Winnie Griggs (2 page)

“There’s really no need,” she protested, trying to push away his hands. “I can do that—”

He gave her his best don’t-argue-with-me stare. “Be still, please. You’re stirring up more dust, and I’d rather not succumb to a fit of sneezing.”

She paused, an abashed look on her face.

Good. He’d gotten through to her for the moment. Time to drive his point home. “It’s important to make certain you’re not badly injured before you try to stand. Or would you prefer I ask Dr. Pratt to take a look at you?”

His words had the opposite effect of what he’d expected. She glared at him. “There’s no need to be so snippy. And no, I do
not
prefer to have you bother the doc at this late hour over a few bruises.”

Snippy? Didn’t the girl recognize authority when she heard it? Clenching his jaw to contain his irritation, he gently slid the worn, dirty bit of footwear, including her stocking, off her foot. He studied her ankle, unhappy with what he saw. “It’s already starting to swell and darken. It might be wise to have Dr. Pratt take a look at you, after all.”

“Glory be!” She brushed his hands away and smoothed down her skirts. “It’s nothing more than a bad bruise.” She flexed her ankle to prove her point, but he noticed the wince she couldn’t quite hide. “It’ll be fine by morning,” she insisted.

Everett leaned back on his heels. He wasn’t going to force the issue. After all, he wasn’t her keeper—nor did he want to be. “Mind if I ask what you’re doing in here?”

“I was trying to clear the way to the back door so I could open it up and air out the place.”

Was she being deliberately obtuse? “I mean, why are you in here in the first place?”

She tilted her chin up. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m cleaning the place up so Kip and I don’t have to sleep in the middle of this rubbish and dirt.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Daisy Johnson’s lack of ladylike sensibilities went beyond the unrefined rustic “charm” that he’d grown to expect from the women of this backwater that circumstances had forced him to call home for the present. She was outspoken, obviously uneducated and her manner was rough and belligerent.

“It
is
my business if you wake me up from a sound sleep in the middle of the night,” he countered.

At least she had the grace to blush at that. “Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking about the racket reaching over to you.”

He stood and offered a hand to help her up. “Apology accepted. As long as you cease and desist until a more civilized hour.”

“Fair enough.”

He noticed another quickly suppressed wince as she put weight on the injured foot, but she didn’t utter a sound.

“If you won’t see the doctor,” he said, keeping a hand at her elbow, “at least tell me where your father is so I can fetch him to tend to you.” The sooner he could turn her over to someone else and return to the comfort of his bed, the better.

She tugged her arm out of his grasp and hobbled over to a nearby crate to sit down. He grimaced at the little cloud of dust that rose as she settled.

“I reckon he’s halfway to the Louisiana border by now,” she answered, reaching down to scratch her scruffy-looking dog.

Had her father abandoned her? Despite himself, Everett felt a stirring of sympathy. He spied the bedroll next to the lamp. “So you broke in here looking for a place to spend the night.”

She shifted as if to find a more comfortable position for her foot, and he saw a snatch of cobweb caught in her tawny hair. He had an unexpected urge to brush it away, but quickly shook off the impulse.

“I aim to spend more than the night here,” she said with a smile.

Did she intend to claim squatter’s rights? Well, it was her bad luck that the building already had an owner. “Despite the way this place looks,” he said, trying to let her down gently, “it’s not abandoned. And I’m afraid the owner might not look favorably on your plans to take up residence.”

“That’s where you’d be wrong.” There was a decidedly smug look to her smile. “
I’m
the owner, and I don’t have a problem with it at all.”

Chapter Two

E
verett stared at her, feeling his momentary sympathy fade. Had he heard correctly? But there she sat, like a queen on her dusty throne. How could that be? “Last I heard, Gus Ferguson owned this place.” He managed to keep his tone neutral.

“He
did.
” She gave a self-satisfied smile. “Until he lost it to my father in a poker game.”

