Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5) (25 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

F
eeling ever so optimistic, Tabitha, dressed in a soft pink dress, finished her afternoon bookkeeping and put the money she’d earned from last night’s reading securely in the little cloth bag she used to transport it to the bank, anxious to see Uncle Frank. The smile she felt in her heart spilled onto her lips. Last night had been standing room only, and she’d sold eight books. The best she’d ever done in a single day, grossing a whole forty-four dollars. Only eight dollars of that was profit, but if she multiplied that amount by thirty days, sometime in the near future her monthly income would be enough to pay the mortgage. One could dream . . .

A few minutes before people had begun to arrive, she’d decided to have a raffle. Ten cents a try. Everyone had participated, and many bought three or four chances to win a copy of
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
,
a secondhand book in good condition. The winner from New Meringue had been delighted.

Gathering her shawl, reticule with the money safely inside, and her key, Tabitha put up her
B
ACK IN
T
EN
M
INUTES
sign and locked the door. Only when she turned toward the Bright Nugget did her bubble of happiness burst.

Hunter.
She hadn’t allowed herself to think of him since yesterday morning. Every time her mind tried to stray his way, she roughly pulled it back to safer ground.
How was he
, she wondered, hearing the sound of merriment coming from inside the saloon as she passed. She didn’t turn her head and look into the room. Perhaps Miss Bastianelli was there. A rush of bitterness squeezed her insides.

Reaching the bank, she huffed out her discontent and pulled open the door to Uncle Frank’s foyer. The oak siding gave the place a manly feel, but the chandelier offset the room with an elegant touch. With a quick glance in the mirror, Tabitha was just about to make herself comfortable in a chair when she heard her uncle laugh. A moment later, he appeared in the hall with Hunter directly behind.

What are the chances?

Had she imagined it, or had Hunter’s eyes just brightened?

“Tabitha,” Uncle Frank called happily. “I’ve been expecting you. Last night was a resounding success. I’ve had a smile on my face all day. Tell me, did you sell many books? I saw you taking money for two.”

Ignoring her warming cheeks, she nodded. “Eight.” She jingled her reticule. “I’m here to make a deposit.” She couldn’t stop her gaze from straying over to Hunter, whose warm smile was all too disarming.

“Congratulations, Miss Canterbury,” he said. “I wish my business was doing as well.”

She could tell by his twitching lips he was kidding. The saloon did well enough on the weekends to make up for the slower days during the week. She felt bold with her uncle at her shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Wade. I missed you last night. After your presence at the first reading, I assumed you were also a lover of books.”

“Not since I lost my tutor. I guess that sort of burst my sails.”

She pulled up. Her gaze cut to Uncle Frank. Was he catching any of this?

Her uncle had pulled out his watch, and clicked open the lid. “If you mean to make a deposit, we should do that now. I have an appointment coming in in a few minutes.”

Disappointment dropped like a stone in Tabitha’s tummy. She’d had so little time with Hunter, these few moments felt like gold. “Yes, of course. Should we go into your office?”

“Certainly.” He extended a hand toward Hunter. “Good to see you. I think what you have planned is very forward thinking. Let me know if I can help.”

That was mysterious.

She smiled at Hunter and said, “Good day, Mr. Wade.”

He nodded, still holding his hat in his hands, and she proceeded down the hall with her uncle.

Hunter felt like following Tabitha back into Frank’s office. It seemed like years since they’d had a verbal sparring, and he missed her arched eyebrow and censoring smile.

Disconcerted over his feelings, his hat clutched in his fingers, he ambled over to the wall and studied a painting of a stag and a herd of does in a snow-covered meadow. The lighting in the picture was subdued and gave the painting an overall dreamlike feel. He imagined Logan Meadows would look much the same after the first good snowfall. Glancing behind the counter to a calendar on the wall, he stared at it blankly, minutes passing until the door down the hall opened.

“Thank you, Uncle. I’ll see you soon.”

Tabitha pulled up when she saw him still standing in the foyer. Her gaze darted to the door, and then back at him. “Mr. Wade . . . you’re still here.” Her tone held a mountain of caution, and he guessed he couldn’t blame her.

He swallowed. “I’m waiting on you. Thought to ask after how you were. I haven’t seen you around town like I used to.”

