Spring Creek Bride. Janice Thompson

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      On and on Orin went, discussing the exceptionally warm weather and the cost of a meal at The Harvey House, a place he heartily recommended, especially on the nights when Myrtle Mae was cooking. Whoever she was.

      Orin snipped away, shifting his conversation to the women in the town. “Not many to be had,” he commented, “so I hope you haven’t come with hopes of finding a wife like the rest of these fellers.”

      “The thought never crossed my mind.” Though appealing women back home had drawn his eye, he’d never spent enough time with any one of them to be tempted. Not that he had any negative feelings regarding marriage in general.

      No, Mick had no bias against matrimony. And he had nothing against the women in Texas, either, for that matter. He’d already taken note of at least one lovely female. His thoughts shifted to the beautiful blonde he’d just met. Why hadn’t he asked her name?

      Well, no matter. In a town this size, surely someone would know her. He would have no trouble giving an accurate description, having memorized every detail, from the wild hair swept up off her neck, to the blue eyes, to the determination in her step.

      The barber finished up his work, and Mick stood to leave. His cheeks stung from the brush of the razor strokes and the pungent smell of the lather lingered in the air. He rubbed his palm across his smooth chin and smiled at the older man. “Thanks so much.”

      “My pleasure.”

      Mick dropped a couple of coins into Orin’s hand and turned to leave. Exhaustion washed over him. He needed to locate a quiet room for the days ahead, a place where he could sleep off the train trip and begin to sort things out.

      After a few paces, he found himself in front of The Harvey House. From what he’d been told, it was the nicest place in town. Hopefully, it would turn out to be the quietest, too. He’d check in first, then visit the local mercantile to make a couple of necessary purchases, then get some much-needed sleep.

      Holding back an escaping yawn, Mick climbed the steps to the hotel, wishing a rainstorm would come along to wash away the sticky south Texas heat. He stood atop the steps and turned to look out over the little town. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but Mick actually felt the definite stirrings of a storm ahead. Only this one likely had nothing to do with the weather.

      Chapter Four

      Ida tended to the shop throughout the afternoon. Seemed no matter how hard she worked, she could scarcely find space enough for all the goods. Every square inch of the mercantile was stacked high with barrels, boxes and bins, from front to back. It always seemed to be this way when the season changed. The goods in the store shifted to accommodate seasonal needs.

      With time, Ida managed to make sense of it all, but not without a considerable amount of strategy on her part. Boxes of summer goods were emptied, jars and bins were stacked and spring items that hadn’t yet sold were placed on a sale table.

      As she worked, the locals came and went—many making purchases, others just passing the time. Ida swept the wood-planked floor, and then began the arduous task of dusting the upper shelves that housed the store’s finer merchandise, above the pine showcase. She smiled as she studied the handiwork of the showcases, which held higher-priced glassware. They ran the entire length of the store, from back to front. Papa had worked for weeks on the detailing, and it showed.

      After dusting the shelves, Ida opened a showcase and repositioned the china dolls inside. Why in the world Dinah would stock such delicate items in a town like this remained a mystery. Ida had never asked, wondering if perhaps Dinah secretly longed for a daughter, someone who might play with beautiful dolls like these. Regardless, these breakable beauties would likely never sell in a town like Spring Creek.

      Ida turned her attention to a hand-painted porcelain washbowl and pitcher. It reminded her of the one her mother had used each morning. Determined not to grow sad, Ida forced the memory from her mind. Only hard work could head off a somber attitude and with the heat hanging so heavily in the air, she could scarcely imagine adding a sour disposition to an already difficult day.

      A few minutes before four, the brother of her friend Sophie entered the mercantile, red-faced and clearly upset. Ida didn’t intentionally listen to Eugene Weimer’s dissertation, but his booming voice rang out across the store, leaving her little choice.

      “Just came from the barbershop,” he explained in a huff. “A big-city fella in a fancy suit and hat rode in on the afternoon train from Chicago. Really tall fella. Maybe ya seen ’im.”

      Ida stopped what she was doing. She knew exactly who Eugene was talking about.

      “Chicago?” several of the men echoed. One mumbled “Yankee” under his breath.

      Ida hadn’t considered the fact that the man might be from up North. Still, she couldn’t imagine why that would make much of a difference these days.

      “What’s he doing here?” one of the fellas asked, his eyes flashing with anger.

      “That’s the problem,” Eugene said. “No one seems to know. But be sure he doesn’t look like one of us. Mighty suspicious to me.”

      “Traveling salesman?” another man asked.

      Ida secretly hoped the man didn’t turn out to be of that particular occupation. Traveling salesmen had poor reputations, at least the ones who’d dared show their faces and their wares around these parts. They were often ushered onboard the next train out of Spring Creek. And Ida was never sad to see them go. They stole business from the mercantile, after all, and their highly touted products usually left much to be desired.

      Eugene shook his head and shoved his thumbs into his belt loops. “He was traveling light, from what I could tell, so I doubt he’s selling anything. But my gut tells me he’s got a story to tell, and it ain’t a good one.”

      “Likely he has family in the area is all,” Ida said with a shrug, unable to resist joining the conversation. How dare they judge the man without even knowing him! Didn’t they know the Bible spoke against such things?

      “Nope,” Eugene said. “Orin weaseled that much out of him. He’s got no people here. And he don’t work for the railroad, neither.”

      “Hope he ain’t come to Spring Creek lookin’ fer a wife!” one of the men hollered out. “He’ll have to get in line. And if’n he tries to cut in front of me, I’ll take him down in a minute!”

      Ida held her tongue, though it took every ounce of strength to do so. If he had come looking for a wife, he’d jump to the head of the line simply because of his genteel nature and fashionable attire, no doubt about that.

      Eugene folded his arms at his chest and shook his head. “I’m guessing he’s here to buy up land, not fetch a wife.”

      “I heard someone bought the Salyer farm,” Ida interjected. “Maybe he’s the new owner.” Yes, an explanation like that would make perfect sense, wouldn’t it? Purchasing a local farm wouldn’t make him suspect, by any stretch of the imagination.

      “He don’t look like any farmer I ever saw,” Eugene said. “Dressed all uppity-like. And his shoes—never seen a shine like that on any man’s feet. I could almost see myself in ’em.”

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