Chapter 3 #3
Sullivan’s Emporium was absolutely charming.
The amount of goods available was overwhelming.
She noticed a little girl over by a selection of dolls, carefully rearranging them on the shelf.
A woman stood behind a long glass and wood counter, her auburn hair pulled away from her pretty face, waiting patiently for another woman to make her decision at a display of imported soaps.
The woman picked up a bar of soap wrapped in fancy packaging, brought it to her nose, and smiled.
“I’ll take this, Tresia.” She proceeded to pick up another two bars and brought them to the counter. “This one smells like springtime. I can use a little springtime right about now. It’s been a little too cold for me lately.”
“We could all use a little springtime, Samantha. And definitely some warmer weather. I don’t remember a January that’s been this cold.” Tresia smiled as she quickly rang up the purchase, placed the soap in a paper bag and handed it to Samantha.
Bag in hand, Samantha strolled toward the door. She opened it, making the bell chime, then just stood there, her gaze roaming over Sheridan. There was an expression on her face, one Sheridan couldn’t quite place. It seemed to be a cross between curiosity and disdain.
Serenity was a small town. Everyone, by now, knew that ‘Josie’s daughter’ had come to claim her inheritance. Some were happy. Some were not. It seemed Samantha was in the ‘not’ category.
Sheridan lifted her gaze and returned the woman’s stare, though she fought the urge to turn on her heel and run back to the parlor house. Better yet, back to New Orleans.
A blush stained Samantha’s cheeks pink before her lips tightened into a thin line and she left the store without a word.
“May I help you?” Tresia approached, her quick footsteps treading over the hardwood floor.
Sheridan turned. “Yes, please. Mrs. Gallagher said you have her order ready.”
“I do.” Tresia studied her, her look curious.
Sheridan stiffened, unsure what would happen next.
But a smile tilted up the corners of Tresia’s mouth, and her unusual pansy-colored eyes seemed to shine.
“You must be Sheridan DuBois, Josie’s daughter.
” She held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.
I’m Tresia Goodrich. I own this store.” She glanced at the girl still arranging dolls on the shelf, love glowing from her eyes. “That’s my daughter, Avery.”
“Nice to meet you,” Sheridan murmured as she shook the woman’s hand quickly and let go.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I was quite fond of Josie.” Tresia moved to the counter. “She came in often and always made me laugh. She had a fondness for peppermints.” She rummaged around beneath the counter and brought out a fancy stamped tin.
Sheridan recognized that tin, the name of the confectioner, Rousseau, stamped on the lid. She’d been receiving a tin a month at school from the time she was ten years old and had assumed they’d been from her grandmother. Now, she was sure her mother had been sending them to her all along.
Tresia lifted the lid, revealing dime size lozenges. “Have one. She always said they tasted like home.”
“No, thank you. I already know what they taste like.”
“Yes, I would think you would.” Tresia smiled in a way that confirmed Sheridan’s thought—that Josie had made arrangements to send peppermints. Tresia replaced the lid and pushed the tin toward her. “Take these home with you. They’ve just been sitting here for a while.”
Sheridan shook her head. “I couldn’t.”
“Yes, you can. I insist.”
A little startled by Tresia’s gentle kindness, which she hadn’t expected, especially after the look the woman named Samantha had given her, Sheridan pulled the tin closer and swallowed to ease the sudden constriction in her throat. She was turning into a silly weepy willie. “Thank you.”
Tresia acted as if giving goods away for free was something she did every day. Or maybe she was just a generous woman, who enjoyed doing nice things for others, regardless of who they were.
“Give me a minute to get your glasses. They’re in the back. There are two nice size crates. Did you bring a buggy with you?”
“I did not. Mrs. Gallagher didn’t mention there would be crates.
” She glanced down at the tin of peppermints, wanting so much to have one right now, simply for the comfort they’d always brought her.
She felt out of place and disorganized. One should never be unprepared, no matter the circumstances, and here she was, ill-equipped to manage all the recent changes in her life.
“I’ll have to come back for them, I suppose, another time. ”
“That’s not necessary. I can arrange to have Corianna deliver them. It wouldn’t be for a few hours yet, but if you don’t have an immediate need—” Her attention was drawn to something outside one of the big, plate-glass windows and her eyes lit up. “Wait. I have an idea.”
Sheridan turned just in time to see the person she never wanted to see again open the store door and step inside, the little bell announcing his arrival.
