Heart of Texas Volume One (32 page)

What she intended, he now realized, was that he'd arrive and then stand there twiddling his thumbs while she danced her way across the room in Richard Weston's arms. Well, if that didn't beat all. The why of it wasn't too clear, but he figured Ellie was still mad at him and this was her revenge.

“Don't be a stranger,” Richard said as Glen started toward his truck. “And don't worry about me taking Ellie up to Bitter End again, either.”

“I won't.” He wouldn't worry about a lot of things concerning Ellie, he mused, his anger festering. If it wasn't for Richard letting slip that she'd agreed to be his date, Glen would have arrived at the dance completely unawares.

Maybe Cal was right. Maybe women
couldn't
be trusted.

 

F
RANK
H
ENNESSEY HAD BEEN THE
duly elected sheriff of Promise for near twenty years. He knew everyone in town and they knew him. Because he'd been in office for so long, folks were comfortable coming to him with their problems. Minor ones and ones that weren't so minor. Sometimes he suggested they talk to Wade McMillen, the local preacher, and other times he just listened. Mostly folks felt better after they'd talked. More often than not a solution would present itself, although he'd barely say a word. Then folks would credit him when the answer had been there all along buried deep within themselves.

These days Frank had been hearing a lot about Richard Weston. Not that it surprised him. He knew Richard had absconded with the family inheritance the day Grady and Savannah had lowered their parents into the ground. Many a night he'd sat with Grady while the young man grappled with what to do—whether to press charges or not. In the end he'd decided not to pursue a case against Richard, but it had taken Grady damn near six years of constant struggle to work his way out of the red.

Now Richard was back, and Frank had heard from two or three of the local merchants that he was running up charges and not paying his bills. Frank didn't like the sound of this. What to do about it had weighed heavily on his mind for a couple of days.

He'd urged Max Jordan from Jordan's Town and Country outfitters to mention the bill to Grady, but Max didn't want to carry tales to Richard's big brother. Besides, he'd sold two vests like the one Richard had bought after he'd worn his about town. Frank would say one thing about the youngest Weston: he was a real clotheshorse. Max said he'd moved some other high-end clothing items because of Richard and was therefore willing to cut the young Weston a little slack.

For the moment, Millie Greenville was amenable about the money Richard owed her, as well. Grady had ended up paying for the flowers Richard had bought for his party; Frank knew that and had his doubts as to whether Grady would ever be repaid. Although Richard was already two months past due in paying her for the flowers he'd ordered since, she'd decided not to press the issue. He'd sent a huge arrangement for John Frasier's funeral and a number of other small bouquets to women around town. According to Millie, Richard had apologized and given her a plausible excuse; she'd chosen to believe him. But it was a little worrisome having four hundred dollars outstanding at the end of the month, all owed by the same customer.

Then there was the matter of the tab Richard was running at Billy D's. Apparently Richard had been more than generous about buying other people's drinks. It wasn't unusual for him to order a round for his friends and their friends, too, and then tell Billy just to add it to his tab. When Billy mentioned it to Frank, the money owed was close to five hundred dollars. Richard had fed the tavern owner some cockeyed story about being an investment broker, expecting a commission check that was due any day. Again Billy was willing to wait, seeing as Richard always drew a crowd. He was clever and amusing and people seemed to enjoy themselves when he was around.

Frank looked at his watch and eagerly shoved back his chair. “I'll be over at Dovie's,” he said to his deputy on his way out the door. Ever since Dovie had opened her Victorian Tea Room, he stopped by each afternoon around four-thirty, after she'd finished serving tea and scones. The store was generally quiet then, and she'd usually offer him something to satisfy his sweet tooth.

Dovie was his friend. His
special
friend. If it was up to her they'd be married, but Frank wasn't the marrying kind. He had no interest in giving up his freedom, although if any woman could tempt him to relinquish his bachelor status, it'd be Dovie. They'd been dating more than ten years now, and about once a year she got uppity about the absence of an engagement ring. Frankly he liked their arrangement just the way it was, and if pressed, Dovie, he suspected, would admit she did, too. Twice a week he spent the night at her house—the two best nights of the week. No, he figured, this marriage business was a token protest on her part. The situation was ideal for both of them as it stood; Dovie liked her freedom as much as Frank liked his, and this way they enjoyed the benefits of a steady relationship. Best of both worlds.

Frank entered the antique shop and once again admired how Dovie had artfully arranged five tables in the corner of her compact store. To his relief, the tea room was empty, and he hoped she'd take a few minutes to sit down and chat with him.

“Afternoon, Dovie,” he said, pulling out a chair at his favorite table. She'd done the shop up all fancy. Real elegant. The tea room, too. All the tablecloths and matching napkins were good linen, and tea was served on a china service with sterling silver.

Frank was impressed by Dovie's creative style. She'd taken several bulky pieces of heavy antique furniture—dressers and wardrobes and the like—and used them to display her goods. She positioned things attractively: fringed silk scarves dangled from open drawers, as did long jet necklaces of 1920s vintage. Linens and lace doilies, and large hats with feather plumes and nets sat on shelves. Mismatched antique china, porcelain oil lamps, silver candelabra—she had knickknacks everywhere. Pricey ones, too. Dovie didn't sell junk; she sold
treasures.
She made sure he understood that. Far be it from him to question such matters.

Frank had never seen a woman more in love with things. Every square inch of the shop was used for display. The ladies in town loved to browse there. Most men were afraid to move a foot inside for fear they'd knock something down and end up paying for it.

