Winning the Widow’s Heart

To help his dying sister, Nate Cooper once broke the law—and he’s regretted it ever since. Now the ex-con turned saddler hopes for a new beginning in Turnabout, Texas. So when Nate saves a young widow’s daughter from imminent harm, he’s shocked to be called a hero.

Single mom Verity Leggett leads a safe life, avoiding danger and excitement at all costs. But her daughter’s rescuer Mr. Cooper seems like a perfectly responsible—and handsome—man she can rely on. But when his secrets come to light, will Verity be able to get over his past and see Nate for the caring man he’s become?

Texas Grooms: In search of their brides…

“Nate, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t.”

His sharp command startled her into silence. Why was he so angry with her?

His jaw tensed and he raked his fingers through his hair with an angry, jerky thrust. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Was he just being polite, trying to spare her feelings? “I don’t understand.”

He took a deep, defeated-sounding breath. “You think I’m a hero. I’m not.”

That again. “You’re being too modest. You—”

But he wouldn’t let her finish. “Verity, I don’t deserve hero worship. Not from you, not from anyone. I treasure every moment of our time together this afternoon, more than you will ever know. But you don’t know—”

Seeing the dread in his expression, she wasn’t really sure she wanted to hear what he had to say. “If it’s something you’d rather not talk about, don’t feel you need to tell me.”

His smile had more grimace than humor to it. “Too late. I need to tell you this for myself as well as for you. There’s something you don’t know about me, about what I’ve done.”

WINNIE GRIGGS is the multipublished, award-winning author of historical (and occasionally contemporary) romances that focus on Small Towns, Big Hearts, Amazing Grace. She is also a list maker and a lover of dragonflies and holds an advanced degree in the art of procrastination. Winnie loves to hear from readers—you can connect with her on Facebook at facebook.com/winniegriggs.author or email her at winnie@winniegriggs.com.

Second Chance Hero

Winnie Griggs

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For God has not given us a spirit of timidity;

but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

—2 Timothy 1:7

With sincere thanks to my generous friends who are always ready to brainstorm with me—Connie, Amy, Christopher, Dustin, Renee, Beth and Lenora. And to my fabulous editor Melissa Endlich, whose suggestions are always aimed at making my work tighter and stronger.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Quote

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Turnabout, Texas April 1897

Verity Leggett took firmer hold of her daughter’s hand as they approached the street crossing. There wasn’t much in the way of carriage or horse traffic this time of morning, but she always preferred to err on the side of caution, especially where Joy was concerned.

Suddenly Joy stopped in her tracks and pointed to her right. “Look, Mama, a dog.”

Verity stared suspiciously at the hound slinking out of an alley two blocks away. She was glad they weren’t headed in that direction. Joy loved animals with all the indiscriminate abandon her five-year-old heart could summon. She definitely hadn’t learned the value of caution yet.

“I see him.” Verity hitched the handle of the hatbox she carried a little closer to her elbow. “But Miss Hazel’s dress shop is this way. And don’t forget, you can play with Buttons when we get there.”

Distracted by thoughts of the cat who resided in the dress shop, Joy faced forward again, cradling her doll, Lulu, in the crook of her arm, and gave a little hop-skip. “I brought a piece of yarn for Buttons to play with.”

“I’m sure Buttons will be quite pleased.” Verity knew her droll tone was lost on her daughter, but that was okay. It was just so good to see how well Joy was thriving since they’d moved to Turnabout a year ago.

As Verity guided her daughter onto Second Street, her gaze slid past the closed doors of the apothecary and the saddle shop to focus on the last building on the block. Good—the dress shop was already open. She gave the hatbox a little swing and grinned in anticipation of Hazel’s reaction to her latest millinery creation. It was just the sort of flamboyant frippery her friend liked.

The new sign Hazel had recently hung over her shop door was an example of just how far her friend would take her love of the dramatic. It was elaborate in shape, brick red in color, and was emblazoned in fancy gold lettering that proclaimed the establishment to be Hazel’s Fashion Emporium. Her friend was quite put out that folks in town still referred to her business as simply “the dress shop.”

