Carol Cox (15 page)

W
hat about this one, dear?” Mrs. Fetterman plucked a tall, slender box with gold lettering off the shelf and held it out to Melanie.

Melanie scanned the box and shook her head. “This is Scott’s Nerv-O-Sol. The label says it’s a speedy and reliable remedy for headache and neuralgia.”

Mrs. Fetterman sighed and went back to browsing the shelves.

Melanie pressed her fingers against her right temple. Shaking her head had been a mistake. It had been throbbing all afternoon, and the quick movement only made it worse.

Glancing at the front window, she took note of the sun’s position. After their initial clash over the curtains, she and Caleb had reached a compromise. The curtains could remain in place—as long as they were tied back during the day to allow passersby to view the store’s interior. Melanie had dug her heels in at first, but it proved to be one issue on which Caleb steadfastly refused to budge. Now she grudgingly
admitted his plan was an improvement, allowing sunlight to stream inside the store—and show off their wares to better advantage—while maintaining the pleasing appearance she’d been striving for. Not that she would ever admit that to him.

Judging from the length of the shadows outside, she had another two hours to go before she could set the
Closed
sign in the window.

She turned her attention back to the selection of patent remedies—now set well away from the veterinary supplies—and perused the shelves. “Look at this one.” She selected a brown bottle with a black label. “Dr. White’s Dandelion Alterative, the great liver corrector, blood purifier, and tonic.”

Another nostrum caught her eye. “H. H. Warner & Co. Safe Cure, beneficial for the liver and kidneys. Either of these might be helpful. What do you think?” She handed both bottles over for Mrs. Fetterman’s inspection, although she doubted whether the other woman could see more than the largest print at the top of the labels. While the older woman turned the bottles this way and that, Melanie closed her eyes and massaged her temple again.

Mrs. Fetterman clucked like a setting hen. “Are you feeling all right, dearie? You look like you might need one of these tonics yourself.”

“I have a bit of a headache—that’s all.” Melanie summoned a weary smile. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Mrs. Fetterman cocked her head like a curious sparrow.

“Would you like to look through the catalogs with me some day and see if we can find a better pair of spectacles for you? I don’t mind reading labels to you at all, but I hate
to think of you missing out on all the other things you would be able to see.”

“What a lovely idea!” Mrs. Fetterman clapped her hands. “Do you really think a change of spectacles might improve my vision?”

A man dressed in a bowler hat and a herringbone suit walked toward them, and Melanie shied like a frightened colt, relaxing only when he passed them without a second glance and continued on to the counter where Caleb stood tending their other customers.

Mrs. Fetterman’s forehead puckered. “Are you sure it’s just a headache? You seem a bit on edge.”

“I thought he was going to propose.”

The crease between Mrs. Fetterman’s brows deepened. Melanie tried to brush off the other woman’s concern with a laugh. “I know that must sound vain, but it keeps on happening, over and over again. You were here the first time. Remember?”

“How could I forget?” Mrs. Fetterman’s face lost its frown, and her pale blue eyes danced. “The way Dooley Hatcher leaped over that crate of washboards was a sight to behold.” She cocked her head and peered up at Melanie. “And you say that hasn’t been the only time?”

“Far from it!” Melanie wailed. “It’s been going on since I arrived.”

Mrs. Fetterman waved her hand. “That isn’t unusual when a good-looking woman like you moves into the area. With such a shortage of eligible ladies, a few proposals are to be expected.”

Melanie shook her head. “I might be able to understand a few, but this has been happening almost nonstop. . . . In
fact, it seems to have gotten worse, especially over the past week or so. Miners, cowboys, even some soldiers from Fort Verde—all men I’ve never seen before! It’s like watching bees swarm out of a hive. I can’t imagine what I might have done to encourage this.”

Tears pricked, and she blinked them away. The onslaught of proposals had proven to be an immense distraction—so much so that she hadn’t been able to rearrange the merchandise or set up the new display she’d planned for the front window.

Oddly enough, Caleb didn’t seem upset by the steady stream of suitors. She cast a baleful glance toward the other end of the store, where he stood talking to Will Blake. After he’d chased off the Hatcher brothers and practically threw Slim Applegate out the door, she would have expected the current influx of would-be beaus to make him erupt like Mount Vesuvius. Instead, he seemed to take it all remarkably in stride.

Melanie winced as a stabbing pain shot through her temples. She had found another of the hateful anonymous notes that morning, which only added to her worries. She’d decided to ignore them as an ugly nuisance, and the fire in the office as a malicious prank. But after discovering a murdered corpse on her doorstep, she had to wonder if the earlier incidents were merely cruel jokes or if they added up to a true and personal danger.

Between that worry, the ongoing stream of proposals, and her headache, she was always so exhausted by the time evening came that she hadn’t even found the time to sort through Cousin George’s things. All she could manage was to retreat upstairs with a plate of cheese and crackers and a cup of chamomile tea.
Ayer’s American Almanac
touted the tea as particularly beneficial when it came to soothing
headaches, but the cup she’d prepared earlier that day didn’t seem to be helping. The pounding throb had settled in as her constant companion.

“This looks interesting.” Mrs. Fetterman held a squat blue bottle three inches from her nose and squinted at the label.

“Excuse me, are you Miss Ross?”

Melanie turned to find a stocky man standing close behind her—entirely too close. Something about his intent expression sent warning bells clanging in her mind, which served to intensify the hammering in her temples. She moved back a step. “Yes?”

He pulled off his straw hat and held it before him in both hands. “I don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll get right down to business. My name is Nehemiah Curtis, and I’ve been farming a quarter section a ways south of town. It has fairly promising prospects, and there’s a good, solid house. I don’t drink, I don’t gamble, and I don’t spend my evenings at the saloon.” He reached up and stroked his chin with one hand. “I may not be much to look at, but I’m steady, and I’d make you a good husband. How about—”

“No.”