A poker game? That shouldn’t surprise him as much as it did. “And your father, in turn, gave it to you, I suppose.”

She brushed at her skirt, not quite meeting his gaze. “Let’s just say he owed it to me.”

A cryptic turn of phrase, but he brushed aside his curiosity for now. There were more important matters to get to the bottom of. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are your plans for the place?” If she was going to be his neighbor, he wanted some idea as to what he was going to be in for.

“I’m going to set up my business here.”

Not the answer he’d expected. “What kind of business?”

From the look she gave him, he surmised some of his displeasure had come through in his tone.

“Well,” she replied, eyeing him carefully, “I eventually want to open a restaurant.”

She was just full of surprises. “You know how to cook?”

Her brown eyes narrowed, and her smudged chin tilted up. “You don’t have to say it like that. I happen to be a great cook—everybody says so.”

Just who did
everybody
include—her father and dog, perhaps? Then he took a very pointed look around him. “A restaurant—in
here?
”

“Of course I won’t be able to open it right away.” Her voice was less confident now. “I’ll need to earn some money first so I can fix this place up and furnish it proper. And of course I’ll need to buy a good stove.”

She didn’t seem particularly daunted by the task ahead of her. “And how do you intend to do that? Earn the money, I mean.”

She shrugged. “I’m not my father’s daughter for nothing. I’ll figure something out.”

Her father’s daughter—did that mean she planned to try her luck in the poker game over at the livery?

She rotated her neck, and Everett saw signs of fatigue beneath her bravado. For the first time, he wondered about the particulars of her arrival. “If your father didn’t come back to Turnabout with you, how did you get here?”

“I walked, mostly.” Then she grinned proudly. “Made it in three days.”

Her father had allowed her to take a three-day journey alone and on foot? Everett felt incensed on her behalf. Had the peddler given any thought at all to what might have happened? The man should be thoroughly trounced.

A suspicious rumbling from the vicinity of her stomach brought up another question. When had she last eaten?

The faint pinkening of her cheeks was the only acknowledgment she made of the unladylike noise. “Right now, though,” she said quickly, “I’m just going to clean up a spot where I can spread my bedroll and get some sleep while I wait for the sun to come up.”

He looked around at the layers of dust and the lack of useable furnishings. “You plan to sleep on the floor?”

“I don’t see any fancy beds in here. Do you?” Her cheerful tone lacked any hint of self-pity. “Besides, I’ve bedded down on worse.” Her pleased-with-herself grin returned. “And being as it’ll be my very first night in my very own place, I expect I’ll sleep very well.”

She placed her hands on her skirt and levered herself up. “I’m sorry I disturbed your sleep, and I thank you for checking in on me, but you can go on back to your place now. I promise Kip and I won’t be disturbing you anymore tonight.”

Apparently feeling she’d dismissed him, she turned and started picking her way across the room.

Everett contemplated her words while he watched her limp toward a relatively uncluttered spot near the wall that adjoined his place. Her state of affairs wasn’t really any of his concern, and she’d just made it abundantly clear she felt the same. She seemed content with her circumstances, and he had a busy day planned for tomorrow, so he should return to his bed and try to get what sleep he could before sunup.

But for some reason, he stood there a moment longer, watching her. His thoughts turned unaccountably to Abigail, his fifteen-year-old sister. What if she were in this situation? Which was a ridiculous thought, of course. Abigail was safely ensconced in a nice boarding school in Boston and would
never
find herself in a situation like this.

Still...

* * *

Daisy frowned as she heard her visitor—or was it intruder?—leave. For all his fine airs, he could be mighty rude. He’d all but said he didn’t believe her claim to being a good cook, and it was obvious he didn’t think she’d be able to open her own restaurant. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d seen the way he looked down his nose at her.

Reminded her of Grandmère Longpre—one was
always
aware when she was displeased. Of course her grandmother would never dream of being impolite. The niceties of civilized society were too important to her.