Then, almost as if drawn to it, her gaze moved to the closed door of the shop next to Hazel’s. The window bore the name Cooper’s Saddle, Tack & Supply in crisp white letters. Mr. Cooper, the owner, had moved to Turnabout just a couple of weeks ago and had opened his shop on Monday. She hadn’t officially met him yet—only seen him from a distance in church and around town. Not that she was in any hurry to get to know him better. After all, she was twenty-four years old and a widow. Hardly someone who would be looking to form attachments of that sort.

And even if she had been looking for such a thing, Mr. Cooper was not at all the type of man she’d be attracted to. There was a guarded air about him that, even from a distance, made her think he wasn’t all he seemed, that he held something tightly leashed inside himself. Perhaps it was just her imagination, but it was enough to put her guard up. Some women might be attracted to men who seemed just a little bit dangerous or adventurous, but she preferred someone who was dependable and reliable, someone like her late husband, Arthur.

Still, something about the man tugged at her imagination...

The door to the saddle shop opened as if on cue, and her pulse kicked up a notch. But to her surprise, instead of Mr. Cooper, a small brown dog padded out. The animal looked around, then sat on its haunches next to the doorway, for all the world as if it were guarding the place.

Surely that animal didn’t belong to Mr. Cooper? She would have pictured him with a large hunting dog—not this small, cuddly-looking pet that reminded her of a child’s stuffed bear.

Joy, who was chattering to her doll, Lulu, about Buttons, hadn’t noticed the animal yet. Verity braced herself for the gleeful clamor that would come whenever her daughter did notice.

A heartbeat later Mr. Cooper himself stepped out, broom in hand, and Verity paused the merest fraction between one step and the next. There was no denying that there was a presence about the man, much more impactful up close than from a distance. It wasn’t his size—he couldn’t be more than a couple of inches taller than she was, maybe five foot nine. Nor did he seem to be actively trying to command attention. In fact just the opposite. But there was a hardness about him, an air of stoicism and confidence—or was it a kind of self-containment?—that was hard to ignore.

Then he bent to scratch the dog behind the ears, and her impression of him shifted. His closed expression softened to something resembling exasperated affection, and the dog responded with tail-wagging exuberance. His brown hair, worn a bit longer than normally seen around here, was nearly as dark as his dog’s coat and it had the slightest of waves to it.

Mr. Cooper straightened, obviously ready to sweep the walk in front of his shop, and only then noticed the two of them approaching. His expression closed again and he paused to let them pass.

It seemed she was going to meet the newcomer now, whether she wanted to or not—at least enough to exchange greetings. His gaze might be impassive, but still Verity’s nerves jangled at being the focus of it. She tamped that feeling down, but before she could offer a greeting, Joy spotted the dog.

“Oh, look at the little doggie, Mama. Isn’t he cute?”

Verity nodded, studiously not looking Mr. Cooper’s way. “Yes, he is.”

Joy, however, seemed to have no qualms about meeting Mr. Cooper’s eyes. “Is he your doggie, Mister?” she asked brightly.

The man’s expression eased into a slight smile. “He is. His name is Beans.”

Verity blinked. What an odd name to give a dog. Even odder still that such a fanciful name had come from such a decidedly unfanciful-seeming man.

“Can I pet him?” Joy asked.

Verity, worried about allowing her daughter to approach a strange animal, stepped in before Mr. Cooper could respond. “Stop pestering Mr. Cooper—it’s not polite. We need—”

“It’s no bother.” His voice had a husky, gravelly quality to it. But it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact she rather liked the sound of it.

“Beans won’t hurt the child,” he said. Then he turned back to Joy and gave her another smile. “If your mother allows it, Beans and I don’t mind.”

Joy looked up at Verity. “Can I, Mama, please?”

“May I,” Verity corrected. She glanced at the dog. The animal appeared friendly enough, so she gave a reluctant nod. “Very well, but just a quick, gentle pat. We need to get along to Miss Hazel’s shop.”

Smiling brightly, Joy rushed over to the dog and knelt down to stroke its head and talk nonsense to it for a minute. The dog accepted the attention with a happy wag of its tail. A moment later it had its two front paws planted on Joy’s knees and was trying to bathe her face with his tongue.

Verity made a small involuntary move to intervene, and then the sound of Joy’s giggles stopped her. She supposed there was no real harm in letting her daughter have fun with the animal for a few minutes.

