novel. If he wanted to keep thoughts of Eliza from his head, he should crowd them out by mingling with other single ladies.

  But where could he meet new women? He capped his bottles and shook up Mrs. Lightfoot’s tincture. Perhaps once Axel returned, he could go on the rounds he’d once attended with Dr. Forsythe. Surely the little towns around Salt Flatts needed medical help, and if he went to church elsewhere, he—

  What was he thinking? Doctoring to meet girls? What a self-serving way to use his little bit of medical know-how.

  He shook his head and repacked his supplies. He’d get over this sudden fascination with Eliza as soon as he could mentally picture her together with Axel.

  Which at the moment his imagination stubbornly refused to do.

  Chapter 4

  Instead of using the reflection of the emporium’s window to make sure her shirtwaist and skirt lay nicely, Eliza smudged her finger through its thick layer of street grime peppered with tiny handprints and bug trails. She pulled out her notebook and added Clean the building’s front to the list she’d started last night.

  A single wagon traveled down the road. So few people this morning. Was Salt Flatts only as large as her neighborhood back home? Axel had told her Salt Flatts was a large, booming town. Evidently, he’d never seen a truly booming town. Or was this as big as western towns got?

  Without money, she really had no choice but to find success in this town, no matter its size. Her business acumen was all she now had to persuade Axel to keep his word and marry her, so she’d conduct herself as if she came for a job interview rather than a wedding ring. If Axel could look past her fac
e, attire, and empty pockets, and was reminded of the contents of their correspondence, he’d surely choose her as a business partner.

  She entered the Men’s Emporium to the door hinges’ protest. Another item to put on her fix-it list. Everything about shopping should be easy. Like opening the door . . .

  Or seeing a shopkeeper upon entry.

  She crossed her arms. The bell tinkled a second time as the door shut behind her. Would Axel greet customers faster than William? Might he have returned overnight? Suddenly she was short on breath. How would her fiancé react upon first seeing her?

  No one came, so she started counting.

  At nine, William shouted. “Be with you in a second.”

  Right—a second. Yesterday she’d perused the shelves for more than a minute before he came. Might Axel be with William? Her heart pulsated down into her fingertips as she forced herself to walk to the back.

  William was sitting behind his gun counter fiddling with a rusted rifle—alone.

  She glanced around. “Do you think working on guns while attending the shop is wise?”

  “Why not? I can work while no one’s here.”

  “Perhaps no one’s here because they waited too long for service one day and have decided to shop elsewhere.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “When there’s two of us, we don’t have a problem. I can’t twiddle my thumbs waiting for customers.”

  “So Axel hasn’t returned?”

  He shook his head as he popped out a part.

  Tension leaked out of her muscles, and her heart stopped ramming her ribs. Being relieved that her fiancé was still gone had to be a bad thing. They had to meet sooner or later. Was she going to have to wait the whole week, until the day she was scheduled to arrive? All this heart-fluttering anticipation followed by instantaneous stress release couldn’t be good for her.

  Leaning against the long counter that sectioned off the back area, she took in the store’s layout. Two huge display windows up front flanked the door, but she couldn’t see much of the door from back here—and not at all if she were to sit at the desk piled with papers and catalogs behind the counter on the right or at Will’s gunsmithing table on the left. The two untidy shelving units dividing the store into three sections obscured any ability to see incoming customers. “Why don’t we place the counter up front in that empty space to the left? People would see you immediately, and you could greet—”

  “Nobody puts their counter up front.”

  “Doesn’t mean we can’t.” She smiled, trying to dislodge the wary look in his eyes.

  He picked up a pair of tweezers. “Perhaps we should wait for Axel before we change things.”

  A mountain seemed more willing to consider budging than this man.

  The door’s bell sounded, but William didn’t move. With his tweezers, he tried to finagle a tiny something back inside the rifle. “Be with you in a second!”

  Yelling at customers from the back seemed to be his normal way of greeting. She grabbed an apron off a hook. “I’ll watch the store.”

  He dropped a spring, slapping his hand on it before it rolled away. “Now, wait a minute. There’s no need.”

  She huffed and cinched the apron. Was he as much against businesswomen as her brother? Axel had not named him, but he’d described his business partner as a pleasant, helpful chap who’d welcome help, but those weren’t the traits she’d observed in William. More like jumpy, uncomfortable, and leery. “I came to help Axel. I might as well start now.”

  Walking to the front, she plastered on a smile for the elderly gentleman who’d straggled inside. “Can I help you?”

  The man’s bushy white eyebrows rose. “With what?”

  “Finding something.” Maybe he was right to question her. What if she didn’t know if they carried the first thing he asked for?

  “What I need is William. Is he not here?” He cocked his head. “Who are you?”

  “I’m . . .” She’d already mentioned being Axel’s intended to a few people, so shouldn’t she admit to her relationship? But if Axel didn’t find her agreeable, that’d be embarrassing to explain later. “I work here.”

  He scratched behind his ear. “I still need William.”

  “He’s in the back.” Would the people of Salt Flatts be prejudiced against women clerks?

