A Bride in Store (14 page)

Bothered her more than an engaged woman ought to be bothered.

The ledger near her called to her restless fingers. Will hadn’t wanted her to look, but she shouldn’t be left in the dark about anything regarding the store. Axel had told her they needed help, and help she would—filling her head with numbers should easily crowd out the troubling thoughts occupying her mind.

After a half hour of scanning columns, she ended on the last page’s negative balance.

It was only a matter of time before these men failed or had to sell.

The math was done properly, but some entries seemed to be entered double or triple times. She hadn’t touched everything as
she’d rearranged shelves, but sixty-five hurricane lamps? Maybe they were tucked away in the corner of the stock room, but who’d thought ordering so many was a good idea?

She flipped the book back to where Will had left it open. He’d insisted she not look in the ledgers. Either Will made awful financial decisions or he was pocketing money. . . .

No, she couldn’t believe Will capable of such a thing.

She flipped back a page. Some sections looked as if he’d simply crossed off customer debts. Did the townsfolk invent sob stories knowing Will caved easily? He failed to refuse needy patients despite his resolve not to practice. And he’d sold Mr. Harbuckle those cigars for a nickel off, just because he’d pitied the man.

Charity write-offs had to be a planned thing—otherwise both men would be needing handouts soon.

Eliza gnawed on her inner cheek. She shouldn’t jump to conclusions based on her stolen minutes with the ledgers. She needed more time—and better yet, an outsider’s opinion.

She shoved away from the desk, needing to focus on something else. Unfortunately the afternoon had been slow, despite the rain stopping. Perhaps the lingering silver-gray clouds were keeping people home. If only her future didn’t look as gloomy as the sky.

If she couldn’t get these men to follow her advice and had to fight them to change their business practices, would she be living above the store forever? If she couldn’t save the store, where would they end up?

The front door bell jangled. She left the books to attend to a heavyset man who limped in. How long did Will intend to be gone on his walk? “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Ma’am.” The customer stopped to wipe his brow, then charged right past her toward the back.

She followed. “Can I help you?”

He didn’t even look at her as he stomped toward the back counter. “Stanton?” he called.

“I’m afraid Mr. Stanton is out at the moment. Since I haven’t seen you before, you may not know I’m working here and can—”

“You’re working as a clerk?” The man turned and gave her the eye.

Did he find something wrong with that? “Yes, sir.”

“Then you can’t help me.” He set his satchel on the counter and drummed his fingers on the well-worn wood. “When will Stanton return?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know where he is?”

She had no idea where either of the men who’d muddled her life in the last weeks were. “No, but I’m sure he’ll return soon.”

“Look, I need Stanton to give me some of those weeds he grinds up for Mrs. Graves. She insists he’s cleared up her . . . afflictions, and I’ve got two others demanding I give them Stanton’s treatment.” He pulled out his handkerchief again and wiped his sweaty brow. Either the muggy afternoon was affecting him adversely, or he’d run the whole way there. “Tell him I’ll be at the barber’s.”

“You’re Dr. Forsythe?”

“Yes.” He glared at her from under bushy eyebrows. “What of it?”

Clearly Will had told the truth regarding the doctor’s poor bedside manner. The heat of the man’s glare and the pinch in his voice made her want to quit talking and send him on his way. “Only that I’ve heard much about you.” She swallowed before plunging on, hoping she would hold up under his wilting look. “I’d like your opinion on something.”

“If you’re a friend of Stanton’s, ask
him
if you want free medical advice. I charge.”

She cleared her throat. “Of course, and he should too.”

Dr. Forsythe rolled his eyes. “He needs a backbone more than he needs school.”

“Actually, that’s what I was going to ask about. Do you think he’d make a good doctor?”

The man rolled his big head around, as if the words in his gullet needed coercion to leave his mouth. “The boy’s got a sixth sense. He knows which Indian trickery herbs actually work—either that or people believe whatever he prescribes will help. Mind tricks can be effective, I suppose.

