Carol Cox Page 14

  Tears pricked, and she blinked them away. The onslaught of proposals had proven to be an immense distraction—so much so that she hadn’t been able to rearrange the merchandise or set up the new display she’d planned for the front window.

  Oddly enough, Caleb didn’t seem upset by the steady stream of suitors. She cast a baleful glance toward the other end of the store, where he stood talking to Will Blake. After he’d chased off the Hatcher brothers and practically threw Slim Applegate out the door, she would have expected the current influx of would-be beaus to make him erupt like Mount Vesuvius. Instead, he seemed to take it all remarkably in stride.

  Melanie winced as a stabbing pain shot through her temples. She had found another of the hateful anonymous notes that morning, which only added to her worries. She’d decided to ignore them as an ugly nuisance, and the fire in the office as a malicious prank. But after discovering a murdered corpse on her doorstep, she had to wonder if the earlier incidents were merely cruel jokes or if they added up to a true and personal danger.

  Between that worry, the ongoing stream of proposals, and her headache, she was always so exhausted by the time evening came that she hadn’t even found the time to sort through Cousin George’s things. All she could manage was to retreat upstairs with a plate of cheese and crackers and a cup of chamomile tea. Ayer’s American Almanac touted the tea as particularly beneficial when it came to soothing headaches, but the cup she’d prepared earlier that day didn’t seem to be helping. The pounding throb had settled in as her constant companion.

  “This looks interesting.” Mrs. Fetterman held a squat blue bottle three inches from her nose and squinted at the label.

  “Excuse me, are you Miss Ross?”

  Melanie turned to find a stocky man standing close behind her—entirely too close. Something about his intent expression sent warning bells clanging in her mind, which served to intensify the hammering in her temples. She moved back a step. “Yes?”

  He pulled off his straw hat and held it before him in both hands. “I don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll get right down to business. My name is Nehemiah Curtis, and I’ve been farming a quarter section a ways south of town. It has fairly promising prospects, and there’s a good, solid house. I don’t drink, I don’t gamble, and I don’t spend my evenings at the saloon.” He reached up and stroked his chin with one hand. “I may not be much to look at, but I’m steady, and I’d make you a good husband. How about—”

  “No.”

  Nehemiah Curtis’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and the corners of his mouth curved downward. “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean I have no intention of marrying you.” Melanie fought down the urge to scream out her frustration and struggled to maintain an even tone. “Thank you for your offer, and I wish you the best in your search for a wife, but I’m afraid you will have to look elsewhere.”

  Curtis’s face turned the color of the red bandanna tied around his neck. Jamming his hat back onto his head, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Melanie staring after him. He stomped to the far end of the store and jabbed a pudgy finger in Caleb’s face. “I thought she was supposed to be anxious to wed.”

  Caleb’s head whipped around. “Excuse me?”

  Even at that distance, Melanie didn’t miss the furtive glance he shot in her direction.

  “You heard me,” Curtis said. “I thought she was eager to get a husband. Ripe for the plucking—that’s the word that’s been going around.”

  Caleb’s face paled, and he patted his hands in the air, as though trying to shush the angry man. “Why don’t you come out back where we can talk without disturbing anyone?”

  “I’m done talking. I didn’t come in here to be made a fool of. Good day to you, sir.” He turned and walked out the door, slamming it with such force that Melanie feared for the window glass.

  The store grew quiet, reminding Melanie of the calm before a storm. So quiet she could hear the mantel clock ticking away on its shelf at the far end of the mercantile.

  Thrusting the bottles into Mrs. Fetterman’s hands, she stalked down the length of the store with a measured tread, only vaguely aware of customers scuttling toward the door to make a hasty exit. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead, her attention locked on the turncoat . . . the snake . . . the weasel standing in front of the counter.

  Melanie pointed her finger at Caleb’s face in the same way Nehemiah Curtis had done only moments before. “What did he mean, ‘that’s the word that’s been going around’?” She stepped forward and jabbed the finger into his chest. “Are you behind all this?”

