Carol Cox Read online

  The storekeeper stepped around the counter. “How may I help you, Mrs. Fetterman?”

  Melanie cleared her throat. “Mr. Nelson, ignoring me will not make me go away. I need to discuss this matter with your—”

  The irritating man brushed past her as if he hadn’t heard a word.

  The woman smiled. “I’ll be fine, Caleb. You go ahead and tend to this young lady. She was here before me, after all. I’ll just browse along the shelves while I’m waiting.”

  Mr. Nelson rounded on Melanie with a harried expression.

  “Thank you.” Melanie nodded her appreciation for the other woman’s courtesy. When her reluctant host seemed inclined to go tend to his customer anyway, Melanie stepped directly into his path, blocking the way so he couldn’t continue forward without walking right over her. “As I was saying—”

  The bell jangled again. Melanie twisted around to glare at the infernal instrument as a young man and woman entered the store. While her attention was thus diverted, Mr. Nelson managed to elude the blockade she’d created and dodged around her to greet the newcomers. “Mr. and Mrs. Henderson! What can I do for you?”

  The couple motioned him over to the side. “We need to order a few things,” the man said. He gave a quick glance at Melanie and lowered his voice. “Baby things.”

  His wife looked down at the floor and blushed.

  Caleb clapped the father-to-be on the shoulder. “My congratulations on the happy news. Let me pull out a couple of catalogs. I’d be glad to go over them with you.”

  Melanie let her breath out in an exasperated huff. At this rate, it would take all afternoon for her to get more than two sentences spoken at once. No telling how long it would be before she’d have another opportunity to send Mr. Nelson for his uncle. And as busy as the store was, why wasn’t the uncle there taking care of things?

  On the other hand, if this afternoon was any indication of their usual level of business, it shouldn’t be hard to persuade Alvin Nelson that her help was needed in the store. With all her heart, she hoped his demeanor in person would reflect the kindly tone of his letter, and that he wouldn’t take an unwarranted dislike to her as his nephew seemed to have done. He had to let her stay, he simply had to. The thought of being set adrift on her own was unbearable.

  She glanced over at the heavyset woman, who was now sorting through an array of small bottles. Perhaps this was a heaven-sent chance to prove her worth.

  Stowing her carpetbag behind the counter, she crossed the smooth wooden planks to the far end of the store. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  Merry blue eyes squinted at Melanie through thick spectacles. “Would you be a dear and read this label for me? My eyes aren’t what they used to be, and I can’t always read this tiny print.” She held up a bottle, indicating the large red letters at the top of the label.

  Melanie looked at the bold print and swallowed. Tiny?

  The gray-haired woman tapped the bottle with her forefinger. “Is this Dr. Bell’s anti-pain remedy?”

  Melanie looked at the bottle, then back at her myopic customer. “Oh no, ma’am. What you’re holding is Dr. LeGear’s—” she glanced at the rest of the label and lowered her voice—“flatulence remedy for horses.”

  Instead of showing the slightest trace of embarrassment, the woman exploded into gales of laughter. “My, oh my. I could have sworn this is the same thing I gave Mr. Bledsoe when he complained of a toothache.” Speaking more to herself than to Melanie, she added, “I wonder if that’s why he looked a bit peaked after he took it.”

  Melanie pressed her lips together. Faulty eyesight could explain a lot about the wispy hair and the smear of what appeared to be flour on the front of the woman’s dark gray dress. Melanie only hoped her customer didn’t make too many mistakes of that kind, especially when it came to cooking. Her husband must have a cast-iron stomach.

  She scanned the shelves and pointed to a shelf holding a number of patent medicines. “Why don’t we look over here? I’m sure we can find what you need.”

  A smile glinted in the other woman’s eyes. “That’s mighty nice of you, going to all this trouble to help a stranger.”

  Melanie recognized her opportunity and extended her hand. “I won’t be a stranger for long. My name is Melanie Ross. You might have known my cousin George.”

