Courting Trouble (7 page)

She grabbed his lapel, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and then released him before he could blink. ‘‘Oh, thank you, Hamilton. You’ll not be sorry, I promise.’’

Scurrying out of the storage room, she returned to the counter and placed the camera underneath. ‘‘Now, Mrs. Lockhart, I believe you were wanting to order
Only One Sin
by Mrs. Bertha Clay, is that correct?’’

But Mrs. Lockhart ignored the catalog. ‘‘Is everything, um, all right, dear?’’

‘‘Why, yes.’’ Essie glanced at the other customers eyeing her curiously. ‘‘Oh, you mean
back there
?’’

Mrs. Lockhart gave her a nod.

‘‘Yes, ma’am. We have everything all settled now.’’

‘‘Do you, indeed?’’

‘‘Yes, ma’am.’’

‘‘Splendid, splendid!’’ She patted Essie’s hand. ‘‘Now, I should like to order
Only One Sin, Beyond Pardon,
and
A Mad Love,
please.’’

————

The following morning, Essie arrived at the store before Hamilton came downstairs. She slipped in the back door, lit a candle and set it down beside the king’s crate.

After the initial shock of his capture had worn off yesterday, the snake had settled down and not rattled his tail at all. He’d even begun to nose around his new home of wood, tree limb, and newsprint. The final test would be whether or not he would eat. She’d had snakes before that had been so shocked by captivity, they’d refused to feed.

Opening her drawstring coin pouch, she lifted out a live white mouse by its tail and placed it in the crate.

Soon as it hit the newspaper, the mouse scurried to the corner, quivering. The snake poked its head out of the cracker box, forked tongue searching the scented air. Essie nodded, willing him to strike. The king stiffened, then shot forward and grabbed its prey, swallowing it whole.

Praise the Lord,
Essie thought.
All will be well
.

chapter FIVE

HAMILTON WRAPPED UP two dozen finishing nails. ‘‘That’ll be ten cents, George.’’

The young carpenter reached into a deep pocket of his brown duck overalls and pulled out a handful of change, all the while keeping his gaze on Essie.

Boys of every size and shape stood shoulder to shoulder, surrounding her like staves in the side of a barrel. She held the snake in her hands, letting it coil around her wrist and slither up her arm and onto her shoulder.

The boys watched wide-eyed as she took the snake by the neck and held it out for them to touch. A couple of the braver ones ran their fingers along the smooth, dry scales.

‘‘That’s one strange woman,’’ George said. ‘‘Ain’t natural the way she’s so brash.’’

Hamilton agreed but refrained from saying so. The snake had definitely created an uproar, which had been good for business, but not so good for Essie. He wondered how a girl with so much smarts could have no sense of propriety. Her mother was well-known for being socially correct in every way. The poor woman must succumb to vapors on a regular basis over the behavior of her daughter.

Still, the snake brought in crowds of children and with them came their mothers, milling around, gossiping and shopping. So as long as customers came to watch, he’d ignore the unseemly side of the spectacle.

He glanced back at George, surprised to see the man’s face bright red.

‘‘Meant no offense,’’ George said.

‘‘None taken.’’

The man quickly paid for his purchase and hurried out the door just as a stranger entered. A tall cowboy. He stood inside, taking a quick survey of the store. The snake caught his eye immediately, but he soon pulled his gaze to Mrs. Tyner and her maiden daughter, Miss Sadie. Approaching them, he doffed his hat, laying it across his chest, and bowed slightly.

Both women simpered. The cowboy winked at the older woman, then looked the younger up and down.

‘‘How-deeeeee-do,’’ he said, slow and lazy.

Miss Sadie’s cheeks filled with color and Mrs. Tyner hustled her back to the dry goods section, where Mrs. Lockhart examined a bolt of cotton.

The man strolled through the store, bowing, smiling, and ‘‘howdy-do’’ing every woman regardless of age, shape, or size. His spurs jangled with each step and scraped Hamilton’s carefully polished floor.

The cowboy paused at the stove and introduced himself to Vandervoort and his cronies. The whole shop grew quiet, the patrons craning to overhear the conversation. The ladies pretended to fiddle with various sundries as they marked every move the cowboy made and whispered furiously to one another.

He set his hat down and unhooked a tin cup from the wall, then poured himself a cup of coffee. After taking a sip, he wandered over to where Essie was holding court. Hamilton drew satisfaction in advance for what he knew Essie’s reaction would be to the philanderer. She was not one to have her head turned by a pretty face and charming manners. No, she’d set him in his place, all right.