  Caleb stood with his mouth half open, darting glances from Melanie to the rear door and back to Melanie again, as if gauging whether he could get past her to make his escape.

  “Anxious? Eager?” Melanie’s voice rose higher with every syllable. “‘Ripe for the plucking’?” She heard a soft snicker off to one side and whirled on Will Blake. “Were you in on this, too? All the times you’ve stopped here to visit, all the times you’ve sought me out.” She jerked her thumb toward Caleb. “Did he put you up to that?”

  The amused expression on Will’s face dissolved, to be replaced by a look of alarm as she advanced on him, step by threatening step. He raised his hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender. “Hold on a minute. I’m no party to this . . . whatever it might be.” He added the last phrase with a guilty look at Caleb.

  Turning back to Melanie, Will captured her gaze and held it. “Think back. If you’ll remember, the first time I expressed interest in you was on the day we met—the very day you came to town. That was done all on my own, with no coaxing needed. I don’t need anyone’s help to know you’re the most attractive woman in these parts.” One corner of his lips quirked up, and he tipped his hat. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll be on my way and leave the two of you to sort things out.” He wasted no time in putting his words into action.

  The moment the door swung shut behind him, Melanie rounded on Caleb again. “How could you? Of all the despicable, underhanded schemes!” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed back the tears that threatened, despising her show of weakness. “If you think you can get rid of me by marrying me off to some farmer . . . or soldier . . . or the undertaker, of all people . . . you’ve got another think coming.”

  Caleb gulped. Then he swept his arm toward the window as if taking in the town and the landscape beyond. “Look out there. This is a land of promise, but it can be a lonely one. Most of the men around here are hungry for married life and a family, and you’re a fresh new face. And not a bad looking one, at that.”

  “So you felt compelled to sic them all on me?” Melanie heard a scuffling sound behind the counter, and Levi emerged from his fort. He scooted across the floor to take up a stand slightly behind his father and stared at her with a look of awe.

  Melanie was aware of his presence, but it didn’t dampen her anger one whit. She fixed a scorching glare on the object of her wrath. “Do you think I’m desperate?”

  “No, not at all.” Caleb’s soothing tone was belied by the way he inched toward the back door, with Levi keeping pace. “You’re quite pleasing to the eyes. Certainly pretty enough to attract a man without any help from me.”

  Levi nodded vigorously. “That’s right. I heard Papa say that to Mr. Crawford. He told him it was a good thing, too. He didn’t even have to pay those men to come and ask you to marry them.”

  Melanie’s eyes bulged, and she glowered at Caleb through a red haze. “So you really did it. You encouraged all those men to . . . to . . .” Finding herself bereft of further speech, she grabbed for the broom that stood propped against the counter and brandished it like a weapon.

  Caleb backpedaled a few more steps. “Get ahold of yourself, Miss Ross. You’re letting your emotions get the better of you.”

  “My emotions?” Melanie tightened her hold on the broom handle and raised it over her shoulder, bringing it down on the counter with a mighty whack. “I�
�d say there’s plenty of call for emotion when I find out I’m being treated like a piece of merchandise . . . and unwanted merchandise, at that.” She lifted the broom again and advanced another step.

  Caleb opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. He grabbed Levi by the shoulder. “Son, sometimes retreat is the better part of valor. Let’s get out of here.”

  The two of them backed to the door, and Caleb reached around to turn the knob, never taking his eyes off Melanie. “Once you’ve had a chance to calm down a little, perhaps we can discuss this a little more rationally.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he appeared to change his mind when she raised the broom again. Without another word, he drew Levi out onto the back stoop and shut the door behind them.

  Melanie stood staring at the closed door and felt her knees begin to tremble. Had she just chased Caleb out of his own place of business? She looked down at the broom in her hand and shook her head. Maybe she really was as crazy as she must have looked to him and Levi.

