Second Chance Hero (7 page)

The game went on for another twenty minutes, and the conversation turned to more impersonal topics as they continued their game. But her thoughts kept drifting back to his unexpected reaction to her question about Adam Barr. She knew both he and Mr. Barr were from Pennsylvania, but had no idea how they'd ended up here in Turnabout. Was Mr. Cooper hiding something to protect his friend?

Or himself?

Verity eventually lost the game, but she didn't mind. While she had enough of a competitive streak to enjoy winning, she also enjoyed just playing the game with a likable competitor. And Mr. Cooper was definitely likable. Even though he was undeniably guarded, the occasional peeks she caught of his self-deprecating attitude, his dry humor and his confident intelligence were quite an appealing combination.

She had just stood to put the game away when a bell sounded. She gave Mr. Cooper an apologetic smile. “That means we have a visitor at the clinic. I should check in to see if Uncle Grover needs me for anything. Would you like me to wheel you back to the infirmary or would you prefer to stay here?”

“I'll stay here, if you don't mind.”

It was the answer she'd expected. “Of course. Make yourself at home.” She crossed the room and grabbed a large wooden box.

“This is Aunt Betty's stereopticon,” she said as she set it on the table in front of him. “I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you took a look at it.”

With that, she hurried away to check in with Uncle Grover.

* * *

Nate knew he was in trouble. Mrs. Leggett was becoming more than just an interesting woman to him. She was bright, kind, composed. And, when she let herself relax, had an unexpected sense of humor. Granted, he didn't have a lot of experience with women—he'd gone to prison at nineteen and before that, well, before that there had been other priorities in his life.

But he knew enough to know this woman was special.

And she was still very much off-limits to him.

Chapter Seven

V
erity hurried up the walk. Uncle Grover had sent her to the apothecary shop to pick something up for him and she'd decided to stop by the library while she was out to pick up a book for Mr. Cooper. Her uncle was no doubt wondering what had taken her so long.

She delivered the packet to her uncle, chatted with him for a few minutes about how the Simmons boy was doing since his splint had been removed yesterday, then she glanced toward the far door.

“Has Mr. Cooper returned to the infirmary yet?”

Her uncle looked up distractedly. “I haven't seen him come through. As far as I know he's still in the parlor, where you left him.”

Verity moved toward the door that connected the clinic to the house. “I suppose I should check on him then. He might be ready to get some rest.”

Her uncle nodded and turned to the bookcase behind him, obviously searching for a particular tome.

As Verity stepped inside the house, she heard someone playing the piano. Had Mr. Cooper decided to try it one-handed after all?

She quietly moved to the open parlor door and paused on the threshold. Sure enough, Mr. Cooper sat in front of the piano, playing with his good hand. He wasn't using sheet music so he must be playing from memory.

He sat in profile to her, so she could see his expression as he played. There was a look of intense concentration tinged with frustration—no doubt because he was forced to play one-handed. Even so, he was doing a remarkable job.

When he was finished with the piece, he sat perfectly still, his hand still resting on the keys, his head down.

“That was lovely,” she said softly.

His head jerked up and around to face her, and for a moment she saw an unexpected vulnerability there. Then he straightened and gave her a crooked smile. That vulnerability—if it had been there at all—was gone. “You must be tone deaf if you call that lovely,” he said drily.

Relieved that he'd decided to take her intrusion without rancor, she smiled and stepped into the room. “Actually, my ear for music is said to be pretty good.”

“Just because you sing in the choir...”

So he'd noticed that, had he? For some reason that cheered her. “Actually, I'm the choir director. So yes, I think that makes me somewhat qualified to judge.” She remembered the book she carried and held it out to him. “Here, I picked this up at the library for you.”

She saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he reached out to take it from her.

“Thank you.” He studied the cover. “
Ranch Life and the Hunting-Trail
by Theodore Roosevelt.”

She couldn't tell from his expression how he felt about it. “Have you already read it?”

“No.”

“It's a new arrival to Abigail's library. I thought it looked intriguing.”

“And so it does.” He held it up. “Thanks again. I look forward to reading this.”

Joy skipped into the room just then, Beans at her heels. As soon as the dog caught sight of Mr. Cooper, he bounded over to his side and put his paws up on the man's good leg.

Verity's gaze focused on the way Mr. Cooper absently reached down to scratch Beans's head. There was something to be said about a man who cared for his dog.

And a man whose dog cared so enthusiastically for him.

