Carol Cox Read online

  She swept her gaze over the landscape, letting its beauty fill her senses, before circling around to the other side of the street. She strolled past a good-sized home made of bricks the same color as the sandy soil, its neat yard surrounded by a white picket fence. The door opened, and a familiar-looking figure wandered down the front walk.

  Melanie smiled, recognizing Mrs. Fetterman. The plump woman didn’t seem to notice Melanie until she’d nearly walked into her.

  Mrs. Fetterman squeaked an apology and squinted up at Melanie, recognition dawning on her face. “Ah, the nice young lady from the mercantile!” A smile wreathed her weathered cheeks. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

  Melanie returned her smile. “I’m glad you’re pleased, because you’ll be seeing a lot more of me. Right now, I’m just taking some time to learn my way around town.”

  Mrs. Fetterman beamed with pleasure. “I was on my way to the mercantile, but I’m not in any rush. Would you like to come in and try some of my scones? I just took them out of the oven.”

  Melanie wavered, remembering the mix-up with the horse tonic. “Thank you, but perhaps another time.”

  Mrs. Fetterman patted her arm. “Not to worry. Since you’re planning to stay, we’ll have plenty of chances to visit.”

  Melanie watched the woman move along the boardwalk toward the opposite end of town. Did any of their catalogs offer spectacles that might be stronger than the ones Mrs. Fetterman was wearing? It might be worthwhile to find out.

  She waited a moment before starting on toward the unattractive wooden building ahead. Its unpainted boards lent the structure a dreary air, and the walls didn’t seem to be quite at right angles with the roof. Melanie noted the sign hanging over the boardwalk and quivered like a hound on the scent when she saw the name: O’Shea’s Emporium. What a perfect opportunity to get to know their competition!

  Tucking her pencil and paper back into her reticule, she pushed open the door and entered the store. No bell jingled a welcome as she stepped into the dimly lit interior and peered around. Her first impression was that it seemed much smaller than the mercantile, making it feel almost cramped in comparison. A quick perusal told her the store carried only basic items—certainly nothing to compare with Ross-Nelson’s selection of goods. She moved along a set of rough shelves, noting several brands of coffee, bags of beans, and a scattering of canned goods.

  The emporium’s general appearance wasn’t as clean as the mercantile’s, either. She ran her finger along a shelf surreptitiously and wrinkled her nose when she inspected her fingertip. Dusty. Just as she’d expected.

  The scrawny man who slouched behind the counter paring his fingernails with a pocketknife matched the unkempt look of the store. He rubbed his thumb across one fingernail and sent an indifferent glance in Melanie’s direction. “If you see something you want, let me know.”

  Melanie murmured a noncommittal response and moved back toward the exit, holding her skirt close to her in an effort to keep it clean. There was no point in staying any longer—she had seen everything she needed to. She emerged back out on Lincoln Street with a sigh of relief. She had no need to worry about their competition. From what she’d seen during her brief foray, it was a miracle the other store stayed in business.

  She went on her way with a lighter step. The sign on the next building proclaimed it to be the Verde Valley Land Company. And the building just beyond . . . Melanie couldn’t hold back her grin when she saw that it was the marshal’s office. She chuckled, remembering Caleb’s reaction when she threatened to take up her case with the lawman. Despite her brave words to the contrary, she had little confidence in claiming any legal right to the store, but she wasn’t about to let Caleb know that.

  The door swung open as she passed. Melanie caught her breath and turned, expecting to meet the marshal face-to-face. Instead, Will Blake, the rancher she’d met on the day of her arrival, stepped out. A broad grin spread across his face when he saw her.

  “Morning, Miss Ross. This beautiful day just got even prettier.”

  Melanie felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “Good morning, Mr. Blake. I’m surprised to see you in town again so soon. I had the impression you spent most of your time in the company of your cows.”

