Squaring her shoulders, she approached a thin man behind the counter whose skin was stretched tightly over the bones of his face. “I’m looking for Mr. Abercrombie.”
“What for?”
If Mabel hadn’t warned her of his surly nature, she’d have raced from the store. “Would you be Mr. John Abercrombie?”
“So what if I am?”
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she prayed for patience. “Mrs. King over at the boardinghouse told me about your predicament. My deepest sympathies for your loss. I think we might be useful to each other, sir.”
“Whatever you’re peddling, I don’t need. Take it somewhere else. Just get on out of here and leave me be.”
“I wish I could. I truly do,” she said softly. “But the fact is, I desperately need a job. And it looks like you’re in great need of someone to help you.”
John Abercrombie braced his hands on a nicked and scarred wooden counter. “How would you know what I need? You ever work in a place like this?”
She glanced at the grimy window that barely allowed a sliver of light through and an overturned barrel with mice nibbling on the crackers inside. Everything was disheveled and dirty. And sad. If buildings had hearts, this one would surely be broken.
“No, sir. I never have.”
“How do I know you can do the job, then?” he snapped.
“Hire me on a trial basis. If I haven’t made a difference and increased your sales in two weeks, I’ll gladly go on my way. You won’t even have to fire me.”
“Can’t pay you much,” Abercrombie said stubbornly.
“All I ask is enough to pay Mrs. King for my room and board. Then as the store makes more money, we’ll discuss the terms of my employment again.”
“Don’t expect any favors from me.”
No, she wouldn’t. She’d never expected favors from anyone. No need to start now.
Cooper’s gaze narrowed as he stared at the mercantile. He wondered why Delta Dandridge would decide to go there when she should be buying a ticket for the next stage. Probably needed a button or some thread or whatnot. The things a woman could get in her head to do—a man never could figure them out.
Thank goodness he didn’t even have to try. He’d set her straight, and that was the important thing.
He had to admit the lady sure was a looker, had curves in all the right places and the sort of walk that made single, bachelor-type men think of things that would land them in a heap of trouble. He’d nearly drowned in eyes that reminded him of moss at the bottom of a clear, gleaming pool. Instead of hair that glistened in the sun like a shiny gold piece, though, she should’ve been a redhead, with that hot temper of hers.
That Southern drawl as soft as melted butter did certain things to him.
Yes, her drawl and the dark beauty mark on the right side beneath her mouth had driven him to distraction.
Fair to say he hadn’t been prepared for someone so pretty. He’d expected her to be…well, homely. And desperate.
Though she’d tried to hide the sudden tears from him, he’d seen the wet shimmer in her eyes. That part had nearly done him in. Women’s tears never failed to turn his heart to mush. Not that she was the kind to give in to tears often, he suspected. The lady seemed to have more grit and steel than most men.
But he’d meant what he said. He was a bachelor and he’d stay a bachelor. The sooner she got that through her head, the better off they’d be. He supposed she’d leave town on tomorrow’s stage and go back to Georgia. He doubted he’d ever see her again. No use getting maudlin over her. She’d be fine.
The fact that she’d been duped same as he had been was crystal clear. She’d believed every word in those letters someone sent her. If he ever found out who’d played the cruel trick, he’d pound them into the street and drive a wagon over them.
It occurred to him that whoever did it would want to see how the fruits of their labor played out. He scanned both sides of the street for someone who might show undue interest. But everyone seemed to be going about their business, not giving him a second glance.
But secrets didn’t stay buried—he just had to be patient and keep his eyes and ears open.
At that moment a boy he’d befriended some years ago, Ben Barclay, skidded to a halt in front of him. “Hi, Mr. Cooper.”
“Ben, how are you doing these days?”
“Lost another tooth.” The boy’s copper hair flamed under the sun’s rays. Ben grinned and Cooper could see the gaping hole in the middle of his teeth.
“You sure did. Did you pull it yourself?”
“Nope. Mama did.”