“It’s not that I won’t try new methods if I have no luck, but I don’t like being forced to provide one.” He snatched up his satchel and dipped his head. “I haven’t any more time to chitchat. I need a haircut before I’m summoned by some dirt-poor farmer expecting me to save his children from the diseases they get from refusing to purge themselves periodically.”

He brushed past her, muttering under his breath.

“I’ll let Mr. Stanton know you’re looking for him.”

The man waved at her dismissively without even turning around.

This was the man people hoped would care for them on their sickbed? No wonder Will had a line of customers he didn’t want. Grumpy Will was a lark compared to Dr. Forsythe.

The doctor stopped on the porch to talk to some poor drenched man. She busied herself with emptying one of the front shelves so she could move it. If she made room up front for a counter, Will shouldn’t oppose having one made.

But with what funds? Maybe that had been more his concern than not wanting to follow her advice.

The animated conversation on the porch grew louder. Dr. Forsythe didn’t seem happy about being stopped by the tall blond keeping him from his precious haircut.

She’d never before seen the other man either, thin and fair-haired, with sideburns and a mustache. Hadn’t that been how Will had described Axel? He’d said he favored his mother.

As she moved closer to the window, the movement must have caught the blond’s eye, because the man glanced toward her in the middle of his conversation. He patted Dr. Forsythe on the back, and the doctor looked none too pleased about the affront to his
person. They parted ways, and the blond stranger opened the door with a big smile on his face.

Her heart pounded, and her mouth turned salty. She needed water.

The man pulled off his waterlogged hat and looked right at her, but his smile stuck. His gaze dropped to her cheek, tempting her to cover the scar that itched under his perusal.

He cocked his jaw and replaced his hat. “Silly me, I meant to hit the post office first.” Then he turned on his heel.

“Wait, are you . . .”

His back tensed, but his hand rested on the doorknob instead of turning it.

“Axel Langston?”

His shoulders fell limp, and his hand dropped. Had he heard her? But if he hadn’t, why was he still standing there?

He turned around slowly, his hat against his chest. “You know me?” His eyes jumped to her scar again and then scanned her entire body.

“Sort of.” If she’d had a shawl, she’d have tucked it around her tighter. Axel had every right to look her over, but the scrutinizing he gave her wasn’t a man looking at her with admiration or loathing, more like assessing a cow or a horse at an auction. “I’m Eliza.”

“Naw.” Instead of smiling again, he blinked and cocked his head.

“I assure you, I am.”

“You’re Eliza? Cantrell?” He took a step toward her. “What are the odds that . . . that you . . . look like you do?”

Was that a bad thing or a good thing? “I guess I don’t meet expectations.”

“It’s just that you look exactly like the woman I’ve envisioned for the past few weeks.” Axel squinted and ran his tongue around his mouth. “Dreamt about you lots.”

She released the breath she’d been holding, and her shoulders relaxed. Was that true or was he trying to be sweet? “For some
reason I thought you’d be disappointed with me. I know I’m not the fairest of face, and this scar doesn’t help.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry for staring, but it’s . . . unexpected. The scar looks recent.”

“I got it two weeks ago on the train.”

“You were supposed to come in last week.”

“Yes, but I got impatient.”

The lazy smile he threw at her made her feel a bit better.

“The train was robbed and one of the men didn’t take too kindly to me hiding my money.”

His smile couldn’t melt the fear that her next words might have on her future. “He hit me with the side of his pistol and stole everything I had.”

His eyebrows raised. “All your savings?”

She nodded, waiting for him to process her penniless state.

He looked at the ceiling, his eyes and jaw working as if calculating.

And she’d thought trying to ascertain Will’s feelings this morning had been impossible.

“That isn’t the best news, but I’ve set up more business partnerships while I’ve been away, and—”

“For your mother? That’s wonderful.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “How do you know about my mother? I told you to wait.” His abrasive tone made her skin prickle.

“I . . .” She couldn’t lie, since she’d received his letter before visiting Mrs. Langston. “I had no choice. Your father figured out who I was when he delivered your letter to Will. Since he knew about me, I figured he’d tell your mother.”

“I’m sure you found out that didn’t happen.”