  The corners of his lips quirked up. “Cattle tend to take care of themselves. They don’t need me nursemaiding them every second.” He fell into step beside her as though they were longtime friends. “I had some business with the marshal. I rounded up a few strays with brands I didn’t recognize, and I needed to let him know so he can put the word out and locate the rightful owners. But I also had other business that brought me to town today, and I need to thank you.”

  Melanie laughed. “I don’t know what you have to thank me for, but whatever it is, you’re welcome.”

  His smile deepened. “You saved me making a stop at the mercantile to ask Caleb where I might find you.”

  She drew back and looked up at the rancher, puzzled. “You were looking for me?”

  A deep laugh rumbled from his chest. “You haven’t been out of my thoughts since I met you last week. It isn’t often we see a fresh face around Cedar Ridge, and it’s even more special when that face is as pretty as yours.”

  Once again, Melanie felt the warmth of blood rushing to her face. When was the last time a man had complimented her like that? After spending the past few days feeling like little more than a nuisance, Will’s words of admiration made her feel as if she were floating along with those bright clouds overhead.

  “I know things are taken more slowly back east,” he said, “but I’d like to get to know you better, if you’re agreeable.” Seeming to take her stunned silence for consent, he went on. “Where might I find you if I wanted to come calling?”

  Melanie’s heart raced, and she waved her hand to fan her flushed cheeks. “Why . . . I’m afraid you’ll still have to come to the mercantile.” His look of surprise brought forth a genuine laugh that suddenly put her at ease. “George Ross was my cousin,” she explained. “I came out to work in the mercantile.”

  A frown creased Will Blake’s forehead. “But your cousin is . . .”

  “Yes, I know.” She took a deep breath and forged ahead. “He left all his belongings to me—which includes his share of the store.” She waited for Will’s reaction, hoping the story sounded convincing. If people around Cedar Ridge began to accept her as part of the town, it might help persuade Caleb she ought to stay.

  “Well, what do you know?” Will shook his head and grinned. “I always liked George, but he never spoke much about his family. I knew he had a cousin, but I never expected it to be anyone as intriguing as you.”

  Melanie fluttered her hand again and let her breath out in a sigh of relief. Will had accepted her explanation without question. If only Caleb would credit it as readily!

  Will pushed his Stetson farther back on his head. “That sun is getting a mite warm. How would you like to continue our conversation someplace where it’s a little shadier. . . . Unless you were heading straight back to the store.”

  The hope in his eyes made Melanie want to giggle. A chat with someone as genial as Will Blake sounded like the perfect way to set her day aright. “Actually, I’m taking a little break and enjoying a few minutes to myself. I realized I’ve been spending all my time in the mercantile, and I haven’t gotten to see much of the town.”

  Will glanced up at the sun as though checking its position in the sky. “It’s a little early to have lunch. Why don’t you let me escort you over to the bakery and treat you to some of the finest doughnuts in the territory?”

  Melanie’s sunny mood grew even brighter. “Thank you. I’d like that.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and smiled up at him. “I would like that very much.”

  Caleb carried an open crate of canned peaches from the back room and plunked it down on the floor next to the wooden stepladder. Tucking one can under his arm, he picked up another one in each hand and climbed the ladder to add
them to the neat stack on the top shelf. Ophelia Pike had once informed him she didn’t care for peaches, so she wouldn’t have any objections to him putting them there.

  “Can I help, Papa?”

  Caleb looked down into the eager face of his young son, whose wide brown eyes held an earnest expression. Maybe he was trying to make up for the incident with the frog. Caleb glanced at Levi’s hands. “Where’s Freddie?”

  The little boy pointed toward the counter. “I put him away like you told me to. He’s in a box in my fort.”

  “In that case, why don’t you hand me those cans one at a time so I don’t have to keep going up and down this ladder? That would be a big help.” He smiled at the way his son’s chest puffed out. Maybe that was all the boy needed—a little more responsibility.

  The bell jingled as he set the last can in place. Putting one hand on the shelf to maintain his balance, he turned to see Benton Woodbridge step inside. Caleb never called him by his given name, though. From their first meeting, he had picked up on the locals’ habit of calling him the Professor. As far as Caleb knew, the man had never been a teacher of any kind, but his air of culture and his store of knowledge had earned him the nickname.

