Song of My Heart (16 page)

Although the ease of handling appealed to him—even his short fingers could maintain a sure grip on either bottle—the long, lean look put pictures of his long, lean sisters in his mind. Asa made a face. “I dunno . . .”

“Well, then, there’s always the bordeaux . . .” Scotty held a fifth bottle aloft. Light green in color, the bottle featured a tall body that tapered from shoulder to heel. The neck was short, less than a third the length of the body, but distinct. “Since these’re made in a turn-mold instead of hand-blown, you can get ’em for a cheaper price.”

Asa took the last bottle and examined it closely. A nearly invisible ridge ran from the spout to the base, the seam created by the mold. But how many men would care about the look of the bottle? What mattered most was what they found inside. He tapped the glass, smiling at the slight ping. “Can I get these in clear?”

Scotty shook his head. “Pale green, like I got there, or aqua.”

Asa frowned. Was aqua red? If he had to get a color, he’d like red. It’d match the color of his wine. “Wish you’d brought one of the aqua. Woulda liked to seen the different color.”

Scotty just shrugged. He didn’t give a description of aqua, and Asa refused to ask.

Asa tapped his fingertip on the bordeaux bottle, his lips sucked in while he thought. He liked the shape, but he didn’t want a green bottle. Too much like the cornstalks in his pa’s fields. Finally he clasped the bottle by its neck and held it out. “I’ll take six gross of these in aqua.”

Scotty picked up the taller of the two long, slender bottles. “Sure you don’t want these instead? Skinnier—can pack more of ’em in a crate.”

An image of Melva and Shelva flashed through Asa’s mind. He frowned. “I like this one.”

“All right, then.” Scotty returned all but the one Asa had chosen to the crate, wriggling them deep into the straw.

“What about corks?” Asa asked, running his finger around the narrow spout.

“Fitted corks come with ’em.”

“Good.” Asa carried the bottle to his cupboard and shoved it behind the stack of tin plates. “When will I get the shipment?”

“If they come on the train, I’d say four weeks. If you want ’em by wagon—less likely for someone to peek in an’ see what they are—then they’ll hafta come in two or three separate shipments. First one’ll be here in about six weeks.”

Asa sighed. Six weeks . . . seemed like a long time. But by then he’d have at least a dozen barrels of fine wine ready to bottle. “Let’s go with the wagon. An’ tell them people to use lots of straw. I won’t pay for no broken bottles.”

Scotty scowled. “You gotta pay up front. Cash to supply, that’s what I told you in the telegram.”

Asa scowled back, straightening to his full height, which still fell a good six inches shorter than the other man. But what he lacked in stature, he made up for in snarl. “I’ll pay half up front an’ half on delivery. You do a good job, an’ you’ll have a steady payin’ customer. I ain’t one to fly by night.”

Scotty chewed his lip, frowning.

Asa marched to the corner of the kitchen and opened a short, low cupboard. He withdrew his cash box and carried it to the table. Using the tiny key he always carried in his pocket, he unlocked the box and pulled out a stack of bills. He began peeling them off, one by one, while Scotty’s eyes grew wider with each swish of paper.

“Workin’ with me means makin’ money. Take it or leave it.” Asa ran his thumb over the edge of the bills, creating a steady
thrrrp, thrrrp
. He hid a smile as Scotty nearly drooled, gazing with longing at the stack of greenbacks.

Scotty stuck out his hand. “All right. Half now, half on delivery.”

Asa smacked the money into Scotty’s palm. “But don’t deliver ’em here. I got a little place three miles south. Sits well off the road an’ looks like a shack stuck in the side of a hill. There’s a ‘No Trespassing’ sign nailed to a tree at the turnoff, so you can’t miss it. I’ll want the bottles delivered there. Send me a telegram with one word—‘delivery’—in the message the day before they oughtta arrive, an’ I’ll be sure an’ meet’cha there. I’ll examine the bottles, an’ if I’m satisfied with their appearance, you’ll get the rest of your money an’ we’ll be square.”

“If you ain’t waitin’ there, money in hand, the crates won’t get left.”

Asa narrowed his gaze. “I told you, I’ll be there.” He had too much riding on this delivery to risk losing those bottles.