A strange little quiver settled in her belly. Was it possible Wyatt MacLean was even more handsome in the bright light of day?
Yes. Yes, it was.
His dark hair was mussed, looking like he’d run his fingers through it multiple times, and a rosiness had settled in his cheeks from the cold, but that smile!
He stopped in the doorway and just stood there, his hands on his hips.
His smile widened as his amber gaze swept over her.
She felt the heat of that gaze all the way to her toes.
“Hello, Wyatt,” Tresia greeted him with a smile of her own. “Just the man I needed to see.”
“Good afternoon, Tresia.” He strolled toward the counter, like he hadn’t a care in the world, and placed the gloves he’d just removed on the glass top.
“I stopped by to see if the new cookware I ordered has come in.” He shook his head.
“Mama doesn’t like my old cast-iron skillet.
Or any of my other pots and pans. She says they don’t cook right.
” He laughed. “I don’t know what that means. They seem to cook just fine for me.”
“They aren’t in yet. I expect the order next week sometime.” She gestured toward Sheridan. “Let me introduce you to Sheridan DuBois. Miss DuBois, this is Wyatt MacLean.”
“We’ve met.” His voice was deep and rich and hinted at things Sheridan would rather not think about, and her world seemed to stop. It was the same reaction she’d had when he walked into her parlor house…until he’d made her angry.
“You met already?”
Light danced in his extraordinary eyes, and the corners of his mouth rose up, showing his dimples.
“Well, sort of,” he conceded.
Heat rushed throughout her entire body. She could feel the flush encompassing her neck, face, and ears, considering exactly how they’d met. “I owe you an apology, Mr. MacLean.”
“No, I don’t think you do, but I might owe you one.”
She shook her head. “I understand why you thought what you did.”
He reached out and took her hand, enfolding her fingers within the warmth of his.
And she didn’t want to pull away. Indeed, she could feel the warmth of his hand through her gloves, and the sense of reassurance it provided.
“Let’s pretend we’re meeting for the first time.” He smiled that devastating smile, which did funny things to her insides. “Hello, I’m Wyatt MacLean. So very pleased to meet you.” And then he lifted her hand and dropped a kiss on her knuckles, which just made her more flustered.
She couldn’t think of a single thing to say as the heat of his lips traveled all the way up her arm.
That had never happened before. Granted, she was inexperienced with men, since she’d been sheltered most of her life, but she had met members of the opposite sex before, mostly the fathers of her charges.
But this reaction? Embarrassed, she opened her mouth several times then finally managed a ‘nice to meet you as well.’
“Do you have your buckboard?” Tresia asked him.
“I do.” He nodded toward Tresia but never took his gaze from her.
“Would you be kind enough to take Miss DuBois home, along with two crates of glasses for Mrs. Gallegher?”
He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and once again, Sheridan felt off-balance. She hardly knew him and yet, she felt like she could know him. At twenty-six years old, she’d never been interested in knowing any man.
“Of course, I can take Miss DuBois and her crates home. It’s no problem at all. I’m happy to be of service.”
Realizing she had no choice if she didn’t want to appear rude, she tilted her head to the side as she looked up at him. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“What’s in the boxes?” Wyatt glanced in Sheridan’s direction as he loaded the two small crates into the back of the buckboard.
“Crystal glasses.”
He moved around to the front of the wagon then held out his hand. “Why didn’t you bring a wagon with you to pick these up?”
“I didn’t know there would be two crates. Mrs. Gallagher didn’t mention that.” She took his hand and allowed him to help her to her seat, though she seemed uncomfortable doing so.
“Well, I’m glad I was here to help.”
“I am as well.”
He went around to his side of the wagon and climbed in, then untied the reins from the hook. “Are you ready?”
She nodded but didn’t speak, though she did grasp the metal bar at the side of the seat to hold on when he started the horses moving.
He kept glancing in her direction as he guided the buckboard through town. She looked lovely...but seemed nervous and out of place. She should be in a fancy buggy, not sitting in his buckboard’s high seat, her body stiff, her hands clasping the tin in her lap.
Her cheeks were rosy from the chill in the air. Or maybe her cheeks were rosy from embarrassment. Either way, the color was very becoming. And the jacket she wore was no protection against the chill. She had no hat, either, and her golden blonde curls rippled in the breeze.