The Bride's Prerogative (69 page)

Griffin turned and eyed her suspiciously. “You want me to take on his duties as division agent?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m awful busy.”

“Yes, I know, but I can’t think of anyone else as qualified.”

Griffin looked back at the forge. The side of the horseshoe he needed to work was white-hot now. He seized it with the tongs and carried it to the anvil. As he positioned the pritchel and picked up his hammer, he could feel her watching him.

A few blows did the job, and he plunged the shoe into the bucket of water at his feet. “We’ve got no one else in town who can run this smithy, ma’am. This and the livery keep me going all day.”

“What if someone else could run the livery for you? Couldn’t you hire an assistant?”

Griffin pulled the horseshoe from the water and squinted at it. “Maybe.” Josiah Runnels came to mind immediately. He hated freighting with his father’s mule teams. Griffin didn’t say so, but he reckoned Josiah would jump at the chance. “Your pa did a good job of keeping the stages running on time.”

“Yes, he did. You understand what’s needed.”

“What would you pay me?”

“You could collect Papa’s salary. I would ask nothing of you other than fulfilling the contract in an efficient manner. The job would be yours.”

Griffin stood for a long moment, thinking about that. How could he be sure she meant that? Nothing else required. Would she expect him to be grateful?

“I would also give you one of Papa’s pocket watches to help you in the job.”

He tossed the horseshoe into a bucket of finished shoes and scratched his chin through his beard. He’d never owned a watch but had never viewed it as necessary. “I dunno. It might work.”

“You can think about it for a couple of days if you want. I’ll continue at Mrs. Adams’s lodgings a few more days. And can you see to the stage line until you give me your decision?”

“I s’pose I can. Maybe you could ask Josiah Runnels to sit in the office mornings and sell tickets? That way I can get my smithing and barn chores done.”

“That’s a good idea. Thank you. I’ll ask him right away. Please let me know when you’ve made your decision.”

Griffin stood ruminating after she’d gone. He still didn’t want to hitch up with her, but if she was serious …

He had an inkling that Cyrus collected a hefty salary for running the branch line. He wouldn’t have kept doing it year after year if he hadn’t been making money.

Certainly he’d clear enough to hire a stable hand or two. He’d have to oversee the drivers and messengers. Probably would have to ride the line now and then and check out the other stops between Fergus and Boise to make sure things ran smoothly. If it worked out and he could get the contract on his own next year, he might even advertise to sell the smithy. And he’d be shoveling less manure. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded.

But he wouldn’t rush over to the Paragon Emporium to tell Isabel. Not yet. He had a stagecoach team to switch out in an hour. And besides, he didn’t want her to think he was too eager. She could get all sorts of notions.

CHAPTER 41

T
he Paragon Emporium experienced a lull most afternoons. Patrons did their shopping early and stuck close to home during the heat of the day. Libby had ordered a thermometer from New York, and Josiah had posted it on the back porch, out of the direct sunlight. This afternoon it registered one hundred degrees. She’d sent Florence home at lunchtime and told her to take the rest of the day off. No sense having two of them in the store when only a handful of people would come in.

She’d thought about ordering a dozen of those mercury thermometers to sell in the emporium. But would people like to know how hot it really was, or would that just disturb them more? People like Hiram, who had a scientific turn of mind, would probably appreciate the device. Knowing how hot it was wouldn’t keep him from working, but it would give him something to think about.

Bertha Runnels, on the other hand, often complained about the heat. Some days she declared that if it got any hotter she would surely die of heatstroke. So if she had a thermometer and it told her that the heat really had increased, would Bertha be more likely to keel over and die? The sobering thought kept Libby from stocking weather instruments. Maybe she would ask Dr. Kincaid his opinion. After all, he had a medical thermometer. Did he tell people when their fever was high enough to damage their organs? Or would that adversely affect the patient?

As she pondered the question, she sorted the nails that had fallen into the wrong buckets. The hardware section of the store took as much of her time as the yard goods. Isaac used to keep it organized, but now the chore fell to Libby—unless she delegated it to Florence.

