Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5) (21 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

T
abitha hadn’t been gone three minutes when the door opened and two women entered the bookstore. They stopped and looked around. Hunter groaned inwardly.
Why now?
One moment before their entry, his mind had been reliving the seconds in Tabitha’s small corner kitchen when he’d actually been contemplating kissing her again. Really! He must need his brain examined!

She was like a sickness to him. He’d never run across a woman who’d so fully captured his attention.

The thought brought a swift punch of anger. She’d looked beautiful, soft, and innocent. His heart had thumped forcefully against his ribs and the sensibilities of his mind had fuzzed. She’d drawn him like a field of catnip did a tom.

The prettier of the two new arrivals smiled when she noticed Nate on his knees, dusting the bottom row of novels on the far side of the room. Looking like sisters, the older jerked back in surprise when she spotted Hunter lounging by the kitchen drape, watching. He supposed he did look rather disreputable.

“Good morning, ladies,” he said in a polite voice. He ran a hand over the stubble on his face, surely the reason they were eyeing him dubiously. Or perhaps it was his red, gritty eyes, or his rumpled clothes still reeking of smoke. “May I help you find something?”

They turned to each other for a moment, then back to him. “Are you the proprietor?” the older slowly asked. “We’d heard this place was run by a woman—who was now holding public readings.”

The wariness in her voice almost made him laugh. “That’s true. Miss Canterbury had to step out, but only for a moment. She will return shortly.”

Nate, still on his knees, had turned and was watching the women standing in the doorway.

“We came over from New Meringue to visit a sick friend and wanted to see the new shop. Thought we might find something to brighten her mood. Would you have something inexpensive like that?”

Something to brighten a sick woman’s mood? Do they write books like that? If yes, I wouldn’t know what. Still, Tabitha needs this sale. Surely I can come up with something to their liking.

“Well,” he began glancing about. They wouldn’t want a book from the renting section if they intended their purchase to be a gift. The large picture books would be much too expensive for a friendly memento. Panic began to register.

Hunter walked quickly to the place where he’d seen a few people looking at dime novels. “Over here are some Western stories, outlaws, and lynchings.”

The older brushed off that suggestion as if she were swatting a pesky fly. “I was thinking more along the lines of poetry.” When she turned to him, Hunter stopped the wild search of his gaze. “Sir, where would I find the verse and rhyme section?”

“Look at these, Dorothy!” the younger woman called to her companion. She’d wandered over to Tabitha’s desk and was holding a bright-pink flowered teacup. One Tabitha had brought out of her kitchen before she’d left. The woman lifted the saucer and turned it over. “It’s from England. Lucy would love this. You know she collects teacups.”

Dorothy rushed over.

Nate stood, the feather duster forgotten in his hands.

“Oh, yes,” Hunter said. “Miss Canterbury just got those in. The one you’re holding is from, er, England, just like you said.”

“But, Mr. Wade,” Nate spoke up. “Those are—”

“Hush, Nate,” Hunter said. “I’ll be with you in a minute. These two ladies are looking for a gift, and I think they have a keen eye. I’d imagine there’re only a few of those mugs, uh . . . cups,
teacups
in the territories. I believe they’re quite rare.”

The woman fairly shook with excitement. “Do you know how much she’s asking? I don’t see a price.”

How would I know!
He’d never bought a china cup before. He wanted to make a sale for Tabitha, but he wanted to be sure he asked enough. He’d seen a whole set in the mercantile; if only he’d looked to see the price, that might give him an idea.

“Sir? Do you know?”

Nate hurried to Hunter’s side. “But—”

“Not now, Nate. You’re interrupting.” He pointed to the far wall. “Those books need dusting.”

Dorothy’s eyebrow peaked in a silent reprimand. “The boy is only trying to help.”

“The teacup is two dollars.”

Both women’s eyes widened. “That’s quite a lot.”

Not appreciating Dorothy’s admonishment about Nate, he crossed his arms over his chest to let her stew—set now on making this deal. “Miss Canterbury did mention she was having a sale next week. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind me passing along a small discount since you’ve come all the way from New Meringue. That special gift to delight your friend will only cost you a dollar fifty. Seventy-five cents each.” He gauged their reactions. “That’s as low as I can go. Think about it. Every time Lucy takes a sip, she’ll thank you all the more.”

“I can afford that, Dorothy. What do you think?”

“That’s still a lot of money, Etta. I don’t know.” Her lips pulled to the side as she gazed at the cup in Etta’s hands. She reached out, took it, tested the feel. All the while Hunter hoped she’d say yes.

“All right. Let’s do it. I just won’t tell Edgar.” She laughed and Etta joined in.

“Good choice!” Hunter took the cup and began wrapping it as he’d seen Tabitha do for the woman from the train. Finished with the cup, he wrapped the saucer. Dorothy and Etta beamed with happiness. They took the money from their reticules and placed it into his palms.

“Please tell Miss Canterbury we’re sorry we missed her, but we’ll be back again another time. And depending on our husbands being able to drive us over, we might even be able to make her reading this week. We’ve heard nothing but good things about this cute little store. I’m happy to see she’s expanding her goods from just books.”

“Good day, ladies,” he said, walking them to the door. “I’ll relay your words to her just as soon as she returns. Thank you for stopping in.”

He stepped out behind them and waved when they turned back to give him one last look from the bridge, Tabitha’s pink teacup well on its way to its new home. Would Miss Hoity-Toity be angry? Maybe that was a treasured item. Swiveling, he glanced toward the mercantile. Well, he only had one second before he’d find out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

C
ustomers! Leaving Storybook Lodge with a paper-wrapped package. Hunter waving goodbye. Tabitha hurried forward, her purchases clutched in her hands. As she drew closer, Hunter waved at her, a look of unease crossing his face.

“Hunter . . . Mr. Wade,” she corrected quickly. “Was that what I think it was? Did you make a sale while I was out?”

He blinked and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes. But right now, I’m famished. Would you mind putting on the breakfast before we get into all that?”

Hurrying inside, she pressed her free hand to her racing heart. Mr. Seton, kind man that he was, had taken forever at the butcher’s, cutting each slice of bacon with the speed of a sloth. Then at the mercantile, Maude shared a story about the do-gooder bringing the laundry off her line, all folded neatly, and set by her back door. She was filled with questions about who the Good Samaritan might, and might not, be. Tabitha had to practically sneak out when she turned her back. But that couldn’t be helped. Hunter and Nate were waiting on breakfast.

“Yes, of course, I’ll put on the bacon right now. It takes the longest.” She gazed off longingly in the direction of the two women, wondering which book they had chosen. It was exciting to see people she didn’t know patronizing her business.

In the kitchen, Tabitha set her purchases on the counter and reached for a heavy iron skillet, setting it on the stovetop. She smiled at the forlorn-looking pot of mush. In reality, she hadn’t wanted that either. Thoughts of bacon made her mouth water. She put two strips each for herself and Nate into the warming skillet, and a generous five for Hunter. He looked hungry. She didn’t want him leaving in want.

“How you doing out there, Nate?” she called out. “Still busy?”

“Yes’m,” he called back.

“Good boy. I’ll have breakfast whipped up in a jiffy. You hungry?”

“Yes’m.”

She smiled. This was fun. She wondered what Hunter was doing. She didn’t dare look out in case he was looking in at her. Did she have time to make a batch of biscuits as well? Bacon, eggs, and biscuits sounded like a real man’s breakfast. She’d do it. Discreetly, as not to draw attention to herself, she untied the bows holding back her drapes and let them swing shut. She wanted the biscuits to be a surprise.

Scooping two generous cups of flour into her bowl, she quickly added water, a pinch of salt, a teaspoon of baking powder, a spoonful of lard, and stuck her hands in, mixing as fast as she could. With that done, she spooned heaping portions of the gooey dough onto her cookie sheet, and slipped them into the already hot oven. A gushy warm feeling took ahold of her heart. Hunter had his rough edges, but they were getting smoother the longer they knew each other, yes, they certainly were.

Reaching for the eggs, she carefully broke eight into a bowl, then added a splash of milk, and a pinch of salt and pepper. She whisked the mixture well, then poured it into the melted butter of the skillet heating on the stove. He could be maddening, for sure, but he had a way of making her think all sorts of fanciful things, like maybe marriage wasn’t so far out of her wheelhouse after all.

Deciding to be formal, and use the tea infuser, she filled the device and went to her desk where she’d left the two teacups. Only the white with the gold rim was there. She glanced around. Had Nate moved the other?

Hunter ambled over.

“Almost ready. I’m just—”

“Looking for something?”

“Yes.” She laughed. “It’s strange. I’m sure I brought out two teacups, and now there’s only one. Do you happen to know what happened to the other? It was a pink-and-white floral.”

Nate appeared at Hunter’s side and gazed up into his face. A few moments passed with nothing but the sound of the sizzling bacon for distraction.

“Either of you?”

“Yes’m.”

The look of distress in Nate’s eyes all but answered her question. Moved by his sad look, she squatted to his level. “Don’t worry, Nate. I’m not mad that you broke my teacup.”
It’s just the only thing I have left of my grandmother. But it’s only a cup. And you’re a child. Your feelings are much more important.

“No, ma’am, I didn’t—”

A frown furrowed Hunter’s brow. “What Nate’s trying to say is he didn’t break your cup.”

Completely confused now, Tabitha stood and took another quick look around. “No? It’s not broken? What happened to it then? Where’d it go?”

Nate pointed to the street. “Out the door with them two ladies.”

What?
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“I sold the cup to Dorothy and Etta. The two women you noticed leaving when you arrived. They were looking for a get-well gift for somebody here in Logan Meadows named Lucy, and it was the only thing I could think of. Actually, Etta discovered it on your desk and just assumed it was for sale. I went along because I thought you could use the business.”

He sold my gramma’s heirloom teacup? To strangers?

The whole situation was so strange she burst into laughter. Soon Hunter was laughing and so was Nate. On impulse, she touched his arm, and let her hand linger, gazing into his eyes.

“How in the world did you come up with a price? I’m trying my best to figure this out and every time I see you giving a sales pitch on a cup, my mind breaks into giggles. You have to admit, it’s pretty funny.”

“So, you’re not mad?” Nate asked. “I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Hunter shrugged guiltily. “I got a dollar fifty. I hope that’s enough.”

That was a lot for a single cup and saucer. More than she’d have made in profit on most of her popular books. “You did well.”

Hunter stuck his nose in the air.

The bacon! And biscuits!

One cup short, but with a happy heart, Tabitha dashed into the kitchen enjoying this day immensely. She wasn’t going to mess that up by getting angry over a teacup. Nothing could spoil her mood today.