The cowboy stood like a captain on the quarterdeck, his feet spread wide. He took another sip of coffee. Essie glanced up, her lips parting as she gaped at the wrangler.

The snake, forgotten in her hands, slithered up her arm, across her shoulder, behind her neck, and back around, draping itself across her like a winter scarf. It glided down her chest, calling attention to her womanly features as it lifted its head into the air.

The man tracked the reptile’s progress, and the corners of his mouth crooked up. ‘‘My name’s Adam. Adam Currington. And if your name’s Eve, I do believe I’m in a whole passel of trouble.’’

‘‘Her name ain’t Eve, mister,’’ young Harley North said. ‘‘It’s Miss Essie.’’

His smile widened, forming large brackets on both sides of his face. ‘‘Eve. Essie. That’s mighty close, if I do say so myself.’’

‘‘You cain’t call her that lessen she gives ya permission. ’Til then, you’d best be calling her Miss Spreckelmeyer.’’

His eyebrows lifted. ‘‘Spreckelmeyer? The judge’s daughter?’’

She nodded, still in a daze.

He set his coffee on a barrel and stepped through the circle of boys. Lifting his palm like a beggar, he let the snake pass from her chest to his hand, then up the length of his arm where it crinkled his blue shirt and coiled around muscles that were clearly accustomed to heavy work.

‘‘I do believe this is the prettiest catch I’ve seen in a long, long while,’’ he drawled.

Hamilton scowled. The cowboy wasn’t looking at the snake. He was looking at Essie. What the blazes was wrong with her? Couldn’t she see he was all talk? A man with looks like that could want only one thing from a spinster woman.

Hamilton came out from around the counter, but Mrs. Lockhart intercepted him.

‘‘I’ve been suffering from a most troublesome headache, Mr. Crook. Might you have something for me?’’ she asked.

He hesitated, glanced at Essie in frustration, then changed directions and headed to the medicinals.

The cowboy from Essie’s childhood dreams had materialized before her very eyes. And, oh my, but he was even more beautiful in the flesh.

The prairie king ventured from the man’s arm on up to his neck. Its head disappeared momentarily while it circled around only to return again to the front.

The tail end of the three-and-a-half-foot snake still clung to her neck, effectively tying her to Mr. Adam Currington. The king lifted its head, testing the air with its forked tongue. She reached out and the pet glided across to her hand. Currington moved closer, letting the snake encircle them.

‘‘What’s its name?’’ he whispered.

‘‘He doesn’t have one yet. We’re in the middle of a naming contest, actually. Would you like to enter?’’

‘‘You gonna be the judge?’’

‘‘One of them.’’

‘‘Is there a prize, too?’’

She nodded.

He stroked his finger along the snake’s back where it crossed her shoulder. ‘‘Yes, ma’am. I surely would like to play, then.’’

His hat had left an indention in his blond hair, bringing out a few streaks of brown that matched the brows framing his blue-green eyes. When he smiled, the coppery skin crinkled around their corners.

‘‘I’m afraid you’ll be well on your way by the time the winner is announced,’’ Hamilton said, startling Essie into taking a step back.

She gathered up the snake, which Mr. Currington released reluctantly, then squeezed through her audience of children to place it back in its crate.

The stranger stuck his hand out toward Hamilton. ‘‘I’m Adam Currington, one of the crew that’s been hired by the Commercial Club to dig a few water wells for y’all.’’

Disappointment surged through Essie. ‘‘You’re not a cowboy?’’ she asked, placing two rocks on top of the mesh lid.

He retrieved his coffee and rested his weight on one leg. ‘‘Well, I reckon I am, ma’am. But it gets mighty hot and lonely on the trail, so I decided a change might be nice.’’

‘‘You’re a drifter, then,’’ Hamilton said.

Essie frowned. ‘‘Mr. Currington, this is Hamilton Crook, proprietor of the Slap Out.’’

‘‘Howd—’’

‘‘Lookit here, Miss Spreckelmeyer,’’ Jeremy Gillespie hollered, charging into the store with six of his twelve siblings behind him, chattering in excitement. Withdrawing his hands from the large pockets of his jacket, he held two live mice suspended by their tails in one hand, three in the other.

Sadie Tyner screamed, startling everyone including Jeremy, who loosened his hold on the mice. Three of the five fell with a thump to the floor and scattered in all directions.