“I’ve been busy in the store.” She smiled, touched the side of her hair. Her disinterested expression said she hadn’t noticed the separation at all. “You know, thinking up ways to entice people inside. Take a look at what I’ve got. Maybe buy a book or two.”

There! The arched eyebrow. He felt better. Less neglected.

“You’ve been busy as well, I’m sure,” she went on speaking softly. Very ladylike. “I’ve heard your hammer working long hours throughout the mornings and evenings, building your new performance stage for
Miss Bastianelli
.”

Leave it to Miss Hoity-Toity to get directly to the point. He nodded her along, sure it was best if she voiced all her grievances now. Bringing Dichelle here may not have been in his best interest. Her beauty, even for the most gorgeous young woman, would be a difficult pill to swallow. He’d noticed Tabitha’s reaction to some of his innocent comments pertaining to their ages—a fact of life they couldn’t deny. He was forty and she had just turned twenty-nine. No spring chickens anymore, but hardly old. She thought wrongly if she believed she didn’t measure up to Dichelle. Tabitha was beautiful, but her mind made her so much more attractive to Hunter. Sometimes all he could think about were her jibs and jabs.

“The new stage in the Bright Nugget and the women’s show is about all that anyone talks about these days,” she said. “I’m sure you have to stop the pounding in the afternoons when customers come in. Am I right?”

“Yeah, you’re correct. I do what I can early on and put the hammer away about two o’clock. Are you planning on coming to the women’s show Friday?”

“I’ve yet to decide.”

“Well, I hope you do.”

Hunter motioned to the two chairs set out by the window. “Would you like to have a seat? So we can talk?”

Her brow scrunched. “In the bank?”

“Why not? For now, it’s private and quiet.” He walked over to the nearest chair, but waited for her to comply.

“Uncle Frank . . .”

“He’s busy in his office. I’m sure he won’t mind if we pass a little time in his lobby.”

A rosy blush crept into her cheeks. “All right, but I don’t have much time. I left my sign in the window and I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

Relieved that she agreed, he waited until she was seated before sitting himself. Quiet wrapped around them. He was at a crossroads. He knew, because each time he woke up or right before he fell asleep, Tabitha was on his mind. Each hour of the rest of the day was filled with thoughts of her and their time in the bookstore or their walk under the stars. Since Saturday, the arrival of Dichelle, and the hurt he’d seen in Tabitha’s eyes, he’d been irritable with everyone. It was no way to live.

“I was wondering if I could come back to the bookstore for my reading lessons?”

She sat back, assessing him with her soft green gaze. Hunter knew he never wanted to be on the wrong end of her affections again. What would it take to win her over? It was her aunt. If he could just get past Roberta Brown, change her opinion of him, Tabitha would crumble like a cake too soon out of the pan.

“Would you have some time for me? Maybe later today?”

She looked up at him with a small smile. “I don’t have any plans for this afternoon if you’d like to come by. I’m glad you haven’t given up altogether on your desire to read better.”

That’s not the only thing I desire
, he thought, smiling back. He reached out and she placed her hand in his, transporting him back to their starry stroll on the boardwalk.

The door to the bank opened and Dichelle, dressed in a soft cream-colored dress, stepped through the door, the shade emphasizing her dark beauty. She smiled brightly when she saw them and hurried over.

Tabitha pulled her hand away.

“
Ciao
,
Hunter. Miss Canterbury. I am happy to . . .” Her voice trailed off and she took a tiny step back. “Actually, I just remembered something I forgot to do! Forgive me.” She quickly turned before he could say a word and pushed back through the door, frigid air rushing inside in her wake.

“I think we should forget about the reading lesson, Mr. Wade. I don’t think you have time, with your new girl in town. I’m sure she’d like some of your attention.”

“That’s uncalled for! Dichelle is working for the saloon. Nothing more.”

“When we had our discussion about you bringing in more working girls to Logan Meadows, you specifically said nothing had been decided. And then four days later, your secret weapon arrived. Where I come from, that’s called a lie.”

Anger rolled in his gut. Darn her hoity-toityness to hell and back. She was the most aggravating women he’d ever met. He’d not clear up the misunderstanding. He’d let her stew. She deserved it.

Tabitha stood and shook out her dress. “It’s been nice speaking with you. Now, I really must get back.”