Instead, she forced herself to look away from Joy and face the dog’s owner. Up close, Mr. Cooper was even more interesting. There was an ever-so-slight dimple in his chin, but it in no way took away from his firm jawline or the chiseled planes of his face. It was those piercing blue-gray eyes, however, that drew her in, made her want to learn more about him. Combine that with his guarded air, and he had a definite presence about him. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call handsome—his features were too irregular for that. No, not handsome, but arresting.

Yes, most definitely arresting.

Then she realized he was waiting for her to say something. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said with what she hoped was a neighborly smile. “Joy has such a love for animals, it’s impossible for her to pass one by without stopping to pet it.”

“Beans seems to be enjoying the attention,” he said noncommittally. Then he glanced toward Joy. “My sister was the same way.”

She noticed something momentarily cloud his expression, but it was gone by the time he turned back to her. Then she realized he’d used the word was. She’d passed away then. Was his loss recent?

Verity decided to change the subject. “It’s nice to see someone making use of the old boot shop.”

He nodded. “It’s working out well for what I need.”

Definitely not much of a conversationalist. She tried again. “How are you liking Turnabout so far?”

“The folks here are neighborly and it seems like a good place to set down roots.”

Is that what he wanted to do—set down roots? Stability and responsibility were certainly fine traits to aspire to. But did that mean he’d been a drifter before he came here?

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Then, remembering that poignant mention of his sister, her smile warmed. “And if you’re looking to leave your past behind you,” she said softly, “and find a new place to belong, then you’ve come to the right place.”

At the flash of surprise in his eyes, she realized just how presumptuous that must have sounded. Embarrassed, she quickly turned to Joy and held her hand out. “Come along, pumpkin. Time to tell the dog goodbye. Thank Mr. Cooper and let’s be on our way.”

Joy obediently turned to Beans’s owner. “Thank you, Mr. Cooper. Beans is a nice doggie.” She held out her doll. “And Lulu likes him, too.”

Risking a glance his way, Verity saw that he was giving her daughter a broad smile, apparently choosing to ignore her own ill-conceived remarks of a moment ago.

“You’re welcome,” he said, executing a half bow. “Both of you. Anytime.”

Verity decided he should smile more often—it transformed his face, making him appear much more approachable. But perhaps he reserved his smiles for puppies and children.

As if to punctuate that thought, he turned back to her, his expression once more merely polite. Then he nodded and took firmer hold of his broom.

Intrigued by these contradictory glimpses of the man, and still embarrassed by her earlier words, Verity put a hand on Joy’s shoulder and gently nudged her toward Hazel’s shop.

And tried not to think too hard about the fact that she’d like to see one of those warmer smiles directed her way.

* * *

Nate Cooper swept the sidewalk in front of his shop, his thoughts focused on the mother and daughter who’d just walked away.

He glanced down and noticed Beans watching them, as well. The animal’s tail was still wagging, but much slower now. “You like that little girl, don’t you, boy?”

Beans looked up as if he understood the question, and Nate paused long enough to give him a quick scratch behind the ears. “Well, don’t worry,” he said as he straightened. “I’m pretty sure she likes you, as well.”

The little girl—Joy, her mother had called her—had certainly been taken with his four-legged companion. Her giggles had been sweet proof of that.

For just a heartbeat, she’d reminded him of Susanna. Joy’s physical resemblance to his younger sister was only superficial—honey-colored hair and a button nose—but it was the way the child had responded to Beans that had tugged at him. Susanna had loved animals with that same wholeheartedness, especially dogs.

It was surprising how, after all these years, little reminders like that could hit him in the gut with such force.

As he pushed the broom, his thoughts shifted from the child to her mother. There were definitely no bittersweet memories to ambush him when thinking of her. Quite the opposite.

This wasn’t the first time he’d noticed her since his move to Turnabout. She was a member of the small choir at the local church. Both times he’d attended the service there, he’d taken notice of her. Not at first, though. The drab widow’s weeds she wore and her dark hair had made her a shadow that the eye easily skipped past.

But all that changed the moment she began to sing. Her face took on such a luminously serene yet passionate glow, as if she truly felt every word, every note she sang. And even from where he sat he could see a fire in her large green eyes that drew him. He hadn’t been able to take his gaze off of her until the preacher began his sermon.