One of the furry critters scampered between Adam’s legs and he jumped back, sloshing coffee onto his sleeve. The judge’s daughter dove for the mouse, stretching out full length on the floor and knocking Adam’s feet right out from under him.

He pitched sideways to keep from landing on her, spraying coffee in the general direction of heaven. His shoulder clipped a barrel as he hit the floor, knocking over a box of ball bearings. The metal balls scattered onto the wooden floor, pinging with each bounce.

As he rolled out of their way, he found himself pressed cheek-by-jowl against Miss Essie. The gal had managed to trap one of the escapees in her outstretched hands, then, quicker than a flea, she hopped up and ran with it to the back, giving Adam no nevermind at all.

The youngsters had taken up the chase like hounds after a fox, barking and squealing and shouting. The scrawny little miss who’d started the ruckus with her scream hadn’t let up. She’d vaulted onto a table of ready-mades, knocking shoes, hats, long johns, and bonnets onto the floor. One of the old beans pushed the girl’s mother behind him, shielding her with his body—as if that was going to accomplish anything.

Adam sprang to his feet and raced through the store, grasping women by their waists and lifting them onto any available surface, whether it be table, counter, barrel, or chair. The one with a cane he was particularly gentle with, excusing himself even as he placed her on a countertop.

He heard her sigh like a schoolgirl just before he saw Essie storm out of the back room with a small cage and a black bowl that had a rod attached to it. She set the cage down in front of the teener who’d brought in the mice—and still had two dangling from his fingertips— then thrust the bowl contraption into the hands of a bowlegged old John standing wide-eyed by the checkerboard.

‘‘Here,’’ she shouted over the commotion. ‘‘Use this.’’

‘‘I see one!’’ one of the youngsters hollered. Essie pushed the man in that direction, then scanned the floor looking for the third mouse. Her gaze halted abruptly and she flew across the room to a small gap between some shelves and a wall of bins.

The fancy-pants proprietor stood dazed, motionless, and as worthless as a milk bucket under a bull. Adam hurried over to catch the mouse Essie had spotted, but before he could reach her, she knelt down on all fours and squeezed her arm into the crack between the shelves.

The space was too dark and narrow to look into, so she pressed her ear against it and blindly felt inside.

‘‘Need some help?’’ he asked, squatting down beside her.

‘‘I have it, sort of.’’

‘‘Sort of?’’

‘‘The very tip of its tail is underneath my finger. I’m just trying to . . .’’ She clamped her tongue between her teeth, then gasped. ‘‘Botheration!’’

She leapt up, searching the floor around them. A lump beneath her skirt caught his attention. The pesky thing was climbing her petticoats like a ladder.

‘‘Hold still!’’ he hissed. She froze and he flicked up her skirt, sliding his hand between the dark serge and white petticoat underneath before latching on to the varmint.

When it dawned on him where his hand lay, he glanced up at her face, trying to gauge her reaction. He might have long been floundering in the mire of sin, but she looked like somebody’d shown her a fifth ace in a poker deck.

A thunder of boots on the wooden floor at the other end of the store drew his attention. The old cuss with the newfangled mouse catcher spun around like a button on a privy door, trying to capture the wily rodent.

The children shouted. One of the women swooned. A quick survey of the room assured him no one was taking notice of him and Essie.

Keeping a tight hold on his own mouse, he rotated his hand so his knuckles rested against her leg, layers of soft, ruffled petticoats shielding her skin from his touch. He was in no hurry as he drug his hand down her long, long leg.

For a moment, her expression turned soft and dreamy. She was a ripe one, all right. But she was the judge’s daughter and possibly Mr. Prissy Pants’ betrothed. She must have remembered this herself, for she suddenly jerked away from his touch.

He pulled his hand out and dropped her hem, taking in the dips and swells of her landscape as he stood.

‘‘Did you . . . did you get it?’’ she whispered.

‘‘Right in the palm of my hand, sweetheart.’’

A cheer rose up from the other faction. ‘‘He caught it! He caught it! Mr. Vandervoort caught it!’’

Adam gave her the mouse and gently squeezed her waist. ‘‘They’re calling for you, Miss Essie. You’d best go see to them.’’

Essie helped Mr. Vandervoort put the last mouse into the cage while the children all spoke at once. The cowboy lifted the women by their waists and set them back on solid ground. The sound of his pandering voice, full of false solicitude, turned Hamilton’s stomach.