  The man grabbed a handful of cigars from a box, took them to the counter, and placed his hands in his pocket and fished around. He slapped down a coin and then went back to his pocket.

  “Hello, Mr. Harbuckle.” William wiped his hands on a grimy towel. “Anything else I can get you?”

  “No thank you.” The man pulled out a five dollar bill. “I just came in to give you this for helping my wife last year.”

  “I didn’t help much.” William shoved the money the man dropped onto the counter back toward him. “Besides, you gave me eggs.”

  “Take it, son. I’m leaving town to move in with my boy. Don’t want anyone saying I left without paying my bills.”

  William stared at the money as if he didn’t know how to pick it up. Evidently the price was fair, since he didn’t protest the amount. Why wouldn’t he want to be paid? “All right then, but the cigars are on sale, five for the price of four, so I’ll get you a nickel.”

  Eliza looked at the shelf with the cigar box. No sign stated such.

  After the older man left the store and William returned to his work, she said, “I bet collecting on a debt was nice.”

  “I wouldn’t call it nice.” William’s tongue worked as he fiddled with something in the gun. “I couldn’t help her. She died.”

  “I’m sorry.” Working with life and death had to be hard. “But that doesn’t mean you aren’t owed for the work you did.”

  “She was Dr. Forsythe’s patient back when I followed him on rounds.” William put down his tool. “But he refused to help, told Mr. Harbuckle his wife’s case was hopeless.”

  Eliza cringed. “He said that to his face?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Dr. Forsythe and I have a long-standing disagreement on how to deal with patients.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I think the anxiety that comes with heroic medical procedures won’t help a person get well, and Dr. Forsythe says real doctors don’t bother with weak homeopathic cures.”

  What could she say to that? She didn’t even really know what he was talking about. She’d only seen a doctor maybe twice in her life.

  But a store? She’d been in one her entire life and definitely knew more about running one than he did. “Do you have anything pressing you want me to do? If not, I’d like to clean the front windows. And do you have a blackboard for advertising sales? Are there others besides five cigars for the price of four?”

  “No. I just created that one for Mr. Harbuckle. I couldn’t refuse his payment, so I gave him a discount on the cigars.”

  So her future business partner placed items on sale without a plan? She pinched the bridge of her nose. Axel had written that the store was floundering, and now she knew why. How did he deal with William’s sporadic attention to the business and his impulsive decisions?

  “Are you all right, Miss Cantrell? I have some headache powders.”

  “No, that’s not necessary.” She dropped her hand from her face.

  She’d have to step lightly—Axel might soon be her husband, but he was surely more attached to his childhood friend than to her. She’d have to figure out a way to work with William—she had no choice.

  Will couldn’t keep from glancing around his customer to where Eliza stood with Lynville Tate. The farmer evidently couldn’t decide which cologne smelled best on his own. Not that he’d ever had a difficult time choosing before—he bought whatever was cheapest. But today, he was sniffing each uncorked bottle Eliza held to his nose—more than once.

  “I only need one of these. You gave me two.” Mr. Grant pushed a package of Veterinary Fever Remedy across the counter toward Will. “I need a cough powder.”


  “My apologies.” How long would it take before he didn’t feel compelled to watch Eliza work? She certainly wasn’t incompetent. In two days, she’d practically taken over helping customers. Another two days and she might take over the whole store.

  He returned to the medicine shelf and pulled off a similarly shaped package, double-checking the label this time. “I’m sorry your horse feels poorly. Have you applied hot poultices to his hooves or stomach?”

  “No, but I’ll try it. Throw in some licorice. And do you have any saw-handle screws? I only need one.”

  Crossing over to the licorice bin, Will could hear Eliza’s lilting voice respond to Lynville’s sickeningly charming rumble. He shouldn’t eavesdrop, but someone ought to make sure Lynville wasn’t trying anything untoward. Will took a piece of paper off the top of the bin and rolled it into a paper cone.

  “I still think plain old bay rum’s the best.” Lynville’s chest puffed out a little. “It’s what a real man wears.”

  “A good choice. I’m going to assume you could use more soap?”

  “Of course.”

  Why did Lynville just step closer to her? To prove he stank? Will flipped the licorice lid open, smacking it against the wall.

  “How is your brush holding up, Mr. Tate? Badger bristles are the best.”

  What on earth was she talking about? Had Irena taught Eliza how to shave her face last night?

  Will dug the scoop in, hitting the bottom with a clang. Lynville looked over his shoulder and gave him a lazy smile. Hadn’t Lynville started sparking with Sarah? She was prettier and dressed nicer—and was silly enough to consider the clown.

  “My brush is perfectly fine, miss, but I’d like your opinion on a hat. I’ve wanted a new one for weeks but can’t decide which one makes me look more dashing.”

  Will scrunched the paper cone in his hand. Lynville hadn’t so much as looked at a hat since he’d started frequenting their store.

  He had to commend Eliza, though, for appearing oblivious to the man’s flirtations and acting as if every customer wore a grin too big for his face.