Texas Mail Order Bride(3)

“Maybe if you just gave yourself a chance to get to know me.”

“I can’t offer hope where there is none. I’m sure you’re a very fine woman who’ll make someone an excellent wife.” Finality echoed in his soft words. “I’m not on the market.”

Delta went very still. Slowly, her situation began to sink in. There would be no marriage. She was stuck in Battle Creek, Texas, with an empty purse and no prospects. She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill and humiliate her even further.

He continued, “Seems we’ve both been played for fools. I’ll be glad to pay your way to wherever you want to go.”

The last thread of Delta’s dignity held fast. Her voice was cold and brittle. “You can keep your money, Mr. Thorne. I won’t take one cent from you.”

With that, she jerked the letters from his hand and strode into the boardinghouse with her head held high.





Two


Safely upstairs in her room, Delta sat numbly on the edge of a bed that sagged on one end and bowed in the middle and let the tears flow. What was she going to do now? She couldn’t go back to Cedartown. She couldn’t ever go back. That bridge had burned. Her mother had died three months ago, although in truth she’d been dead long before that. Delta had no family, no friends, no place to belong.

She allowed despair to grip her for only a moment. Crying wouldn’t solve a blasted thing. What was done was done. She would survive this latest blow somehow.

Wiping her eyes, she opened her small, frayed reticule. There was fourteen cents inside, which was every penny to her name.

What was she going to do? Shaking, she clung to what strength she had.

Battle Creek was her home now. Here she would stay. No one was going to run her out. Surely there was a job of some sort for a woman with willing hands. She’d look until she found one, even if she had to beg.

By the time noon arrived, she’d washed her face and straightened her best dress—the one she had intended to wear to the marriage ceremony—carefully arranging the folds over the tear she’d mended. Inhaling a calming breath, she went downstairs. Mabel King had fixed a simple lunch. Delta took a place at the empty table, wondering where the other boarders were.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Mrs. King passed her a bowl of savory vegetable soup. “I thought I heard you crying.”

“Please, don’t you fret about me, Mrs. King. I’ll be just fine.” Delta accepted a chunk of bread to go with her soup. “Where is everyone?”

Last night the table had been almost full.

“I’d like it if you’d call me Mabel. I packed their lunches this morning. They eat where they work.”

“Speaking of that, would you know of any jobs around here for an enterprising woman who’s down on her luck?”

“Why, yes, maybe I do. Mr. John Abercrombie mentioned that he’s hard-pressed to handle the mercantile by himself. His wife died a few months ago. She ran that business mostly by herself. John doesn’t know how to make a go of the store without Nell.”

Flickers of hope rose. Delta wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Then I intend to pay him a visit.”

“One thing I should tell you. John…well, John is a hard man to get to know. And since Nell died, he’s gotten worse. Just don’t let him scare you.”

Like old dogs, Delta supposed. If they sensed fear, they went for the throat. What could very well be the only job in town called for someone with steely resolve.

Yet she doubted she had any choice. Besides, she could always throw John Abercrombie a bone. Or growl back.

Less than an hour later, she strolled toward the mercantile, her heels striking the sidewalk with determination. At the precise moment she passed the saloon, Cooper Thorne stepped out and into her path.

Surprise rippled across his face when he noticed her. It was obvious that he hadn’t planned to run into her. But she had to give the man credit—instead of turning away, as she fully expected, he tapped the brim of his hat and gave her a half smile, though it appeared to be with considerable effort.

“Miss Dandridge.” His voice was whiskey-roughened and unapologetic.

Delta raised her chin a trifle and glared. “Mr. Thorne.”

Stepping smartly around him, she continued on her way with her head held high. She should probably thank her lucky stars that she hadn’t wed him. It appeared the man had a drinking problem. Swilling whiskey in the middle of the day was a sign of a serious character deficiency.

Why, he’d likely beat a wife if he ever were to take one.

Putting him out of her mind, she entered the dim interior of a mercantile that was narrow across but extended a good ways back. It had only one window to the left of the doorway. As dim as the store was by the window, she could only imagine how dark it was at the rear.