  The Professor walked across the store, dressed as always in neat black trousers and matching coat, a dark gray vest over his gleaming white shirt, and a jeweled stickpin in his cravat. Caleb smothered a grin. Definitely not typical western garb. Caleb still didn’t know why the Professor had chosen to live in Cedar Ridge, but having learned early on that prying into someone else’s background wasn’t tolerated in the West, he’d never tried to find out. Whatever the reason Woodbridge had for being there, Caleb was glad to have him around, and he was gratified that the Professor counted him as a friend.

  He descended the ladder, picked up the empty crate, and set it on the end of the counter. “What can I do for you today?”

  The Professor brushed an imaginary bit of lint from his sleeve. “I’m in need of a pound of sugar, if you please . . . and a bit of conversation.”

  Caleb grinned. “It’ll be a pleasure to oblige you . . . on both counts.”

  The door burst open, and a wild-eyed woman stormed inside the mercantile. Caleb recognized her as Ava Morgan, one of the town matrons who swarmed around Ophelia Pike like flies drawn to honey.

  She skidded to a halt as the door swung closed behind her and peered around the store’s interior with a frantic expression.

  Concerned, Caleb stepped forward. “May I help you?”

  Mrs. Morgan pinched her lips together and looked askance at him and the Professor. “I wish to speak to Miss Ross.”

  “I’m afraid she isn’t in at the moment. Is there some way I can assist you?”

  His customer wavered, then reached into her reticule and produced a dark brown bottle. Holding it aloft, she advanced on Caleb. “I purchased this tonic from Miss Ross three days ago.”

  Caleb nodded, eyeing her warily.

  “It’s supposed to calm the nerves and help the digestion. It says so right here on the label.” She waved the bottle in front of his nose.

  Caleb resisted the urge to back away. If this tonic was guaranteed to soothe the nerves, it obviously hadn’t lived up to its promise. He gave her his most reassuring smile. “The effects may not be immediate. Sometimes it takes a little while to work.”

  “Oh, it worked, all right.” The irate woman shook the bottle, sloshing the liquid inside.

  Caleb tilted his head and spread his hands wide. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “It started working right after I swallowed the second spoonful. It’s worse than castor oil. I couldn’t get ten steps away from—” A crimson wave suffused Mrs. Morgan’s cheeks. “I honestly thought I was going to die. I would have come in yesterday, but I could hardly hold myself erect.”

  Caleb took the bottle from her hand and frowned. The label was for Mrs. Bickham’s Nerve Tonic. But Mrs. Bickham’s remedy came in a green glass bottle. That dark brown bottle looked more like . . . Oh, no. He moved to the shelves that held the vet supplies.

  “Mr. Nelson, I am not finished.” His red-faced customer trailed behind him.

  Without answering, Caleb pulled a bottle of Peterson’s Drenching Solution off the shelf and weighed it in his hand. Sure enough, it was the same shape and color as the one Mrs. Morgan had returned.

  “Mr. Nelson, are you listening to me? I demand that you take this dangerous substance off the shelves at once. It’s a menace to the public.”

  “I’m dreadfully sorry.” Caleb interrupted the diatribe and held out both bottles. “The labels must have gotten switched somehow. What you took was actually a solution to be given to bloating cattle.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Morgan pulled a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her lips. A small convulsion rippled across her shoulders.

  “I’ll be happy to refund your money,” he said. “Or I can exchange this for a bottle of the real Mrs. Bickham’s remedy, if you’d prefer.”

  Mrs. Morgan’s shoulders shook again. She returned the handkerchief to her sleeve and drew herself erect. “I’ll take the refund. I have no intention of giving you the opportunity to poison me a second time.”

  Apologizing profusely, Caleb withdrew a handful of coins from the register and counted the refund amount into the woman’s outstretched hand. Giving him a curt nod, she pivoted and marched out the door.