  “Why, yes I did.” Her companion beamed. “George was a fine man, bless his soul.” She squinted and peered at Melanie closely. “I should have guessed you were some relation of his. Now that I look for it, the family resemblance is as plain as day.”

  Melanie devoutly hoped not. Cousin George was a dear man, but he’d been as bald as a coot and had a nose the shape of a potato.

  Her customer sniffled. “It was a sad day for us all when he passed away so sudden-like.”

  “Yes, I miss him more than I can say. We were the only family each other had. That’s why I’m in Cedar Ridge. I’ve come to see his partner about helping out in the mercantile.” She glared toward Caleb Nelson, still engrossed in helping the young couple with their order. “If I ever get an opportunity to speak to Mr. Nelson.”

  At that moment, three more customers entered the store, and the other woman chuckled. “It looks like you may have to wait on that a bit.”

  “I don’t mean him,” Melanie began. “I’m talking about his—” Her words were cut off by a ruckus at the door.

  “Land sakes!” The older woman planted her hands on her broad hips. “What are those two up to now?”

  Melanie turned to see two gangly cowboys wedged in the doorway. They elbowed one another, grunting and struggling, until they finally burst inside the mercantile like a cork popping from a bottle.

  The pair looked around the store wild-eyed. Catching sight of Melanie, one of them pointed and hollered, “There she is!” He shoved his companion out of the way and raced toward her.

  The other cowboy, not to be outdone, leaped over a crate holding washboards and skirted around a stack of blankets, knocking them askew as he ran past. They both skidded to a stop in front of Melanie at the same instant.

  “I got here first,” the taller one, a skinny blonde, declared.

  “Nosirree.” The shorter one glared up at him, his scraggly beard bristling. “I did!”

  The blond-haired man appealed to Melanie. “Ma’am, you be the judge. Who won?”

  The older woman elbowed Melanie and spoke in an undertone. “I’d say it was a dead heat.”

  Melanie finally found her voice. “What on earth is going on?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” Caleb Nelson strode toward them, his face as dark as a thundercloud.

  The two men looked at Caleb, then at each other, and then at Melanie. They both started talking at once, their words tumbling over each other.

  “My name is Dooley Hatcher.”

  “Ma’am, I’m Rupert Hatcher.”

  “I work for the Diamond B.”

  “I’ve been with Mr. Blake three years now.”

  “Mr. Blake told us you were in town, and—”

  “I wanted to be the first—”

  They glared at each other and spoke in unison.

  “Will you marry me?”

  4

  When Mrs. Pike had stormed out earlier, Caleb didn’t think his day could get any worse. But the last thirty minutes had just proved how wrong a man could be. Since the gray-eyed woman walked inside his store, she had managed to completely disrupt his day—first her demand to speak to his deceased uncle, followed by her flirting unconscionably with Will Blake, and then the incident with the half-witted Hatcher brothers.

  Just the thought of the mess the two had created in their mad dash made Caleb grit his teeth. Before shooing them out of the store, he’d assessed the damage they’d done and promised to let Will Blake know he could expect to see that amount added to the Diamond B’s store tab. That brought them back down to earth in a hurry, although both of them left casting sheep eyes over their shoulders at the tr
ouble-making stranger.

  After he finished writing up the order for Mr. Henderson and his expectant wife, the store was quiet again, with the exception of Idalou Fetterman, happily absorbed in looking through his stock of ribbons and notions. It was as good a time as any to deal with Miss Ross—whatever her business—and send her on her way.

  He straightened his vest and cleared his throat.

  The back door flew open and banged against the wall adjoining the mercantile’s small kitchen. Micah Rawlins, owner of the livery across the street, burst inside the mercantile, his eyes wide. “Caleb, you better come quick! There’s a fire in the alley.”