“Yes.” Whatever had torn his parents apart might affect their own marriage. “Can you tell me why they’re separated?”

“No one in this town knows why.”

“But as your soon-to-be wife . . .”

He loosened up a bit. Had he believed she’d not have him? Though grilling him the second he walked through the door wasn’t exactly welcoming. Oh, to be able to start all over.

“Unfortunately, it’s a family secret. I’ll tell you, but I’d like you to be family first.” He smiled. Not as nice as Will’s, but he was quite handsome. He certainly took after his mother—a good thing, since Jedidiah’s brooding looks made her feel uneasy. “So how about tomorrow?”

“What about tomorrow?” Did she miss something?

“Becoming family?”

“Oh.” She smashed a hand against the sudden upturn of her heart. She’d intended to marry him the day she arrived, but the weeks of waiting had lulled her into thinking she had time. “But you just got into town and learned I’ve lost all my money and—”

“Where’s Will?”

She glanced behind her because Axel was looking in that direction, though she knew she’d see no one. “Gone somewhere.”

“He left you alone to tend the shop?”

She nodded curtly. “I can handle the store just fine.”

He bobbed his head as he took in that information. “If Will already trusts you with the store, then that will help immensely when I have to go out on business.”

“What kind of business?”

His lip twitched, and he sucked in a breath. “I’ve got a leather worker near Atchison who gave me exclusive rights to sell his wares for this area, and the rancher I stayed with has a ton of bees, and there are . . . other opportunities.”

“Surely there can’t be enough business opportunities to justify gallivanting about the county.”

He blinked at her. Seemed she’d quickly learn if her future husband could tolerate her mouth’s runaway opinions.

“I’ll get the suppliers, Eliza—you’ll sell the wares.”

While playing sick at the boardinghouse, she’d pondered the
most likely reasons a man would disappear for days without telling people where he was. And one of the scenarios she’d feared the most involved the facts that Kansas had recently become a dry state and Will said Axel drank. She pulled in a breath to fortify her nerves. “Are you arranging to sell alcohol?”

His eyes narrowed. “And if I am?”

She tapped her foot. “It’s illegal now.”

“Unrightly so.”

“Axel, I know it’s an easy way to make money, and I’m all for making money . . . ”

He shrugged as if he expected her to agree with his running booze.

“But I just went over the books,” she told him, “and we can improve the store’s profits. Let’s focus on this business. I promise that with my idea to copy Mr. Woolworth’s practices from back home, if we can get Will to accept some changes, we’ll be profitable. We don’t need ill-gotten gain.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Look, I know alcohol is controversial—my own father would’ve been upset if Pennsylvania passed a similar law—but if I’m going to be your wife, I want to be certain you stay alive and out of jail.” And following the law.

She fiddled with her hands. He’d have to promise not to run liquor if she married him. Marrying a perfect person wasn’t her goal, but she wanted someone she could talk to and make decisions with. And unless Axel was very different than his letters suggested, he’d listen to her. Hadn’t he set up the displays exactly as she’d imagined?

He leaned against the shelves. “We won’t make near enough that way.”

“We’ll make enough to cover our expenses.”

“My mother, she’s . . . going to need financial help.”

“I understand.” She put her hand on his arm but quickly pulled away when someone stomped across the porch. “We’ll talk about
how to help her. Promise me we’ll talk about everything.” Hadn’t that been Julia’s sole advice?

He shook his head slowly. “I can’t abandon my contacts in the middle of an agreement.” He pulled at his collar. “I just started. You don’t abandon people like that without risking your neck. I’ll have to fulfill my obligations first.”

She could well imagine the kind of men orchestrating the running of liquor. “But you
will
stop?”

“I only thought to make some quick money, seeing we need it. . . .” He glanced toward the back, as if he’d find Will poring over their terrible ledgers. “But yes, when possible.”

“All right.” She reached out and squeezed his forearm. Wanting to impress his wife and care for his mother could send many a man into dubious dealings.

She dropped her hand when the front door swung open.

“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?” Lynville Tate’s leveled glare might have toppled over a smaller man.