Dovie looked up from tallying her receipts to send Frank a welcoming smile. As always, it made his heart beat a little faster. He returned the smile and settled back to wait.

When she was finished, Dovie poured him a cup of coffee and brought it, with a slice of warm apple crisp, to the table. Actually he'd been looking forward to her bread pudding with brandy sauce, but since he never paid for these treats, he could hardly complain.

“You look like you've been busy,” he said.

“I have.” She took the chair across from him, removed her shoes and rubbed her tired feet. “Ellie Frasier was in and bought the Gibson-girl dress for the dance. My, she looked lovely. I know it was more than she wanted to spend, but once she tried it on, she was sold. I don't think I appreciated what a pretty young woman she is,” Dovie said absently.

Frank sneaked a peek at Dovie's ankle. She had a fine pair of legs. He'd always been taken with her trim ankles, and never had understood why she insisted on wearing long dresses. It was criminal the way she hid those shapely legs of hers.

One bite of the apple crisp and Frank closed his eyes, savoring the combination of tart and sweet flavors.

“Good?” she asked even though Frank was sure she already knew it was.

“Excellent.”

He ate the rest of it in record time.

“You've got something on your mind, Frank,” Dovie said. “I can always tell. Are you going to say what it is?”

“Someone's going around charging a lot of money with local merchants,” he told her reluctantly. “I'm not convinced he's planning to pay off his debts.”

“Someone?” Dovie repeated. “You don't need to say who. I can guess.”

He'd already said more than he should have, so he left it at that. He trusted Dovie. She wasn't like some women who just couldn't keep anything to themselves. He'd never known her to break confidences or spread rumors. It was one of the many things he valued about her.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I don't know that I
can
do anything. He hasn't broken any laws.”

“True,” she said, looking thoughtful. “But you might have a chat with him. Man to man—or rather, sheriff to miscreant. I recall you had plenty to say to Laredo Smith not long ago.”

Frank ignored the comment about his talk with Laredo, especially since he regretted having said a word. He'd made one mistake in judging character recently and didn't want to make another. He couldn't be one-hundred percent sure, after all, that Richard
didn't
have money coming in.

“I don't know what I could say to this guy.” Frank didn't have any right to question Richard about his financial affairs.

“Frank, a lot of small businesses can't afford to take losses. Some months it's all we can do to pay the rent, let alone make a living wage. Let him know you're on to him.”

“But he hasn't done anything that warrants my speaking to him.”

“He doesn't know that. Let him think you have plenty of reasons. Put the fear of God into him before he robs the entire community blind,” she urged. “Before he puts one of us out of business.”

Frank knew how close to the edge some businesses operated. Dovie herself wasn't going to get rich with her antique shop, although it was one of the most popular stores in town.

“If nothing else,” Dovie added, “it might make him think twice before charging something again.”

“True.” Frank rubbed his chin. It wasn't his place to tell shop owners who they should extend credit to and who they should avoid, but he hated the thought of Richard's taking advantage of good honest folk.

Dovie drank a little more of her coffee, then carried the china cup to the small kitchen in the back room. Frank followed her with his empty cup and plate.

“You need someone to help you out here now you've got the tea room,” he said. It was clear to him she was working far too many hours, and while he'd encouraged her to add the Victorian Tea Room, he was concerned about the toll these extra hours took. The fatigue, the lack of private time.

“You're right, I could use another pair of hands,” she said. “But I can't afford to put anyone on the payroll just yet.”

Frank slipped his arms around her waist. “I guess you've picked out something special to wear to the dance,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I'm going to be the envy of every man there.”

“You've been kissing the Blarney stone again, haven't you?” Dovie teased.

“The only thing I'm interested in kissing is the widow Boyd.” Not giving her time to object, he turned her in his arms and brought her mouth to his. She was soft and warm and her gentle kisses fired his blood to life.

“Frank,” she whispered, breaking off the kiss. She looked flustered, her face red and her hands flying around her head checking that her hair was still tucked in place. “For the love of Ireland, it's the middle of the afternoon! Anyone could walk in.”

“Let them.”

“You're getting mighty bold, Mr. Sheriff.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you ready to take the leap yet?”

Marriage. She hadn't mentioned it in nearly a year. Her question had the effect of a bucket of cold water dumped on his head. His discomfiture must have shown in his face, because Dovie giggled and quickly kissed his jaw.

“You'd better go now,” she said good-spiritedly.

“I've got to talk to a certain young man,” he said. But he stole another kiss on his way out the door.

 

T
HE ANTIQUE WHITE COTTON
-
LAWN
dress, lavishly trimmed in lace, was quite possibly the most beautiful dress Ellie had ever owned. She hadn't intended to buy it. But every time she walked past the window of Dovie's store, she'd stopped and admired it. On impulse she'd decided to examine it up close. It was fate, she told herself. Fate. First of all the dress was her size, and when she tried it on, it fit like a dream. The moment she saw her reflection in Dovie's mirror, she knew she had to have it for the dance.

Perhaps she was putting too much stock in what Glen had said. He hadn't formally asked her to the dance, but he'd told her he'd be there. He'd also let her know he'd be waiting for her to arrive.

It was
almost
a date. She and Glen. Every time she thought about it, a warm feeling came over her. She and Glen together. Dancing. Kissing. A couple.

Her stomach fluttered and she pressed her hand over it, closing her eyes. So much had happened in the past few weeks. For a while, after her father's funeral and her mother's move to Chicago, Ellie had felt alone. Abandoned and unloved. She didn't feel that way now.