Nehemiah Curtis’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and the corners of his mouth curved downward. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean I have no intention of marrying you.” Melanie fought down the urge to scream out her frustration and struggled to maintain an even tone. “Thank you for your offer, and I wish you the best in your search for a wife, but I’m afraid you will have to look elsewhere.”

Curtis’s face turned the color of the red bandanna tied around his neck. Jamming his hat back onto his head, he
turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Melanie staring after him. He stomped to the far end of the store and jabbed a pudgy finger in Caleb’s face. “I thought she was supposed to be anxious to wed.”

Caleb’s head whipped around. “Excuse me?”

Even at that distance, Melanie didn’t miss the furtive glance he shot in her direction.

“You heard me,” Curtis said. “I thought she was eager to get a husband. Ripe for the plucking—that’s the word that’s been going around.”

Caleb’s face paled, and he patted his hands in the air, as though trying to shush the angry man. “Why don’t you come out back where we can talk without disturbing anyone?”

“I’m done talking. I didn’t come in here to be made a fool of. Good day to you, sir.” He turned and walked out the door, slamming it with such force that Melanie feared for the window glass.

The store grew quiet, reminding Melanie of the calm before a storm. So quiet she could hear the mantel clock ticking away on its shelf at the far end of the mercantile.

Thrusting the bottles into Mrs. Fetterman’s hands, she stalked down the length of the store with a measured tread, only vaguely aware of customers scuttling toward the door to make a hasty exit. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead, her attention locked on the turncoat . . . the snake . . . the
weasel
standing in front of the counter.

Melanie pointed her finger at Caleb’s face in the same way Nehemiah Curtis had done only moments before. “What did he mean, ‘that’s the word that’s been going around’?” She stepped forward and jabbed the finger into his chest. “Are you behind all this?”

Caleb stood with his mouth half open, darting glances from Melanie to the rear door and back to Melanie again, as if gauging whether he could get past her to make his escape.

“Anxious? Eager?” Melanie’s voice rose higher with every syllable. “‘
Ripe for the plucking
’?” She heard a soft snicker off to one side and whirled on Will Blake. “Were you in on this, too? All the times you’ve stopped here to visit, all the times you’ve sought me out.” She jerked her thumb toward Caleb. “Did he put you up to that?”

The amused expression on Will’s face dissolved, to be replaced by a look of alarm as she advanced on him, step by threatening step. He raised his hands, palms out, in a gesture of surrender. “Hold on a minute. I’m no party to this . . . whatever it might be.” He added the last phrase with a guilty look at Caleb.

Turning back to Melanie, Will captured her gaze and held it. “Think back. If you’ll remember, the first time I expressed interest in you was on the day we met—the very day you came to town. That was done all on my own, with no coaxing needed. I don’t need anyone’s help to know you’re the most attractive woman in these parts.” One corner of his lips quirked up, and he tipped his hat. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll be on my way and leave the two of you to sort things out.” He wasted no time in putting his words into action.

The moment the door swung shut behind him, Melanie rounded on Caleb again. “How could you? Of all the despicable, underhanded schemes!” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed back the tears that threatened, despising her show of weakness. “If you think you can get rid of me by marrying me off to some farmer . . . or soldier . . . or the undertaker, of all people . . . you’ve got another think coming.”

Caleb gulped. Then he swept his arm toward the window as if taking in the town and the landscape beyond. “Look out there. This is a land of promise, but it can be a lonely one. Most of the men around here are hungry for married life and a family, and you’re a fresh new face. And not a bad looking one, at that.”

“So you felt compelled to sic them all on me?” Melanie heard a scuffling sound behind the counter, and Levi emerged from his fort. He scooted across the floor to take up a stand slightly behind his father and stared at her with a look of awe.

Melanie was aware of his presence, but it didn’t dampen her anger one whit. She fixed a scorching glare on the object of her wrath. “Do you think I’m desperate?”

“No, not at all.” Caleb’s soothing tone was belied by the way he inched toward the back door, with Levi keeping pace. “You’re quite pleasing to the eyes. Certainly pretty enough to attract a man without any help from me.”

Levi nodded vigorously. “That’s right. I heard Papa say that to Mr. Crawford. He told him it was a good thing, too. He didn’t even have to pay those men to come and ask you to marry them.”

Melanie’s eyes bulged, and she glowered at Caleb through a red haze. “So you really did it. You encouraged all those men to . . . to . . .” Finding herself bereft of further speech, she grabbed for the broom that stood propped against the counter and brandished it like a weapon.

Caleb backpedaled a few more steps. “Get ahold of yourself, Miss Ross. You’re letting your emotions get the better of you.”

“My emotions?” Melanie tightened her hold on the broom handle and raised it over her shoulder, bringing it down on
the counter with a mighty
whack
. “I’d say there’s plenty of call for emotion when I find out I’m being treated like a piece of merchandise . . . and unwanted merchandise, at that.” She lifted the broom again and advanced another step.

Caleb opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. He grabbed Levi by the shoulder. “Son, sometimes retreat is the better part of valor. Let’s get out of here.”

The two of them backed to the door, and Caleb reached around to turn the knob, never taking his eyes off Melanie. “Once you’ve had a chance to calm down a little, perhaps we can discuss this a little more rationally.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he appeared to change his mind when she raised the broom again. Without another word, he drew Levi out onto the back stoop and shut the door behind them.

Melanie stood staring at the closed door and felt her knees begin to tremble. Had she just chased Caleb out of his own place of business? She looked down at the broom in her hand and shook her head. Maybe she really was as crazy as she must have looked to him and Levi.