Strong and Stubborn (22 page)

He eyed her incredulously. “You mean to say there's
more
?”

“The next house.” Naomi gestured to the right, where an almost identical structure stood. Doors shut, it looked unprepossessing.

“The whole house? Another like this?” He sounded faintly awed, but Naomi found it encouraging that he didn't just sound faint. The prospect of going through everything made her think longingly of a nap. How must he feel, faced with the task of hauling it all out?

“We made some attempt to categorize things,” she soothed. “So we won't tackle the second house. My supplies should all be here.”

“So we're going in after more than just the tables.” Mr. Strode squared his shoulders and eyed the Herculean challenge ahead. “I'll haul out whatever you want, so long as you don't expect me to open things up. It wouldn't be right to go through ladies' luggage.”

“That's fine, since I'm not even sure what I'll find!”

Five hours and countless boxes later, Mike began to suspect this was retribution for his thoughts on how building a dollhouse would be easier on his back. At the start, he figured it looked like there were more things crammed inside than there really were because the eye couldn't focus on individual pieces. He'd been wrong.

The farther he burrowed into Miss Higgins's storage, the more he marveled at how much a one-room structure could hold. He'd practically built a fort out of the pieces she immediately rejected—and not the size fort he'd hammered together for Luke back home. The saving grace of that pile was Miss Higgins's offhand remark that she needn't look through them—they all belonged to Miss Lyman.

If Mike had to slap a ratio on it, he'd say that two-thirds of the contents of the house went to the fort. In comparison, the heaps surrounding Miss Higgins seemed downright reasonable—especially since they owed most of their bulk to two tables and a small shelf.

“Why don't I tote these over to the workshop and out of your way?” Mike gestured toward the shelf and one of the tables. The other table made itself useful as a type of sorting station.

“Yes, let's do that.” She snapped shut the satchel she'd been looking through and added it to the heap nearest Miss Lyman's fort. “If you'll take the table, I'll get the shelf—it's not heavy.”

“Spruce is surprisingly light,” Mike agreed. In general, he wouldn't want a woman lifting any furniture, but he was learning that the women of Hope Falls were a determined and capable breed. He'd save his protests in case she tried to move something heavy.

“Is that why?” She slid her hands beneath a shelf and lifted without much effort. “It's surprisingly sturdy without being dense.”

“Yep.” He shouldered the door open and set down the table, unable to hold the door open for her if she went through first. “You'll find a lot of crates, ladders, and ship masts made from it.”

“I never knew.” She tucked the shelf into a corner and smoothed her apron. “As part owner in a prospective sawmill, I suppose I'll need to brush up on the types of wood and what they're used for.”

“Start with the softwoods,” he suggested. “Pine, spruce, fir, and even cedar grow hereabouts, and that's what you'll be milling.”

It was a novel experience, talking business with a woman. Or rather, talking business with an
interested
woman. Mike thought of all the times he'd tried to share something of his craft with Leticia. She waved him away, refusing to hear about “trade.” Wasn't it enough that she allowed Luke to come home covered in sawdust?

“They're called softwood?” Miss Higgins's astonished query amused him. “All things considered, isn't that a bit of a misnomer?”

He shrugged. “It's a classification based on the tree itself. Evergreens are generally less dense than trees that shed their leaves. They grow faster, so the layers aren't as compacted.”

“How fascinating.” Eyes alight with interest,
she
was fascinating. “If you don't mind, I'd like to learn more as we work.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Mike couldn't remember a time when he meant it more. “I'm not the sort who requires silence to work.”

“But you do require sustenance.” Miss Higgins squinted at the sky when they exited the building. “It looks about time for lunch.”

“I'll never turn down a good meal.” Mike happily followed her to the diner, where a medley of smells made his mouth water.

“Oh!” Miss Higgins held up a finger and backed toward the door. “I'll be right back. I forgot something!” With that, she was gone.

“Strode.” Until Dunstan's greeting, Mike didn't notice him. Like any good hunter, he had a way of blending into the shadows.

“Dunstan.” Mike joined him, taking a seat nearest the swinging kitchen doors. He avoided the man's injured side, where Decoy hunched beneath the table. “How goes it?”

“I'm trussed tighter than a turkey,” he grunted. They lapsed into companionable silence for a moment before Dunstan added, “Don't remember if I thanked you for helping haul me out of the mine.”

“Don't mention it.” Mike watched as the other man dug around in his pocket and pulled out a new knife sheath of tooled leather. Mike accepted the gift with a nod of recognition but no words. Neither one of them wanted to talk about what happened to his old one.

Miss Higgins bustled back in, clutching a grubby lump of cloth trailing a mangled set of ribbons. She paused for a moment to look around the room, apparently satisfied to see no one but the men. Then her eyes widened—she'd caught sight of the massive wolfhound curled up under the table.

“Does Evie know he's here?” Her murmur scarcely made it across the room.

“Yep. Miss Thompson says he's earned a place—just not at mealtimes.” Dunstan reached down to scratch between Decoy's ears. “And not in the kitchen. The other women are in there now.”

Mike thought he heard her mumble “excellent” beneath her breath as she crossed the room and came to a halt in front of the mounted cougar. He watched as she gave the cat a considering glance, set down her bedraggled bundle, and began tugging at one of the benches. Before Mike could offer to help, she'd worked the bench closer to the wall and climbed up. She looked quite pleased with herself until she realized she couldn't reach the thing she'd set on the table.