Ah, well, Mr. Fulton didn’t really know her yet, and she’d just roused him from his sleep. She couldn’t really blame him for being in a bad mood. And she shouldn’t forget that he
had
helped her out from under that shelving, so she should be grateful and more forgiving. As her father would say, never moon over
should bes
when your
have nows
are enough to get you by.

She’d just have to prove to Mr. Fulton and the rest of the townsfolk that she aimed to be a good, neighborly citizen of this community. Starting with making this place clean and inviting. Too bad she didn’t have a broom and mop yet. She’d need to take care of that first thing in the morning. For now, she’d just make do as best she could.

She maneuvered an empty crate next to the space where she planned to place her bedroll, wincing at the bit of noise she made. Hopefully it hadn’t been loud enough to disturb her neighbor. Again.

Once she had the crate in place, she eyed it critically, then nodded in satisfaction. “This’ll make a fine table for now—just right for setting my lamp and Mother’s Bible.”

Kip answered her with a couple thumps of his tail.

She decided her change of clothing and the rest of the meager belongings she’d brought along with her could stay in her pack until she found an appropriate and
clean
place to store them.

She arched her back, trying to stretch out some of the kinks. Tomorrow she’d give this place a good scrubbing, and maybe pick some wildflowers to add a bit of color. It would take a while to fix it up the way she wanted, but the cleaning and scrubbing part didn’t cost anything except time and effort.

Already, she could picture it the way she would eventually fix it up—with bright curtains on freshly washed windows and a new coat of paint on the walls. She’d have a roomy pantry and sturdy shelves built in here for all her cooking supplies, and a big, shiny, new stove over on that far wall.

She grabbed her bedroll, still thinking about the red-checkered tablecloths and the ruffled curtains she’d purchase. But before she could get the makeshift bed unrolled properly, her neighbor returned, a scowl on his face. What now?

“Mr. Fulton, I’m so sorry if I’m making too much noise again. I promise—”

He shook his head impatiently, interrupting her apology. At the same time she noticed he was carrying a broom and a cloth-wrapped bundle.

He set the broom against the wall, nodding toward it. “I thought you might be able to make use of this,” he said. Then he thrust the parcel her way. “I also brought this for you.”

His tone was short, gruff, as if he wasn’t happy. Was it with her or with himself? His accent had deepened, as well.

And more important—just what in the world had he brought her?

She gingerly unwrapped the parcel and was pleasantly surprised to find an apple, a slab of cheese and a thick slice of bread inside. “Why, thank you. This is so kind of you.”

He waved aside her thanks. “It’s just a few bits left over from my dinner.” He nodded toward the broom. “And that’s just a loan.”

That might be true, but the food seemed a veritable feast to her, and the broom would cut her work tonight in half. “Still, it’s very neighborly.” Just saying that word cheered her up.

But he still wore that impatient scowl. “Yes, well, I’ll leave you to get settled in.” He glanced at the sleeping area she’d set up and then back at her. “See that you keep the noise down.”

She smothered a sigh, wondering why he had to spoil his nice gesture with a grumpy attitude. “Of course. Good night.”

“Good night.”

As she watched him leave this time, her smile returned. Regardless of his sour expression, Mr. Fulton had been quite kind. Perhaps she’d already made her first friend.

Bowing her head, she said a quick prayer of thanks for the unexpected meal, and for the man who’d given it to her.

Then she looked down at Kip as she broke off a bit of cheese to feed him. “Look here, boy. We have a nice meal to help us really celebrate our first night in our new home. Isn’t God good?”

And, much as he tried to hide it, she was beginning to believe Mr. Fulton had some good in him, as well.

* * *

The next morning, as Everett prepared his breakfast, he could hear the sounds of his new neighbor’s renewed efforts at cleaning out her building. He certainly hoped she didn’t keep that racket up all day. Besides, did she really think she could single-handedly turn that musty, junk-cluttered place into a working restaurant?

