Chapter 14
HEARING A MUFFLED RESPONSE FROM INSIDE, Josephine entered, unsurprised to find the man behind the desk was, indeed, the same gentleman she’d met in the library the night before.
“Good day, Mr. Daniel . . .” She closed the door behind her, her attention drawn to the utter derangement of ledgers and paperwork stacked precariously on his desk and a nearby farm table.
She quickly returned her gaze to his, careful to mask any hint of disapproval.
Miss Mary had been right—his office was a mess.
And yet the man himself was, once again, immaculately dressed.
“I wager you did not expect to see me again so soon, sir.”
Already on his feet, he rounded the desk and offered a brief bow. “The pleasure only dared linger at the edge of my sincerest wishes, Mrs. Dunham.”
He remembered my name. Whether that would work in her favor remained to be seen.
“Please, have a seat.” He indicated one of the straight-backed chairs facing his desk, and she gratefully accepted, still sore from yesterday. “Pray tell, madam, do reveal what brings you to my office on this fine Thursday morning.”
She fingered the envelope in her lap, aware of his gaze flitting to it as he reclaimed his seat.
Yet she felt the need to speak first before giving Miss Mary the floor.
Especially not knowing what the note held.
“As you’ve likely assumed, Mr. Daniel, given the state in which I arrived at the inn last evening—” She briefly touched the side of her face.
“My current situation is . . . precarious at best and—”
“Let’s tug on those reins for just a minute, Mrs. Dunham, if you would.”
Her stomach sank.
“While some folks race like the dickens to form first impressions,” he continued, “I am not one of them.” A slow smile curved his mouth, one that seemed very much at home on his face.
“It will come as a great surprise to you, I’m sure, that throughout my life, certain people, upon first meeting me, have formed swift and—may I daresay—faulty opinions based on what they see.
” His eyes narrowed with a glint of wicked humor.
“Must be my five-foot-two strappin’ good looks and commanding appearance that skew their reasoning. ”
Josephine couldn’t help but smile. “That misstep is to their utmost detriment, I would imagine. And even hope,” she added in a stage whisper and appreciated the warmth in his expression.
“Now that we have shown a bit more of our hand to each other, Mrs. Dunham, please . . .” He gestured for her to proceed.
More at ease, Josephine still chose her words carefully.
“My situation here in Lynchburg, Mr. Daniel, while temporary, still demands that I seek employment. You see, I was forced to leave my home after a most . . . unexpected altercation. That unplanned departure, costly in more ways than financial, has left me near destitute.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Dunham.” His voice softened. “Did your husband follow you?”
Her brow lifted.
“It’s not hard puttin’ two and two together, Mrs. Dunham. Even for someone from these hills and hollers.” He winked, then his demeanor sobered. “Especially once you’ve been shown what’s truly in a man. Or some men. Certainly not all.”
The compassion in his gaze made it difficult for her to speak.
“No one followed me. I’m certain.” Looking down, she again saw the envelope in her lap.
“Mr. Daniel, I am here at Miss Mary’s urging.
This note is from her.” Rising slightly, she handed it to him, then hurried to speak before he opened it.
She told him the truth. All of it. Including the kitchen disaster.
By the time she finished, his eyes danced with amusement.
“Oh, my dear woman, if there is one person in this town you do not want to lie to, it’s Mrs. Mary Evans Bobo.” He leaned back, laughing. “What I wouldn’t give to have seen that play out. And in her kitchen, of all things. But as you’ve told it, I almost feel like I was there.”
Josephine winced. “It was disastrous. And humiliating. And I deserved every bit of what she gave me. What I didn’t deserve was her kindness in sending me to see you .
. . for a job.” She glanced at the unopened envelope.
“So, since I obviously will not be getting the job of second cook . . . she suggested you might have need of a bookkeeper.”
He slapped his hand on the desk, and Josephine jumped.
“Might?” He laughed hard. “Come now, Mrs. Dunham, if we are to work together, then I insist you be more plainspoken. I do not pussyfoot around the truth. I value plain talk. Especially from my employees.”
She blinked. “Do you mean—”
“The job is yours, if you want it.”
“Well, yes, of course, I want it. But how do you know I’m capable of—”
“Because I know Miss Mary. She wouldn’t send you if she didn’t believe you could do the job, short and simple. So . . . do you want it or not?”
“Don’t you need to read her note first?”
“My, my . . . You are one for the rule books, aren’t you?
Oh, I’ll read it all right.” He slipped the envelope into his coat pocket.
“But again, she’d have sent you packing if she hadn’t seen something promising in you.
Especially after biscuits like rocks and fires in the oven .
. .” He grinned. “At the risk of sounding high and mighty, I have a fairly good sense of reading people as well.”
“So the bookkeeper position is mine?” She could hardly believe it.
“You bet it is. We still need to talk pay.” He reached for a pen. “How does—”
The door to the office opened.
“Hey Jack, I really need to talk to you about—”
Josephine turned, and sat bolt upright.
“Dodge!” Mr. Daniel waved him in. “Come on in and meet my new bookkeeper! Miss Mary sent her my way. Though come to think of it, you two already know each other, don’t you?”
Dodge Coburn’s scowl answered for him. “Mrs. Dunham,” he said quietly, his gaze slowly taking her in. So thoroughly, in fact, she felt a tinge of discomfort.
“Good day to you, Mr. Coburn.”
He removed his hat. “Pleasure’s mine, ma’am,” he answered, sounding anything but pleased.
“I got your note, Dodge.” Mr. Daniel exhaled. “We need to talk, I know. But hang on a second. Me and Mrs. Dunham here are still working out some last details.” He scribbled on a slip of paper and handed it to her.
Josephine stared at the figure, doing her best not to show her surprise.
“That amount sit okay with you, ma’am?” Mr. Daniel asked. “I do payroll every week. Or, you will, from now on.”
“Y-yes, this amount is very generous.”
“Generous nothing.” He stood. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. Speakin’ of, when can you start?”
“Today. Now, if you’d like.” She rose, a little dizzy with relief and gratitude. She glanced at his desk then eyed him playfully. “But I think it would be helpful to know something about your company first. Your shingle out front reads Jack Daniel Distributors. What exactly do you distribute?”
She didn’t miss the glance that passed between the two men. But it was the look on Dodge Coburn’s face she couldn’t decipher.
“Jack Daniel Distributors?” Mr. Daniel repeated, that glint sliding into his eyes again.
“My dear Mrs. Dunham, we simply ran out of room on that shingle.” He reached into his desk drawer and produced a bottle.
“This is Jack Daniel Distillery, home of good Old No. 7 itself. Sour mash sipping corn whiskey, charcoal mellowed, drop by drop!”