There’d been none of that fire in her today, though. In fact, the way she’d reacted when her daughter approached his little bit of a dog, she’d seemed nervous and something of a handwringer. Did that enchanting spark come through only when she sang?

Still, knowing it was there, he was intrigued enough to want to unearth it. And just now he’d found he liked her speaking voice too, a difficult-to-describe mix of genteel lady and country girl. There was something else he’d noticed as well, something that hadn’t been apparent until he’d seen her up close just now. Right below the left corner of her mouth was the faintest of small scars. It didn’t detract from her appearance. In fact, if anything it added an element of interest to her otherwise merely pleasant features. It also made him want to find out how she’d gotten it.

But it was when she’d relaxed enough to show him a genuine smile just now that she’d really caught his attention. The words that had accompanied her smile, however, had startled him. It was almost as if she’d understood his private yearnings.

Had she really meant what she said, or was it just some sort of polite bit of verbiage she would have said to any newcomer? And if she knew what sort of past he was trying to leave behind him, would she still have uttered those words?

She’d obviously known his name, but he had no idea what hers was. And since she hadn’t offered, he hadn’t felt it appropriate to ask.

But now he wondered—should he have asked? There’d been a time when he would have known how to carry on a polite conversation, but his social skills had grown rusty with disuse.

If he was ever going to fit in here, though, he’d need to relearn.

“I think the sidewalk is clean enough.”

Nate looked up to see Adam Barr standing there, an amused half smile on his face. Adam was the closest thing Nate had to a friend these days, and was the person to whom he owed his current toehold on stability.

Nate returned the smile. “Just enjoying the morning sunshine.”

Adam nodded and Nate knew without any exchange of words that his friend understood his meaning.

Nate leaned against the broom. “And what is the town’s esteemed banker doing on this side of the street? Checking up on me?” He was only half joking. The bank, where Adam had his office, was a block and a half in the other direction.

“Not at all.” Adam nodded toward the apothecary. “Reggie asked me to stop by Flaherty’s for her.”

Nate frowned. Reggie, Adam’s wife, was expecting their third child. “She’s not taken ill I hope.”

Adam shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s for Patricia. She’s developed a rash and Reggie asked me to pick up some ointment for it.” Beans had joined them now and was sniffing at Adam’s boots. The man stooped down to absently scratch the animal behind the ears. “So how is business?”

Nate shrugged. “Slow. I sold a bridle Monday and yesterday Ed Strickland brought in a harness for me to mend.” He tightened his hold on the broom handle. “But it’s only my third day so I didn’t expect a rush of business just yet.” But it would need to pick up soon if he was going to pay his bills.

Adam nodded toward the display window. “I imagine that’s getting you some interest.”

Nate glanced at the item Adam was referring to and felt a small tug of pride. It was a saddle—one of the few possessions he’d brought with him to Turnabout. He’d made it himself and spent a lot of time and effort on it. The display piece was a visible testament to his skill as a saddler. “I’ve had a few inquiries, but nothing serious yet.”

“I predict it will catch just the right eye soon.” Then Adam glanced ahead. “Looks like Mr. Flaherty is opening his doors, so I’ll let you get back to your sweeping.” And with a nod, Adam headed for the apothecary.

Nate brushed the broom over the sidewalk one last time, his thoughts still with his friend. When Adam had invited him to move here to Turnabout, he’d described the town as a good place for fresh starts, something he’d known Nate was seeking. Nate had now seen firsthand just how well things had worked out for Adam. His friend, who hailed from Philadelphia, had truly made a life for himself in this town. He’d married a local woman and now had two children with a third on the way. He also had a position as manager of the local bank and had become an accepted, even prominent, member of this community. All that in spite of having spent six years in prison. Of course, not everyone here knew that part of his past.

Nate, whose own past was similar to Adam’s, both in where he’d come from and where he’d been, passionately wanted that kind of future for himself. At least the being accepted and belonging part.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want the family part too—he absolutely did. It was just that he knew it was better—for everyone—if he didn’t pursue that dream.

For one thing, he had no luck whatsoever in relationships. More often than not, he ended up hurting the very people he cared most about.

For another, he could never pursue a serious relationship with a woman without letting her know what he’d done. And what woman would want to marry a man with a past like his? Especially not a certain widow whose face popped into his head at the thought. No, it was best all the way around if he just settled for a comfortable, neighborly relationship with the folks around here.