“All right.” Scotty picked up the crate and headed for the door. Asa followed, his gaze jumping around the yard, on the lookout for any watchful eyes. Scotty put the crate into the wagon bed and then turned to face Asa. “I hear tell you got a new lawman in town. How you gonna manage to keep him from knowin’ what you’re sellin’?”

“Sheriff McKane?” Asa snorted. “He ain’t a real lawman—just a man our mayor decided to pin a badge on. An’ I’ve figured out his routine. I know where he’s gonna be an’ when—the man’s as predictable as a wound watch. All I gotta do is arrange my shipments while he’s otherwise occupied.” Asa puffed his chest, proud of how he had everything figured. “’Sides that, he knows I got a shippin’ business. Why would he be suspicious of one of my wagons comin’ or goin’?”

Scotty didn’t look convinced. “Bet he ain’t seen you transportin’ crates with clankin’ bottles before.”

“Who says he’ll see crates with clankin’ bottles?” Asa didn’t intend to share his whole plan with Scotty. The fewer people who knew, the better. He aimed a finger in the other man’s direction, setting his face into a fierce scowl. “An’ you take heed. That money box you saw inside? It won’t be in that spot by the end of the day, so don’t be thinkin’ you can send somebody over to rob me. You keep our dealin’s under your hat. You talk to anybody about what I been buyin’—
anybody
—an’ I’ll contact every lawman from one border of Kansas to the other to be on the lookout for you an’ arrest you as a bootlegger. I got a good reputation as a businessman in this state. You? You’re nobody—they’ll believe me an’ you’ll rot in jail.”

Scotty tightened his fists, but Asa stared him down. The man finally pulled himself onto the wagon seat. “Don’t worry, Baxter. Your secret’s safe with me. We both stand to profit, now, don’t we?”

Asa watched the wagon roll away, a satisfied smile on his face. Yes, sir, they both stood to profit. In no time at all, he’d be the richest man in Clay County. Maybe even in all of Kansas. And then nobody’d look down his nose at Butterball Baxter ever again.

Sadie skipped down the stairs and rounded the corner to enter the mercantile. She plucked a crisp white apron from the pegs just inside the door and tied it over her blue-flowered dress as she hustled for the front door. The Baxter twins wanted the mercantile opened at precisely eight o’clock, not a minute before or after, and Sadie did her best to please her punctilious employers. She turned the lock and pulled the heavy wooden door inward, then placed a brick in front of it to hold it open. The morning breeze whisked through the screen door, and Sadie took a long, slow draft of the sweetly scented air. She loved mornings.

She started to turn back toward the counter, but a fluttering sheet of paper held down by a small hinged box on the porch floor outside the door caught her eye. Puzzled, she creaked the screen door open and stood, half in and half out, with the door propped against her hip. She flicked a glance up and down the street, but no one seemed to be paying her any mind. Bending over, she picked up both items. On the paper, a simple message, scrawled in a familiar hand, caused her pulse to trip.

Dearest Sadie, just a little something so you know I’m thinking of you. All my love, Sid.

Her hands trembling, Sadie folded back the box’s lid to reveal a pale blue orb—half of a robin’s egg, she realized—nestled on a puff of cotton. She grazed the fragile shell with her fingertip, smiling as a long-ago memory rose from the recesses of her mind.

“Lookit there, Sadie—a nest! Gonna climb up an’ take a gander at the eggs. I bet there’s three. How many do you think there’ll be?”

Sadie grabbed the X of Sid’s suspenders, holding him in place as he attempted to climb the tree. “Leave the nest alone! If the mama bird knows you’ve been there, she won’t come back and sit on the eggs again.”

Sid wriggled. “Lemme go, Sadie. Who cares if the dumb ol’ bird doesn’t come back? I wanna see how many eggs there are.”

Sadie held tight. “Sid Wagner! Leave ’em be!”

He spun to face her, hands on hips and confusion marring his young face. “What you gettin’ so mad about? They’re just eggs.”

Sadie took a deep breath, battling tears. “It’s a robin’s nest. It’ll have eggs all pretty an’ blue like the sky, an’ when the babies are big enough, they’ll wake me up in the mornin’ by singin’. If you pester that nest, you’ll take away the song.”