“It's the hat.” Dunstan sounded as though he was trying to hold back his laughter—probably because it made his ribs hurt.

“Yes it is.” Naomi held a finger to her lips, signaling him to hush. She wanted to get things in place before Lacey decided to investigate. Unfortunately she'd hit a snag; now that she could reach the cougar, Naomi couldn't stretch far enough to get the hat!

“It's a hat?” Mr. Strode sounded as though he had doubts about that, but Naomi forgave him since he was kind enough to pass it up. He'd see that it was a hat as soon as she got the thing situated.

Only now that she had her hat in hand, so to speak, she couldn't decide quite how to place it. Too far back and it wouldn't make enough of an impact, but the ears presented another problem entirely. No matter how she tried, Naomi couldn't further squish the already-squashed accessory to fit between the cougar's ears. Nor would it balance atop the furry tufts. The more Naomi failed, the more she imagined the great cat was laughing at her paltry efforts.

Until she pulled a packet of hairpins from her apron pocket. Jabbing hairpins into place, Naomi discovered, was far easier when the subject of the primping couldn't feel anything. In almost no time at all, she'd anchored the hat at a jaunty angle, with one ear artistically uncovered. As a finishing touch, she tied a large bow beneath its hairy chin. Then she hopped down to survey the results.

“Please forgive my earlier skepticism,” Mr. Strode apologized. “I failed to consider your superior knowledge of feminine frippery.”

“Obviously.” Naomi swallowed a snigger at the sight. Lacey's prized pink hat, now squashed and stained almost beyond recognition, listed drunkenly atop the snarling beast. Tattered ribbons dangled limply over one eye to tangle in its whiskers. It was perfect—especially since the cougar faced across from the
Hats Off to the Chef
sign Evie carted clear from Charleston.

“I suspect there's a good reason Dunstan's got the giggles?”

“Sure is.” Dunstan stopped chuckling. “But I don't giggle.”

“Who has the giggles?” Lacey popped through the swinging kitchen doors, caught sight of the newly adorned cougar, and froze. Slowly, as if seeking something lost, she smoothed back her hair. “My hat …” She turned to Dunstan to demand, “You went back for it?”

“Later that night.” Suddenly the hunter looked uncomfortable. “You tried so hard to retrieve it, and then you said that thing about how a gentleman would pick it up … so I went and picked it up.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Lacey's mushy, in-love-with-a-man-who-saved-my-hat expression changed. “Why didn't you give it back?”

“I couldn't very well waltz up to you and present the thing on a silver platter, so I shoved it in one of those rooms you had filled with stuff.” Defensive and sheepish, Dunstan glowered. “You were bound and determined to run me out of Hope Falls. Remember?”

“What's all the commotion in here?” Evie and Cora joined them.

Cora gasped. “What on earth have you done to that poor cougar?”

“Don't look at me.” Lacey held her hands up. “I just shot it.”

“I found the hat when Mr. Strode and I started sorting through luggage, trying to unearth my supplies.” Naomi tried not to look too pleased with herself. “I wanted to display it in honor of your engagement and decided the cougar deserved to be part of it.”

“Why?” Mr. Strode's baffled query reminded her that he didn't know the story behind the cougar or its significance to Lacey.

“I met Lacey when she decided to go for a walk in the woods. Alone.” Dunstan threw his fiancée a pointed glance. “Granger warned me that the women needed looking after, but I didn't expect to find a cougar stalking her. It must've been the fluttering ribbons.”

“Which is why I think the hat belongs right where I put it,” Naomi finished. Then she thought better of it. “If Lacey agrees.”

“Well …” Lacey's smile flickered, and she admitted, “I certainly won't ever be able to wear it again. But it was my favorite hat. I hate to see it looking so sad and frumpy—cougar notwithstanding.”

“Try to stop thinking of it as a ruined hat,” Evie suggested. “Instead, why don't you see it as a one-of-a-kind souvenir?”

“Of what?” Lacey's brow furrowed. “A souvenir of what?”

“Of one of the best days of your life.” Naomi tried to keep the wistfulness from her tone. “The day you finally met your match.”

I
s this the one you've been looking for?” Mike asked after he'd brought Miss Higgins back into the storage area. To the very back, a three-foot-square crate crouched atop a lacquered cabinet.

“What do you mean, what I've been looking for?” She moved to his side, the better to see around him. “I've been looking for a lot of things today, and I've found very nearly all of—oh!” Whatever else she'd meant to say was lost in a soft exhalation of happiness.

Mike tried not to think about how much he liked hearing her go all breathy. “There's something you've been waiting for. All day yesterday and all day today you've looked up every time I've stepped through the door. You check what I'm carrying, sometimes shake your head, and almost always go right back to whatever you're sorting.”

He didn't add that he liked the way she looked up, eyes alight with expectation, every time he passed through the door. He didn't tell her that what kept him hauling things out of this one-room house was the chance that any item might be the thing she hoped for. He wanted to see her face when he carried it to her. But since that mysterious item happened to be huge, heavy, and stamped on every side with the word
Fragile,
Mike settled for that sweet little sigh.