After bending over the buckets for five minutes, she stood and stretched her arms and back. Some days she wished she hadn’t married a storekeeper. She hardly got outside except for the shooting club. Not that she regretted coming out here in response to Isaac’s plea, but it would be heavenly now to be out on the prairie away from town, where the breeze would reach her. If the good Lord ever gave her a chance for a different life, she’d choose to live out away from town. That and children. Of course, a thirty-five-year-old single woman was unlikely to see that opportunity.

The bell on the door jangled. She pasted a smile on her face before turning to greet the person brave enough to come out in this heat.

Hiram nodded soberly and closed the door behind him.

Libby’s chest contracted, and she reached out to steady herself against the table of hinges and stovepipe. “Good day, Hiram. How is your garden taking this weather?”

“I’m hauling water.”

“Of course.” No one in Fergus would see a harvest this year without irrigating their crops. But wells were going dry. Going to the river to fill barrels and hauling them back to the fields took a lot of energy. “May I help you with something?”

He took two steps toward her then stopped. His eyes held hers, and he swallowed hard. “Would you …”

Her heart tripped. Instantly, she cautioned herself.
Don’t assume anything, Libby. His next words might be, “Would you have any dung forks?”

For a few breathless seconds, they stood eyeing each other. Libby refused to speak. Though she’d developed a fondness for Hiram, she would not go about completing his sentences for him and explaining his actions to other people, the way his sister did. Let him speak for himself.

“I … wondered if you’d … like to take dinner … with me.”

He gritted his teeth and waited. Libby drew in a tight breath. In this moment, she could change their lives. If she declined and sent him away, he would never approach her again. But if she encouraged him—even if they only spent one evening together—her life would be different. Perhaps very different. Rockets of possibilities exploded in her mind. A new love. A new home. Trudy for a sister-in-law. A gentle husband. Children.

“I should be delighted.”

He exhaled audibly. “I thought … maybe Bitsy and Augie’s? Or the boardinghouse if you’d rather …”

“I’ve wanted to dine at the Spur & Saddle, but I hadn’t the courage to go alone.”

He nodded. “Tonight, then?”

Little pricks in the back of her throat made it hard for Libby to breathe, but she managed. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Shall I come by after closing?”

She did some rapid calculations. She usually closed at six.

“Would six thirty be too late?”

His rare smile came out like the sun sliding from behind a cloud. “No ma’am. That’s perfect.” He nodded and went out. The bell jangled as he shut the door.

Libby pulled in a deep breath, straightening her shoulders.

“I’m having dinner with a gentleman this evening.” Saying it made her pulse throb even faster. And he was not only a gentleman, but a hero. She’d kept quiet and listened after the shootout at Kenton Smith’s ranch, but Hiram had never owned up to shooting the man in the hayloft. If not for his quick action, at least one of their townsfolk might have been killed. The sheriff, perhaps. But Hiram didn’t ask that anyone recognize his prowess. In fact, if anyone asked, he’d probably insist his sister was a better shot than he was. But Libby knew better.

She hurried to the apparel section and eyed the merchandise critically. Perhaps Rose was right and Fergus needed a milliner. She scooped up a pair of spotless white gloves with tiny seed pearls stitched in a floral design on the wrists. She would wear her best Sunday hat, though Hiram had seen it many times. At least she would have new gloves.

Hiram whistled as he loaded his tools and paintbrushes into a box. The heat no longer seemed oppressive. Clouds flirted with the sun, bringing welcome shade off and on.

As he headed out of the barn, carrying his toolbox, Griff Bane rounded the back corner of the house.

“Howdy, Griff.”

“Hiram. Brought you something to work on. My rifle’s jammed. Didn’t want to do too much prodding for fear I’d blow my toe off, so I brought it to you.”

“Fine. I’ll look at it tomorrow if you don’t mind. Got a little job to do for Augie and Bitsy this afternoon.” Hiram set down the toolbox.