  All thoughts of Miss Ross forgotten, Caleb followed Micah outside at a gallop and saw several townsmen kicking dirt on a small blaze that had engulfed a patch of dry weeds along the edge of the alley. Caleb grabbed several burlap feed sacks from a stack near the back door, tossed them to the other men, and joined them in beating the flames into extinction.

  Andrew Bingham, the town’s barber, staggered around the corner of the building carrying two wooden buckets filled with water. Two men sprang to help him lift the heavy buckets and douse the last embers.

  Chest heaving, Caleb leaned against the wall of the mercantile to catch his breath and surveyed the scorched area, watching to make sure no sparks flickered that would set the fire off again. He shook his head and turned to Micah. “That was too close. If it had spread another five feet, it would have caught the back wall of the mercantile.” He looked around the alley and frowned. “Any idea how it started?”

  Micah’s lips tightened into a grim line, and he nodded toward the opposite end of the alley, where Earl Slocum was holding two small boys by their shirt collars. Caleb’s mouth went dry when he realized Levi was one of them.

  He covered the length of the alley with quick strides and knelt before his son. “What happened?”

  Levi glared back, his lower lip thrust out in a manner Caleb suspected was intended to make him look tough.

  Caleb took the boy by the shoulders and saw the rebellious light in his eyes flicker. “Tell me what happened, son.”

  Levi jerked his head toward the other boy, who stared at Caleb with a frightened expression. “I told Percy I could start a fire with my magnifying glass, and he said I was full of beans. So I showed him.”

  “You showed him.” The words came out in a flat monotone. Caleb swiveled around and pointed toward the blackened patch of earth near the mercantile. “Do you realize you could have set the store on fire?”

  “Not just the store,” added Slocum. “If that building had gone up, it would have spread from there and taken out most of the town.”

  Caleb got to his feet and held out his hand. “Give me the magnifying glass.”

  Levi balked for a moment, then reached into his back pocket and handed it over. “When do I get it back?”

  “You don’t.” Seeing his son’s stricken expression, Caleb pressed his point home. “Not until you’re old enough to use it for the purpose it was intended. Your actions today could have caused grief for a lot of people. You need to spend some time thinking that over this afternoon, and we’ll talk about it at home this evening.

  “For now . . .” He prodded the boy’s shoulder. “You’re going to stay in the store for the rest of the day, where I can keep an eye on you.”

  “But me and Percy—”

  “Percy is going home, too.” Caleb shot a questioning glance at Earl Slocum, who nodded back.

  “I’ll be happy to escort him home and let his daddy know what he’s been up to.” The older man tightened his hold on Percy’s collar and led him away.

  Caleb marched Levi back inside the store and pointed to the boy’s special hiding place under the far end of the counter. “You can play inside your fort until it’s time to go home.”

  Levi opened his mouth as if to argue but seemed to think better of it and ducked under the counter, where he kept an assortment of small toys.

  Caleb waited until he was out of sight, then pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead, trying not to let on how much the incident had shaken him. How was he ever going to manage raising a child on his own? Levi’s actions could have cost him the store . . . and seen the whole town go up in flames.

  Thanks to the quick actions of the local men, disaster had been averted. But what would Levi come up with next?

  The mercantile had a good reputation around town, but he was still keenly aware of the need to prove himself. He had gotten along well enough with the locals in the three months he’d been in Cedar Ridge, after Uncle Alvin decided the store was too much for one person to manage alone and requested Caleb’s help. Still, he knew he was far from winning everyone over completely—Mrs. Pike being a case in point. And today’s near catastrophe hadn’t helped. But he was determined to make a go of it. He had to, for Levi as well as for himself.

  He tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket and stifled a groan when he saw that Miss Ross hadn’t moved from her earlier position. He beckoned her toward him with a curt nod, intending to move behind the counter to establish his position of authority. As he circled around the end, his foot caught on something and he stumbled. Looking down, he saw the woman’s floral brocade carpetbag.

  “Is it true?” She kept her voice low, but the concern in her tone carried clearly enough.

  Caleb jerked his head back up, wishing with all his heart that it was time to close the store and bring an end to this madhouse of a day. “Is what true?”

  “People have been coming in and out of the store since you ducked outside, and I couldn’t help but overhear them talking. They said the fire was set deliberately. By . . .” She pointed toward the counter, indicating the spot where Levi had disappeared.

  As if his private troubles were any of the nosy woman’s business! “That matter has been dealt with, and needn’t concern you.” Caleb drew his lips down as he picked up the carpetbag and thumped it on the counter. “Miss Ross, you seem to be operating under some misapprehension. I’m sorry you’ve traveled out here for nothing, but the truth of the matter is—”

  “—that my late cousin, George Ross, was one of the proprietors of this establishment. He always told me I had a place to live and work here at the mercantile. When your uncle wrote to tell me of George’s passing, he invited me to come out and get acquainted. I took that to mean the offer of a job and home still stand, so I decided to take him up on it. And here I am.”

  Her blithe assumption of a warm welcome—a home, no less!—rocked him on his heels. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible. You see—”

  Miss Ross planted her hands on her slim hips. “Mr. Nelson, over the past four days, I have traveled by train, stagecoach, and freight wagon.” She tilted her chin and glared up at him. “I did not go through all that just to be brushed off like some bothersome insect.”

  Caleb winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t understand.”

  Her voice rose a notch. “What I understand is that this really doesn’t concern you. The person I need to speak with is your uncle. Please get him immediately, or at least tell me where I can find him.”

  Caleb splayed his hands on the counter and leaned forward. “I have every reason to believe that he is in heaven, Miss Ross.” He looked directly into her shocked gray eyes and spoke in a level tone. “My uncle passed away last month, leaving me in sole charge. While I am aware that he and your cousin ran the mercantile together, he was the surviving partner and, as such, inherited the store when George Ross died.”

  The stunned expression on her face gave him the first moment of satisfaction he’d felt since she’d marched into his store. It was a pleasure—no, a relief—to see her at a loss for words. Unfortunately, that state of affairs didn’t last long.

  She fixed him with a penetrating gaze. “So am I to assume that you are his heir?”

  “That’s right.” Caleb pressed his lips together to hide a smile of triumph. Miss Ross had been a little slow o
n the uptake, but the truth was beginning to dawn on her at last.

  “I see.” Her gaze faltered, and she bit her lower lip while her fingers tapped a rapid beat on the counter. Then she drew a shaky breath and turned back to face him. “In that case, it would appear that you are the one I need to deal with.”

  A sense of foreboding prickled in Caleb’s mind. Something in her tone warned him she wasn’t ready to pick up her carpetbag and head back to wherever she came from.

  Melanie Ross squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Everything my cousin told me about your uncle implied he was a man of his word. I would hope that you are as much a man of honor as your uncle was reputed to be.”

  Caleb opened his mouth, then closed it again, unable to form a coherent sound. Finally he managed to croak out, “And just what do you mean by that?”

  She held up the folded papers she’d waved at him earlier. “George Ross was one of the proprietors of this establishment. When he died, he left everything he owned to me. Surely that would include this store—or his share of it, at least.”

  Her voice seemed to take on confidence with every word she spoke. “I believe the sign outside reads the Ross-Nelson Mercantile. Am I correct?”

  Caleb nodded.

  “Then not only is my name on the sign, but it’s on there first.”

  Caleb wagged his head back and forth like a punch-drunk boxer. Taking the papers from her, he scanned both documents, then read George Ross’s letter again. “I have no quarrel with the idea that your cousin left his personal belongings to you. My uncle once pointed out that they’re packed away in a trunk upstairs. But there is nothing here that specifies he planned to leave any part of the mercantile to you. As I said earlier, he and my uncle had a partnership. Therefore, when your cousin passed away, the store became my uncle’s. And he left the store to me.”