He stood, then went to the door and opened it for Tabitha. “Good afternoon,” he said to her retreating back as he fastened on his hat. Frustrated, he shook his head. That woman was more trouble than she was worth.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

O
ne hour later, as Tabitha was taking the tea infuser out of her teacup, she noticed movement outside her window. Miss Bastianelli stood out by the bridge behind a painting easel, the paintbrush in her hand making little swishing movements across her canvas. She’d donned a beautiful navy wool hat and coat, both trimmed in some sort of white fur.

She’s an artist as well!

It made sense. Gifted people usually had more than one talent.

Feeling the coolness of the shop, Tabitha added several logs to her woodstove and draped her shawl over her shoulders, all the while sipping the hot cup of orange tea and trying not to look at the beautiful young woman outside, painting the stream and bridge. Tabitha straightened one shelf, moved around a display, then went to fetch her broom. Returning, she leaned the tool against the wall and picked up her cup, watching Miss Bastianelli. The girl looked up at the sky at the tiny snowflakes that had begun to fall.

A little snow this time of year wasn’t unheard of.

Tabitha took another sip. The warmth of her cup felt good in her hands.

Miss Bastianelli shivered visibly, then glanced down the street.

It must be lonely in a new town where all the women were envious of your beauty. Not one person had stopped to talk. Was she cold? Moved by compassion, Tabitha went for her coat, slipped it on, and hurried out to find the woman packing up her things. The Italian singer appeared a little leery as Tabitha approached.

“You must come inside and warm up, Miss Bastianelli. Have a cup of tea with me.” She pointed to her shop, but the woman didn’t look convinced. “I get lonely sometimes,” Tabitha added.

At her words, a smile appeared on Miss Bastianelli’s face. “
Sì,
I understand. A cup of tea and conversation sounds delightful. The temperature has dropped even since setting up my paints. But only if you will call me Dichelle.”

Tabitha smiled and nodded. She lifted Dichelle’s bag while the saloon girl took her painting off the easel, then lifted that as well. “I’m glad your shop is close,” she said, hurrying across the bridge and into the bookstore. “Oh, that warmth feels good.”

“It does,” Tabitha agreed. “I’ve added more wood to the stove so it won’t be long and it’ll be warmer still. The water is hot, so this will only take a moment.” They both slipped out of their coats, hanging them on pegs by the door.

In silence, Tabitha fixed a second cup and refreshed her own. Carrying them into the main room, she found Dichelle looking down a row of books. Tabitha handed her the beverage and smiled, taking a sip of her own.

Dichelle took a sip. “Oh, it’s good.
Grazie
.”

Feeling a little contrite about judging her so harshly before, Tabitha went over to the painting leaning by the door. The stream, the bridge, and her shop in the background. She sucked in a breath. “It’s lovely. You’re very talented.” Shady Creek and the bridge were finished, or so Tabitha thought, but her shop was just in the beginning of development. Watercolor blues washed over the canvas, mixed with browns and tan.

“Oh, I am just learning. But it helps to pass the time when I’m away.”

“Away? Where are you from?”

The young woman’s smile faded. “Over the last mountain.”

“I see.”
She doesn’t want me prying. I can’t blame her. I don’t like Aunt Roberta’s snooping into my life either.
Tabitha took a sip and gazed out the window.

Dichelle gazed at the snowflakes that had grown in size. “An early snow,
sì
?”

Across the street, and several doors down, Mr. Harrell pulled his display table of sale items inside the haberdashery. Sheriff Preston ducked inside after him.

“It is, from what I’ve heard. I’m new to town myself. I arrived in Logan Meadows last November.”

Dichelle turned to her with vivid blue eyes. “Did you know Hunter from before?”

Well, they knew so little about each other, the woman was most likely searching for something to speak about. She didn’t blame her. “No. We met when he came to town. Why do you ask?”

She lifted a shoulder, a small smile pulling her lips.

Curiosity filled her. “Dichelle?”

The singer turned back to the window, the empty street outside looking more and more like a Christmas scene.

“The way he looks at you when you’re not watching. He was protective of your reading night on Tuesday and wouldn’t let Mr. Martin schedule my performance then, so it would compete.” She turned and gazed into Tabitha’s face, a knowing smile on her lips. “Little things like that. I don’t know . . . I just thought the two of you must be
very
good friends . . .”

A warm goodness seeped into Tabitha’s heart. Hunter had looked out for her?