Sid stood looking at her for a long time, and then finally he sighed. “All right. I won’t pester the nest.” A smile broke across his freckled face. “Wanna go catch crawdads?”

Sadie had chased after him that day, relieved because he’d left the nest undisturbed, but also pleased. He’d listened to her. Honored her request. Made her feel as though what she felt mattered to him—unlike neighborhood boys who used their slingshots to terrorize Sadie’s feathered friends.

Tears stung as she realized just how important Sid had always been to her. She loved him. But not the way he claimed to love her.

“Hey there, Sadie. Pretty morning, isn’t it?”

Thad McKane’s jovial greeting intruded upon Sadie’s thoughts. His green eyes twinkled from beneath the brim of his always-present hat. By noon, his cheeks would wear a shadow, but at this early hour they were smooth from a recent shave and still ruddy from his wash at the pump. He stood before her, weight on one hip, with his thumb caught in his trouser pocket. The man always seemed at ease, and being in his presence sent a shaft of warmth through the center of her chest.

She blinked rapidly and offered the sheriff a smile. “It certainly is. Look at that clear sky.” The same color as the little eggshell Sid had given her. Her fingers automatically contracted on the box, clutching it tight against her hip.

Thad’s gaze dropped to her hand. “What’cha got? A present?”

Sadie nodded.

One dark brow lifted, a look of
uh-oh
blooming across his face. “Is today your birthday?”

Sadie laughed softly. “No.”

He blew out a breath. “Whew. Thought maybe I’d missed something important.”

Her pulse hiccupped. He thought her birthday was an important day? “My birthday’s not ’til September.” This would be her first birthday far from home and family. Except for Sid. She bit down on her lower lip and held the little box more tightly.

“So what’cha got there?” Thad asked, bobbing his head toward her clenched hand.

She lifted the box, pressing it to her apron bodice. “A . . . a memory.”

“That so?” Thad’s lips quirked, raising his mustache a notch. He chuckled, the sound indulgent rather than teasing. “Didn’t know you could carry a memory around in a box.”

Tears again pricked. Sadie ducked her head. “I suppose a person can carry a memory just about anywhere.”

Thad took an awkward step backward. She looked up, surprised by the frown pinching his forehead. He stroked the left half of his mustache with two fingers and then moved another step away from her. “Reckon you’re right. Well . . .” He tipped his hat. “You have a good day now, hear?” He strode toward the café, his bootheels thudding against the wide planks.

Sadie watched after him, cradling the box against her heart. His rapid escape stung. Sniffing hard, she stepped back inside the mercantile and allowed the screen door to slam behind her.

“Sadie?” Miss Melva screeched from across the room. “Somebody’s been foolin’ in these thread drawers an’ got things all befuddled. Need the spools sorted an’ put back to right.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sadie pushed the note and box into her apron pocket and hurried to the sewing goods area of the mercantile. But even as her hands performed the assigned task, the lump in her pocket turned her thoughts inward. The unexpected gift had touched her, but did that mean she could begin to look at Sid as a potential suitor?

16 

T
had removed his hat and slid into the tall booth at the front corner of the café, next to the plate-glass window. Over his weeks in Goldtree, he’d claimed the booth as his own—it was the perfect spot to sit and watch folks head to their places of business. The location let him eat and still be on duty.

He had no more than placed his hat on the table when Cora bustled over, her round, friendly face flushed from the heat of her cookstove. She flashed a bright smile. “Your usual, Sheriff?”

Thad smiled in return. “That’ll be fine, Cora.”

“Comin’ right up.” She plopped a thick mug in front of him, splashed coffee into it from a blue-speckled pot, and then rushed off to prepare his two eggs over-easy, ham, and biscuits with butter and honey. The same breakfast he’d enjoyed every morning since arriving in Goldtree.

A few other customers dotted the dining room, visiting softly. They left him alone, though. Some days he wished someone would join him, but his badge set him apart. Folks were willing to give him smiles and hellos, but they seemed uncertain about striking up a real friendship. Except for Miss Sadie Wagner.