After all, what more could a man who’d robbed a bank and then spent nine years in prison paying for it expect?

Chapter Two

“I can’t wait to see the latest of your fabulous creations.”

Verity firmly pushed aside thoughts of the very interesting Mr. Cooper as she smiled at her friend Hazel’s extravagant compliment. “I’m not sure about fabulous, but I do hope you like it.” She glanced toward Joy, who sat on the floor playing with Buttons. Maybe someday, when they had a house of their own, she could get Joy the pet she so passionately wanted. In the meantime, perhaps Aunt Betty and Uncle Grover wouldn’t mind a caged pet, like a sweet little songbird...

“Oh, my...”

Her friend’s delighted exclamation pulled Verity’s thoughts back to the present.

Hazel lifted Verity’s current millinery creation out of the hatbox and studied it, her eyes gratifyingly alight with admiration. “I do believe this is your best one yet. It’s absolutely exquisite.” Then she shook her head in mock confusion. “Who would guess that your restrained demeanor hides a woman with such a stylish flair?”

Verity drew up at that. “I’m a widow, remember. My restrained demeanor, as you call it, is not only appropriate but expected.”

Hazel seemed unimpressed by her reasoning. “You’ve been widowed over a year now, so it’s okay to put off wearing such dreary colors all the time. And we both know that before you were even married you dressed much more conservatively than the rest of us.”

Verity knew her friend meant well, but the words still stung. As if her mourning for Arthur would automatically end based on a date on a calendar. Besides, she had already added some color to her wardrobe. True, she still wore black skirts, but her shirtwaists contained gray or lavender or even some dark green. In fact, her Sunday best was the only solid-black dress she still wore, and she’d even added a bit of gray to the collar and cuffs of that one. It was only proper that, as a widow, she didn’t try to wear bright colors or frills.

As for the rest, with that scar on her face, she’d never been one of the “pretty girls,” and she’d long since come to terms with that.

Verity gave her friend an exasperated look. “Not all of us are as comfortable with flamboyant airs and drama as you are.”

This shop was proof of that. Color and furbelows were everywhere. Besides the dress forms that displayed examples of her work, there were bolts of fabrics in every shade imaginable, from pastels to deep jewel tones, both solids and prints, spools of lace and cord and ribbons, trimmings such as feathers and beads and medallions, fashion plates displayed artfully around the store—and all arranged in a manner to catch the eye and entice one to come close to admire and touch and perhaps purchase.

Verity loved it here, loved how it made her feel, as if she was inside a fantastical daydream where nothing harsh could intrude.

But she was just a visitor here—it wasn’t her world.

“Which is a shame.”

For a startled moment Verity thought her friend had read her thoughts. Then she realized Hazel was merely responding to her last statement.

Hazel’s grin had an I-know-best twist to it. “I think a little flamboyancy and drama in your life is just what you need.”

Verity relaxed and returned her grin. “That’s what I have you in my life for. And why I create these hats.” One of the things she’d missed most about Turnabout when she’d married Arthur and moved so far away was her friendship with Hazel. They’d kept in touch with the occasional letter, but being able to spend time together was so much better.

When Verity had moved back to Turnabout after Arthur’s death last year, she and Hazel had picked up where they’d left off.

Joy’s giggles drew her attention and she glanced in that direction. The girl was jiggling her bit of yarn in front of Buttons. Hazel’s cat was trying to bat at it with one of her front paws, much to Joy’s delight.

Verity turned back to see Hazel rotating the hat this way and that, trying to view it from all angles. Wetting her lips and affecting a casual expression, Verity gave in to the urge to do a little probing. “Have you met your new neighbor yet?”

“You mean Mr. Cooper?” Hazel glanced out the door, as if she could see around the corner to his shop. “Just casually. He seems rather mysterious, don’t you think, just showing up here out of the blue?” Her eyes sparkled with saucy speculation. “I know he’s a friend of Adam Barr’s, but still, one can’t help but wonder what his story is. Especially when he looks right at you with those striking eyes.”

Verity popped her hand on her hip in mock outrage. “Hazel Theresa Andrews, I thought you were sweet on the sheriff. