the thought that the shopkeeper would return in a moment kept Antonia upright. But she turned away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight of herself.
Erik had only the slightest acquaintance with John Carter, the foremost rancher in the area, and his wife. They’d exchanged greetings at the ice cream social—had that really been only a few days ago? But the man had a stellar reputation for fairness and integrity, and his wife was known to be equally as kind.
Carter strolled through the store, looking calm and confident. The man was well groomed in a dark-blue suit. Instead of using one of the baskets stacked near the door, he picked out items and carried them: a trowel, a jar of peaches, a can of mineral spirits.
Erik glanced down at his bloodstained shirt. Ruined, suitable only for the barn. Best buy a new one, although he begrudged spending more money. But with all that was going on, it wasn’t fitting to wear the shirt in town. He wandered over to shelving that went from floor to ceiling, filled with clothing. He fingered a tan one, then picked up the shirt and held it against him. Looked too small. He tried for another in the same color. Also too small.
Engrossed in searching for a shirt, Erik didn’t pay any attention to someone entering the store, nor the secretive female voices gossiping at the counter. But when he saw John Carter stiffen and turn, Erik caught a mention of Mrs. Valleau’s name. The critical tone of the voices left no doubt what they were implying.
Rage, deep and dark, exploded. He’d born too much this day to have the woman who’d saved his daughter treated thus. Erik tossed the shirt to the floor, turned on his heel, and stormed over to the front.
Mrs. Cobb leaned over the counter, her head near another woman’s—the Widow Murphy.
Erik had stayed at the widow’s boarding house for a few days when he first came out here. Nasty old witch.
Before he could say the cutting words that wanted to boil out of his mouth, Antonia entered the shop from the other room. She stood in the doorway, clad in a yellow dress that made her golden eyes striking, transforming the plain widow he’d seen earlier into a stately and attractive woman. Yet the vulnerable look on her face made him aware of how difficult this all must be for her, used as she was to living in the wilderness.
He took a decisive step forward. “Mrs. Valleau.”
“Mrs. Valleau!” Mrs. Cobb cut in, a scandalized expression on her face. “You’re not wearing a corset.” She cleared her throat. “Ladies must wear them.”
Mrs. Murphy wagged her head, making the wattle of skin under her throat shake. “Saw her ride in, I did. Dressed like a squaw. Wouldn’t expect her to know how to dress decent.”
Antonia paled and half turned, headed toward the other room.
Erik took a few steps to stop her from fleeing. “Do not speak to my wife-to-be in that manner,” he ordered.
Antonia gasped and whirled around.
Play along , Erik told her with his eyes.
“What are you saying, Mr. Muth?” Mrs. Cobb said sharply. “You have a wife. Bigamy is illegal in this state, you know.”
“I’m well aware of that fact, Mrs. Cobb.” Erik did his best to sound pompous and authoritative. “Actually, I am premature in my announcement by a few minutes. My wife, Daisy, has died in childbirth, although my daughter lives. Our baby would have joined her mother if Mrs. Valleau hadn’t stepped in to nurse her.”
Mrs. Cobb stepped back in apparent shock. “I’m sorry to hear of your wife’s passing,” she said as if by rote. “Yet, she is released from this vale of tears.”
Anger flushed his body. No, I will not strangle the woman. Erik took a deep breath, striving to keep his tone even. “Mrs. Valleau’s husband passed away recently, leaving her with two little boys. She and I have agreed our mutual need will supersede our grief for our spouses and the conventions of mourning. After we conclude our business here, Reverend Norton
J.A. Konrath, Bernard Schaffer