  She leaned the broom back against the counter and tottered over to the front door. Snapping the lock in place, she reached for the Closed sign. It was still a little early for the store to close, but she didn’t care. Not today. Not after discovering the callous scheme Caleb Nelson had hatched. She started toward the kitchen to brew herself a pot of chamomile tea. With any luck, she could fall into a dreamless sleep. She had already lived through one nightmare . . . and in broad daylight.

  “Are you all right, dearie?”

  Melanie started and whirled around to see Mrs. Fetterman still standing where Melanie had left her before beginning her onslaught on Caleb. She pressed her lips together to stifle a moan. Another witness to her humiliating outburst. The tears she had managed to hold back now flowed in earnest.

  Mrs. Fetterman pattered across the floor and pressed a handkerchief into Melanie’s hand. “There, now. You needn’t fret like that. Every once in a while, a man needs something to wake him up, and today was one of those times for Caleb. You’ll see, it’ll all blow over and be forgotten in no time.”

  “Forgotten?” Melanie choked back a sob. “How could anyone forget what happened after seeing the way I made a total idiot of myself? He already despises me. This is just going to make it worse.”

  To Melanie’s astonishment, Mrs. Fetterman only chuckled. “Stuff and nonsense. Right now, you feel like you’ve been caught up in a whirlwind, but these things have a way of working themselves out. You’ll see.” She held up the bottle of Dr. White’s Dandelion Alterative. “I think I’ll take this with me, if you don’t mind putting it on my tab.”

  “I’d be glad to.” Melanie showed the older woman to the door, unlocked it, and relocked it behind her, then slumped against it. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could erase the incidents of the past half hour from her memory. It was bad enough to be the target for the attentions of every available man in the area, but to find out Caleb had orchestrated it all in the hope of driving her off was simply unbearable.

  Melanie strode across to the shelves of patent remedies and picked up a bottle of Scott’s Nerv-O-Sol. Maybe she needed a dose of the tonic even more than chamomile tea.

  14

  Caleb ushered Levi up onto the back stoop of the mercantile, both surprised and relieved when he didn’t encounter Melanie outside sweeping as usual. He hadn’t been sure what to expect after the way she’d chased him off the day before. Had she calmed down yet, or was she ready to pick up again where she left off?

  He looked down, frowning when he saw the thin layer of dust on the boards. Sweeping the stoop was always her first chore of the morning, but apparently she hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

  And what did that mean? Was she planning to give him the silent treatment? Was she upstairs packing, ready to give up and go home?

  Or was she lurking just behind that closed door, armed with the broom . . . or an even more substantial weapon this time?

  Motioning Levi to stand back, he gripped the knob gently, intending to open the door as quietly as he could. He looked down in surprise when the knob refused to turn. He tightened his grip and wiggled the knob back and forth.

  Locked. His brow furrowed. What did that mean? Melanie had always unlocked the door by the time he and Levi arrived.

  Levi stepped closer. “Is Miss Ross still mad at you, Papa?”

  Caleb gritted his teeth and fished in his vest pocket for his key. He had been gentleman enough to leave yesterday when Melanie had run him off the premises like a whipped dog. The woman had obviously been overwrought, unable to deal with things in a rational manner. Thinking back to what Nehemiah Curtis had said, though—plus the fact that she had tumbled onto the scheme Caleb had been promoting—he had to admit there might have been some justification for her behavior.

  He unlocked the door and shoved it open, ready for a confrontation, but Melanie wasn’t there to meet him, only an empty silence.

  And as far as he could see, she hadn’t even come downstairs that morning. Everything looked just as it had when he’d scurried out the day before. Maybe his theory was right and she was making preparations to leave. His brief sense of elation was cut short when another thought struck him. Not that long ago, a murder had occurred on their back steps. Had some harm befallen Melanie during the night?