“You like him. At least a little.”

Tabitha didn’t know how to respond. Her feelings were all mixed up. She motioned to the chintz chair by the window. “Shall we sit? I have some throws we can put on our laps.”

Dichelle’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, let’s. I have some things I’d like to share.”

Tabitha retrieved her desk chair and set it on the other side of the small table as Dichelle made herself comfortable, already unfolding a small knitted blanket. Tabitha hurried upstairs for the small blanket she kept on her bedroom chair.

Returning, Tabitha got comfortable and picked up her cup.

“First, I’d like to clear up a common mistake that I run into when I come to a new town. I am not a lady of the night, saloon girl, prostitute. Because I sing in taverns and bars sometimes, I’m mistaken for such. I’m a professional singer and actress. I aim to perform in New York someday.”

Tabitha blinked, realizing her mistake. She’d assumed, and Hunter hadn’t corrected. He hadn’t lied to her at all. Shame filled her chest.

“At one time, I had hoped Hunter would develop feelings for me,” Dichelle went on proudly. “I tried hard to get his attention. I wasn’t worried about the age difference. As well as being devilishly handsome, he was kind, and looked out for me when other men had other ideas. I think the world of him. And for a while, I was in love with him. We are now just friends.”

Tabitha lifted her teacup to her lips, trying not to let it shake. Dichelle’s admission cut her to the quick. Why the woman would be so candid with her, Tabitha didn’t know.

“You two seem like very different people,” Tabitha began, not quite sure what she wanted to ask. “He’s cut from a different cloth than you, rougher. A wagon-train master. You’re refined, and cultured.” Shocked at herself, she realized that she sounded as small-minded as Aunt Roberta.

There was no judgment in Dichelle’s eyes. “Is that what you think of him?”

Tabitha’s moment of truth. It felt good to finally acknowledge her feelings. “No. But it’s the opinion of my aunt, who lives here in Logan Meadows. She’s very vocally set her will against us.”

Dichelle nodded as if she understood completely. “Has Hunter shared with you the time he delivered a baby?”

Tabitha’s hands jerked, rattling her cup and saucer. She shook her head.

“He’s a good man, no matter the cloth from which he’s been cut. The wagon train he and Thorp Wade were guiding was almost to Oregon when they reached a chasm that had opened up in the trail. Each wagon had to be unloaded, then lowered down a small cliff, and then reloaded. It was an ordeal that lasted several days. Hunter was sent on ahead with the wagons that had already been lowered, to a meadow where they would camp and wait for the others. A woman went into labor while her husband and the rest of the men toiled back at the cliff. She was frightened. Hunter was young himself, maybe twenty. Before they could send a runner back for her man, she delivered into Hunter’s hands. He never flinched from what he needed to do.”

Dichelle’s solemn gaze met Tabitha’s over the rim of her cup.

“Another time, he stayed behind to help a new widow plow and plant her fields after they’d learned her husband had been killed by a cougar and she was all alone. Hunter has a big heart. He’s loyal to a fault. If you look beneath his rough exterior, Hunter is pure gold. A rare find. If you have feelings for him, I’d not let him slip away. In my mind, there isn’t a woman alive good enough for him.”

As if she realized her comment was a judgment on Tabitha herself, Dichelle moved her gaze outside. She laughed and pointed to Markus and Nate, who twirled in the deserted street with outstretched arms, their heads tipped back as they caught snowflakes on their tongues. Neither boy wore a coat or hat.

“Oh, my,” Tabitha said, barely seeing them for all the sentiments about Hunter warming her heart. How he’d reached out to her today in the bank, and her chilly response. “I wonder if Hannah and Susanna know.”

Dichelle winked. “Boys will be boys,
sì
?”

“Yes, you’re absolutely correct.”

Finished with her tea, Miss Bastianelli stood. “I should be going.” She went to her coat and put it on. “Thank you so much for your kindness,” she said, slipping the hat over her head and pulling it down over her ears. “You’ve touched me deeply. If you’d like to hear more about Hunter’s chivalry, let me know. I have many, many more stories I could share. But, I’d rather you hear them from him.”

Before opening the door, Dichelle leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to each of Tabitha’s cheeks.
“Arrivederci.”

Tabitha gently fastened the door tight as she watched the young woman walk away with her things. She was wise for someone so young, and Tabitha would do well to heed her words.