Glancing out his window, he saw a pile of rubbish in their shared back lot that hadn’t been there yesterday. He rubbed his jaw, impressed in spite of himself at the amount of effort she’d already expended this morning. Apparently, she planned to try to make her ambitious but improbable dream a reality.

As he stuck a fork in his slightly overcooked egg, he wondered how she’d fared after he left her last night. Had she gotten any sleep at all given her less-than-ideal accommodations?

He took a sip of coffee. Perhaps he should go over and check on her this morning. Not that her welfare was his concern, but she didn’t seem to have anyone else to look out for her. And, even if it was confoundedly inconvenient, someone should make certain her ankle wasn’t any worse this morning and that she had something to eat.

When he carried his dishes to the counter he spied her through the window, dragging another load of debris to toss on her trash pile. That unfortunate-looking mutt she’d had with her last night was racing from her heels to the far end of the lot and back again.

At least she didn’t seem to be favoring her left foot. As for food, he waffled a few moments over whether to involve himself further in her business. He supposed, as long as he made it clear he expected her to fend for herself going forward, it wouldn’t hurt to offer sustenance one more time.

He’d do the gentlemanly thing and invite her up for something to eat, or at least a cup of coffee. And maybe see if she was as optimistic about her enterprise this morning as she’d been last night.

But before he could act on his decision, he saw her reappear carrying a sack and head toward the edge of town, the dog trotting beside her.

What in the world was she up to now?

Feeling slightly deflated, Everett washed his dishes and headed down to his office. Enough of this unproductive preoccupation with his neighbor. He had work to get to.

But over the next few hours he had trouble focusing on his work. He found his thoughts drifting to speculation as to where she’d gone off to and, to his irritation, caught himself listening for her return.

He supposed it was only natural to worry about any unprotected female heading out on her own in unfamiliar surroundings. No matter how far she’d walked to get here.

Everett was finally rewarded a couple of hours after her departure by the sound of her return. Minutes later, he could hear items being moved around and other evidence of her renewed efforts. Did she plan to work the entire day? He even thought he heard snatches of some cheerful but slightly off-key humming a time or two. It appeared that, no matter what other qualities Miss Johnson might have, she wasn’t afraid of hard work.

And apparently, word of the new arrival had spread through town. There was a steady parade of folks strolling past his glass-fronted office, and stopping by his neighbor’s place. With all the interest Miss Johnson was garnering, he wondered just how much work she was actually managing to get done.

He resisted the urge to walk over and see for himself. The impulse had been born of his desire to check on how she was faring after last night’s rough start, but she apparently had plenty of drop-in visitors to assist her now.

Near noon, Everett was on his knees in front of his type cabinet, picking up the bits of type that had scattered when he dropped a tray. He blamed the incident on Miss Johnson, or rather the bothersome distraction she’d become. That and his interrupted sleep last night—also her fault—were the most likely culprits for his lack of focus today.

All he needed was an uninterrupted night’s sleep tonight; then he’d be as efficient as ever tomorrow.

He was just putting the last piece back in place when his office door opened. He glanced up to see Adam Barr, one of the three men who’d traveled with him from Philadelphia to Turnabout last summer.

Everett pushed to his feet, at the same time pushing away his faint disappointment. He took a moment to slide the tray back into place and then greeted his visitor.

“You’re early today,” he said as he grabbed a rag to wipe his hands. Most days, Adam stopped by on his way back to the bank after having lunch at home with his wife, Reggie. He and Adam had an ongoing chess game that they both enjoyed and took quite seriously.

“Reggie has my afternoon planned out for me,” Adam responded. “Jack’s seventh birthday is tomorrow, and she wants my help planning a small surprise for him.”

Jack was Reggie’s nephew, and she and Adam had adopted him after their marriage last fall.

Adam headed toward the chessboard that was set up on the far end of the room with their game. “If I remember correctly, it was my move.”