Joy turned to Verity. “Aunt Betty says to tell you that supper will be ready soon. And that she hopes Mr. Cooper is up to joining us at the table.”

Joy turned to Mr. Cooper and stepped closer. “I hope you're feeling better.”

“I am, Joy, thank you. And those pretty flowers you brought sure did brighten up my room.”

Okay, there was another point in Mr. Cooper's favor—he was going out of his way to be nice to her daughter.

Joy smiled. “So I helped?”

“You most certainly did.”

Joy stooped to pet Beans, but she kept her gaze on Mr. Cooper. “Was that you playing the piano a while ago?”

“It was.”

Her expression turned wistful. “Mama says I can learn one day, too.”

Her daughter's words drew Verity up short. Why hadn't she ever heard that longing note in Joy's voice when they discussed piano lessons before? Was that new? Or had Verity not been paying close enough attention?

She decided she'd talk to Zella, the church pianist, after the service on Sunday about giving Joy lessons.

* * *

Nate looked around the supper table with the sinking feeling that he was fighting a losing battle. As soon as he'd learned the circumstances of Mrs. Leggett's husband's death, he'd known he had to pull back and not try to forge anything more than a polite, neighborly relationship with this family.

Yet here he was, seated with them, eating their food, sharing their hospitality.

Once they'd settled in their seats at the table and Dr. Pratt had said the blessing, Mrs. Pratt reached for the bowl of peas that sat to her left. “Allow me to serve your plate, Mr. Cooper. You shouldn't be straining that arm of yours this soon.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” Everything about the doctor's wife seemed soft—her voice, her appearance, her temperament.

Dr. Pratt accepted the biscuit plate from his niece. “Well, young man, other than your accident this morning, I hope you're enjoying your move to Turnabout.”

“Yes, sir. This seems to be every bit as fine a place as Adam assured me it would be.”

“You mean Adam Barr?”

“Yes, sir. He wrote me several letters extolling the virtues of Turnabout.”

“Adam is a fine young man. Despite being from back east, he's become an important and well-liked member of our community.”

Nate wondered if the same would be able to be said of him someday.

Mrs. Leggett spoke up. “Turnabout is growing. When I returned last year after a seven-year absence, I was surprised by the changes.”

She'd returned after a bank robber killed her husband, Nate reminded himself. Which meant she would be understandably unsympathetic to anyone who had ever robbed a bank.

He turned from her to Mrs. Pratt, hoping his guilty feelings didn't show. “This is a fine meal, ma'am. I appreciate your sharing it with me.”

“You're quite welcome. It's always a pleasure to cook for someone who appreciates the effort.” She reached for her glass. “I assume that was you I heard playing the piano earlier.”

“Yes, ma'am. I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all. It was nice to have music in the house.” She gave him a warm, motherly smile. “You're quite talented.”

“Thank you.” Yes, he was definitely getting in deep with these folks.

All through the rest of the meal the family made it a point to include him in the conversation and make him feel a welcome addition to the gathering.

When they pushed back from the table, Mrs. Pratt held a hand up to forestall her niece. “Let me take care of the dishes, dear. And Joy can help me. You should take care of our guest.”

Nate tried to protest. “That's all right. I don't want to be—”

But the doctor's wife wouldn't let him finish. “Nonsense. You're a guest in our home and I pride myself on my hospitality.”

Nate doubted she offered all residents of the infirmary this kind of treatment, but he couldn't continue protesting without running the risk of repaying her kindness by seeming churlish or ungrateful.

Mrs. Leggett moved behind him and took the handles of his wheelchair. “No point in arguing. Aunt Betty may look like a softie, but she normally gets her way.” She steered him out of the dining room. “I know you've been cooped up indoors most of the day. If you like, I can wheel you out on the porch for a breath of fresh air.”

He should refuse. “I'd like that.”

In short order she had wheeled him out the front door. She parked his chair near the door then moved to stand by the rail, looking out over the front lawn.

Dusk had settled in and Nate saw the twinkle of a few fireflies in the distance.

He shifted in the chair. “Don't feel like you need to keep me company. I'm perfectly fine here on my own, and I promise not to tell your aunt if you want to slip away and take care of something else.”

“I don't mind.” She kept her back to him. “It's nice out here this time of day.”

There was another long silence. Then she turned to face him. “So why leather working?”

“What do you mean?”

“You're obviously very well educated. You play the piano like someone who has practiced extensively. That doesn't sound like someone who would turn to making bridles and saddles for a living.”