  The Professor moved closer and peered at the mislabeled bottle. “How do you suppose such a mistake could have taken place?”

  Caleb returned the drenching solution to its place on the shelf, then held the offending bottle up to the light. “It was no mistake. Look at this.” He traced his finger along the edge of the label, where a faint residue showed on the brown surface. “The original label has been removed. You can see a bit of the torn edge remaining. The Mrs. Bickham’s label was pasted over the same spot.”

  The Professor gave him a questioning look. “You’re saying it was done deliberately?”

  Caleb nodded grimly. “It would appear so.” He strode out the back door and poured the contents of the bottle into the dust of the alley. Who could have done such a thing?

  Levi?

  He rejected the notion as soon as it entered his mind. Replacing the label like that was beyond a six-year-old’s ability. Besides, that kind of subterfuge didn’t fit Levi’s character. Caleb couldn’t deny that his young son created more than his share of mischief, but the boy wasn’t truly malicious. He stepped back inside the mercantile and tossed the empty bottle into the wastebin.

  Wiping his hands on his storekeeper’s apron, he turned back to the Professor. “Sorry for the interruption. Let’s get back to your order.” He measured the sugar into a small cloth bag and set it on the counter next to the crate. “Shall I put it on your tab?”

  “If you would, please.” The Professor glanced toward the stepladder. “A couple of cans of those peaches it appears you just put up there would do nicely, too.”

  Caleb climbed the ladder again, retrieved the peaches, and then rejoined his friend, leaning back against the counter.

  “I was rather hoping to meet that new partner of yours I’ve been hearing about.” The Professor’s dark eyes twinkled when he spoke. Caleb couldn’t tell whether that was due to amusement or anticipation.

  “She stepped out for a while.” Caleb raked his fingers through his hair. “And thank goodness for that. This has been the longest week of my life.”

  The Professor’s eyes widened. “How so?”

  Caleb sighed, glad for the chance to confide his woes. “I’m beginning to wonder whether or not this venture is going to work out for me. It was hard enough to make the decision to pull up stakes back in Missouri and move to Arizona to come help my uncle and make a new start. Then there was the challenge of settling in and learning the business. And then to have Uncle Alvin up and die just as I was starting to get the hang of things . . .”

  The Professor nodded. �
�I can only imagine how difficult that must have been, but I believe you’ve handled the transition admirably. From everything I’ve seen, you have an innate business sense that will stand you in good stead in making this store a success.”

  “I hope so. If I don’t succeed, it won’t be for lack of trying—that’s for sure.”

  “I can attest to that,” the Professor agreed. “Everyone in Cedar Ridge has seen how hard you’ve worked.”

  Caleb rolled his eyes. “Not nearly hard enough, according to some people.”

  The Professor’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

  Gratified by the other man’s interest, Caleb gave vent to the frustration that had built up since the moment Melanie Ross entered his store. “It’s this niece of George’s. My ‘new partner,’ as you called her. She sashayed in here assuming she owned his share of the business. I don’t think she has a valid claim, but I’m honestly not sure what will happen if it comes to a legal battle.”

  He groaned and smacked his palm on the counter. “We butt heads every time I turn around. She has a raft of ideas for ‘improving’ the store.” He spread his arms wide, taking in the displays of merchandise. “What needs changing? Keeping things the way they’ve always been worked fine for Uncle Alvin, so it’s good enough for me, but I can’t convince her to leave well enough alone.”

  The professor’s somber look reflected Caleb’s mood. “What kind of woman is she? What would happen if you just explained all this to her?”

  Caleb blew out a huff of air. “You think I haven’t tried? All she does is stiffen her neck and keep on doing whatever she wants. You wouldn’t believe some of the crazy ideas she’s come up with—rearranging the store every time my back is turned, reorganizing the merchandise in a way that makes no sense to me, but one she insists will be better for business. It seems her family owned a store back in Ohio, but that doesn’t mean she knows the first thing about running a business. But just try to convince her of that! She wants to have her finger in everything.”