“Oh?” Griff handed him the gun.

“Yup. They want me to repaint the sign at their place.”

“Huh. What’s wrong with the old one?”

“It says,
‘BEER
& W
HISKEY.’
“

“Oh right.” Griff shook his head. “Don’t seem right with only one saloon in town. Main Street’s not balanced anymore.”

“Oh, somebody’ll open up another watering hole soon. Wait and see.” Hiram broke open the gun’s breech and peered into the chamber. “Looks jammed, all right.” He closed it and set the rifle inside the barn, leaning against the wall. “I’ll get to it tomorrow, for sure.”

Griffin frowned at him in silent study.

“What?” Hiram asked.

“I dunno. You just … you talk more than you used to.”

Hiram chuckled and picked up his toolbox. “Listen, I want to ask you something.” He walked slowly across the barnyard toward the path, and Griff kept pace with him. “Isabel Fennel came by this morning and offered to sell me her pa’s ranch. She even offered to swap houses with me.”

“Wow. Good opportunity for you.”

“Yeah.” Hiram shook his head in doubt. “I told her I don’t have the money, and then … well, she asked if I’d think about living out at the ranch and acting as foreman. She’d pay me. Trudy says I should do it, but I don’t know….”

“Well, I’ll help you move if you do it. And I’ll help Miss Isabel move her things, too.”

“Chances are she’ll go live in one of Cy’s empty houses here in town, or at the boardinghouse. I got the impression she doesn’t like living out at the ranch, at least not now that she’s alone.”

They’d reached the boardwalk on the street, and Griff stopped. Hiram paused, too.

“She asked me to keep the stage line running. Offered to let me take over her pa’s contract with Wells Fargo.”

Hiram whistled softly. “You going to do it?”

“Don’t know yet. I kind of feel sorry for her.”

“Yeah. She seems a lot more mellow since her father died.” Hiram smiled up at his friend. “Maybe you ought to think about calling on her.”

“Oh no. Not a chance.” Griff held up both hands and backed off a step. “You’re not going to marry me off, so quit thinking that way. I like my life just fine the way it is.”

Hi chuckled. “Aw, Griff, she’s a nice young woman. And Trudy says she’s coming right along with her shooting lessons. She may not be the prettiest gal in town, but she’s not so bad.”

Griffin laughed and shook his shaggy head. “Not me, mister. I’ll start courting a lady the day you do.”

Hiram eyed him soberly. Griffin stopped laughing and peered at him suspiciously. Hiram felt a blush washing up from his neck to his hairline.

Griffin’s eyes popped wide. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I would. As a matter of fact, I’m going calling tonight.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Griffin stared at him. “Might I ask who?”

Hiram couldn’t help it. He must look like a fox that just raided the henhouse, but he couldn’t stop grinning. “The prettiest woman in town. She’s a good shot, too.” He swung his toolbox by the handle and headed up the sidewalk whistling.

From behind him came the stunned words, “I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it.”

Bitsy came out the front door of the Spur & Saddle and walked over to admire Hiram’s work. He had repainted the sign and was adding a gold stripe around the edge of the board.

“Oh, that’s fine.” Bitsy grinned at him. “Can you hang it back up tonight?”

“The paint’s not dry, and one of the screws is stripped. I don’t have quite the hardware I need.”

“Hmm. The emporium’s still open.”

Hiram glanced up at the westering sun. “Not much longer, and if I ask Mrs. Adams to stay open to sell me hardware, she and I will both be late to dinner tonight. I’m bringing her here.”

Bitsy stared at him for a moment then playfully shoved his shoulder. “Go on.”

“It’s true.”

“Well, I never.” She eyed the sign critically. Beneath the shaded Gothic lettering of
“SPUR
& S
ADDLE”
and Hiram’s rendition of a roweled spur, smaller block letters spelled
“FINE
M
EALS
S
ERVED”
and
“MR
. & M
RS
. A. M
OORE
, P
ROPS.”