I do it because it was the work I was given while in prison.
But he didn't say that. “Are you saying someone who works with his hands can't be well educated?”

“No, of course not. It just seemed a curious combination.”

“There is something satisfying about the work I do, something artistic and creative.”

She nodded. “Sort of like the hats I make.”

“You make hats? For sale?” Somehow that seemed out of character.

“Yes. That's why I was at the dress shop this morning.”

“So you don't have your own shop?”

“Oh, no. Not yet, anyway. I just make them when the mood strikes me, and Hazel sells them in her shop for me.”

What kind of headgear did she fashion? Sober bonnets like that black affair she wore most every day? Surely there wasn't that big a market for such dull headgear.

Then he had another thought. “You said
not yet, anyway
. What's stopping you?”

She seemed a little taken aback by his question, so he raised a brow in challenge. “I figure, since you quizzed me this afternoon, I would return the favor.”

She relaxed and smiled. “I suppose fair is fair. But there's nothing particularly interesting about my answer. I said not yet because I'm not ready.”

“I assume this is something you really want, not just an idle dream.”

“Oh, yes. I want to be able to fend for myself and Joy, to not have to take advantage of the charity of Aunt Betty and Uncle Grover forever.”

Had she given up on the idea of remarrying someday? “Well, then, what are you
really
waiting for?”

She gave him a puzzled frown. “You make it sound like it's something I could do at the snap of a finger. Starting up a business takes planning and forethought. Which you should know since you've just opened one yourself.” She rubbed her hands along her upper arms. “But I'm sure it'll happen someday. And for now, I'm happy to muddle along doing three or four a month to sell at Hazel's shop.”

He couldn't really picture her as a “muddle along” kind of person. But he'd let that slide.

Maybe he'd check out the dress shop window next time he passed by to see what sort of hats she created—it might tell him a little more about the kind of person she was. He suddenly had a stray thought of what she might look like in a different kind of dress, one that was a lively color with more flattering lines. One that didn't remind everyone who looked at her that she was a widow.

He stiffened as he realized what direction his thoughts had taken. “If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go back to my room now.”

Her expression immediately shifted to one of concern. “Of course. You must be tired after the day you've had.”

He grimaced. “It seems I've already done my fair share of resting today. But I wouldn't mind lying down and I'd like to dig into that book you brought me from the library.” And the sooner he was away from Mrs. Leggett's company, the better.

For both of them.

* * *

Verity pulled the pins from her hair as she sat in front of her vanity. She lifted the silver-handled brush she'd inherited from her mother and pulled it through the thick tangle of her hair.

What a day today had been. She'd finally met the town's newest resident, Joy had come within a hairbreadth of getting seriously hurt, and Mr. Cooper had moved into the infirmary.

Such a good man. And modest, too. He seemed actually uncomfortable with accepting their gratitude for what he'd done.

Well, he had it whether he wanted it or not. And she'd make it her mission to see that everyone knew what a fine, brave man he was.

She paused and bowed her head.

Heavenly Father, thank You for seeing my daughter safely through her near miss today, and thank You for sending Mr. Cooper into our lives. I think perhaps You sent him to us for a reason and I hope that You will find a way to use me to help him in some way. Help me to always be open to whatever direction and work You have in store for me. Amen.

She turned down her lamp and crawled into bed, already looking forward to what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

Nate stretched, pleased to note that the twinge of pain in his right arm seemed less noticeable today than yesterday. He leaned back and studied the harness he'd been working on.

Not bad, considering he was moving slower than normal. Dr. Pratt had consented to allow him to return home this morning only after he'd promised to come back to the clinic tomorrow so his injuries could be checked. He wondered idly if Mrs. Leggett would be there.

Okay, maybe not so idly.

She hadn't seemed very happy that he was ready to return home. And he had to confess that he'd been more than a little pleased by that.

Nate glanced around his shop, trying to imagine how Mrs. Leggett had looked wandering through here yesterday, amid his very masculine wares and tools. Stranger yet, imagining her upstairs, moving through his quarters to find him a clean change of clothes.

What had she thought of his place, of how spare and impersonal it was? Had she been all business, quickly taking care of her task at hand and getting out? Or had she lingered, studying his things?

How would he have handled it if the situation had been reversed?

He glanced up as someone walked past his open door. It was Mrs. Leggett and her aunt. He watched as they passed by, tracking their progress across the large shop window. At the last minute, Mrs. Leggett glanced inside and gave him a warm smile when their glances met.