Free Brides of Iowa by Connie; Stevens Page A

fingers and slid his thumbs down his suspenders and cleared his throat. “I understand you’re the one who’s been doing the baking.”
    Her pulse skipped a beat. They’d been so careful to keep their secret. She feared for Flossie’s job, but she lifted her chin and tried her best to appear poised. “That’s right. Flossie burned her hand, and she was afraid you’d fire her. I didn’t want to see her lose her job, so I helped out.” She again started around him.
    This time he had the good sense to keep his hands to himself. “Miss Langford, I’ve changed my mind. I’m feeling rather generous today, so you can have your job back.”
    Tessa cocked one eyebrow at him. “At thirty-five cents a day?”
    “Well, since you’re doing the baking, I could raise you to forty-five cents.”
    She turned to face him squarely. “Fifty cents and Flossie gets to keep her job.”
    Mr. Kilgore’s face reddened. Though a vein popped out on his neck and his lips tightened around his cigar, she didn’t blink.
    “All right! Fifty cents.” He yanked the stubby cigar from his mouth and pointed it at her. “But you remember one thing. Nobody tells me what to do. Not you or that hypocrite Gideon Maxwell. I don’t take that sanctimonious rot from anybody, and don’t you forget it. You watch your step.” He huffed and stalked down the boardwalk.
    An odd mixture of laughter, tears, relief, and disgust welled inside her. Her pulse drummed in her temples, and she couldn’t decide whether to look for Gideon or return to her humble dwelling. Instead she did neither. Her knees began to shake, and she sat down on the boardwalk, her lungs heaving like she’d just run a race.

    Gideon slammed the door of the living quarters above the mercantile. Fortunately Martha wasn’t home to witness his tantrum. Anger seethed through him at the thought of Kilgore manhandling Tessa. His feet refused to stay still, so he paced back and forth across the front room. He wished he could have thrown at least one punch—just one—square in the mouth.
    “He’s insufferable!”
    “Henry Kilgore may not have behaved like a gentleman, but you’re not behaving like one either. Kilgore has an excuse. He’s not a Christian. You are.”
    Gideon flopped down on the settee and sighed. “I know, Lord. Now Tessa’s lost her job, and it’s my fault.”
    He slid to the floor and knelt, leaning his elbows on the settee and holding his face in his hands. “Father, please help Tessa find another job. I hated that she was working for Kilgore, but now she has nothing. She probably won’t accept any help from me. Whatever the solution, it will have to come from You.” He remained on his knees for a time, asking God to forgive his display of temper and praying for Tessa’s situation.
    After a while, he felt the urge to go downstairs and work off some of his aggravation.
    He’d been meaning to rearrange things in the storeroom for a long time. If the place was better organized with increased shelf space, the mercantile might be more attractive to a buyer.
    He rummaged around, pushing and shoving crates here and there, and sketching some shelving ideas on a tablet. A large lumpy object hid under an old canvas in the corner, and Gideon groaned when he remembered the cookstove his father had ordered three years ago for a customer who never came back to get it. The thing took up so much space out front that Gideon finally dragged it back to the storeroom and covered it, thinking he could at least stack bales of fence wire on it.
    He pulled off the canvas and scowled at the behemoth. Maybe if he put a reduced price on it and hauled it back out front, someone might take it off his hands. He gripped the thing and pushed and pulled, grunting until sweat popped out on his forehead and dribbled down his face.
    Finally, after twenty minutes of wrestling, he straightened up and glared at the stove. The monstrosity simply didn’t want to move.
    Whatever the solution, it