  He put his hand on Levi’s shoulder. “Stay here, right by the door.” Taking a few steps inside, he scanned the mercantile, but there was no sign of her. Not sure whether to feel relieved or concerned, he raised his voice. “Melanie, are you here?”

  Again there was no answer, only the quiet. With his heart in his throat, Caleb bounded toward the stairs, calling her name again. Just as he cleared the top step, the door to her bedroom opened and Melanie emerged, tightening her wrapper around her waist.

  “Are you all right?” Caleb looked her up and down. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her, apart from the dark circles under her eyes and a tightness at the corners of her mouth. “I thought . . . I was afraid . . .” He took a quick step back, suddenly aware of her proximity and the fact that she was still in her nightclothes.

  Melanie didn’t seem to notice. She lifted one hand and touched the tips of her fingers to her forehead. “Would you mind if I stayed upstairs this morning? I’m not feeling quite like myself today.”

  “Of course.” Caleb moved down one step. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Is there anything I can bring you?”

  She shook her head, then winced. “No, thank you,” she said in a faint voice. “I believe I’ll just go lie down for a while.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and disappeared into her bedroom.

  Caleb trotted back down the stairs, where Levi waited for him with an anxious expression. “Did she try to hit you again?”

  “Not at all. She simply isn’t feeling well. It looks like it’s just the two of us manning the store this morning.” He grinned and tousled the boy’s hair. “Why don’t you grab the extra broom and help me by sweeping off the back stoop while I take care of the boardwalk out front. We’ll need to hurry if we’re going to open on time.”

  The morning sped by with a steady stream of customers, most of whom inquired about Melanie’s whereabouts. With every conversation, Caleb became increasingly aware how much of a fixture she had already become in the mercantile. All the more reason he needed to break her connection with the store before it became too strong.

  At midmorning, Rafe Sutton walked through the door and strode up to the counter. “My wagon’s out back in the alley. I’ve got a delivery for you. Where do you want me to put it?”

  Caleb frowned. “Are you sure it’s for me? I wasn’t expecting any orders.”

  Rafe moved the ever-present wad of chewing tobacco from his right cheek to his left. “It’s for that pretty partner of yours. Her name is lettered on top of the crate, right above where it says Ross-Nelson Mercantile: Fragile.”

  “Fragile?” Caleb stared at the freighter. Ophelia Pike’s china had arrive
d several days before. What could this be?

  A memory stirred, and he felt the muscles in his neck tense. It must be the china Melanie had ordered to put on display. His lips thinned, but he tried not to let his anger show. It wasn’t Rafe’s fault, after all. He jerked his head toward the doorway behind the counter. “Put it in the storeroom, if you would.”

  Rafe nodded and moved toward the back door. He paused with his hand on the latch, looked around the store, and turned back to Caleb. “Seems funny not to see Miss Ross around today. That smile of hers sure brightens up the place.”

  Caleb managed a weak smile in return.

  Looking at the line of customers awaiting his attention, he had to admit Rafe wasn’t the only one who missed Melanie’s presence. In many ways, she had proven to be more a help than a hindrance. Under different circumstances, he might even have enjoyed her company.

  By lunchtime, he still hadn’t heard a peep from upstairs, not even a creak of the floorboards to indicate she had moved around at all. Had he missed hearing her while he’d been occupied with customers, or was she still abed? And if that was the case, did she merely have a headache, or was she truly ill?

  Even though he didn’t appreciate most of her contributions when it came to running the store, there was no question that she was a hard worker. Maybe she had pushed herself to the point of utter exhaustion. After all, she said she wasn’t feeling like herself.

  Caleb grunted. She certainly hadn’t acted like herself when she came after him with that broom yesterday. The shadow of concern that had been hovering over him since he’d discovered her uncharacteristic absence that morning deepened. If it turned out that she was sick due to exhaustion, how much of that was his fault? His addlebrained scheme to inundate her with proposals would only have added to the strain she already carried.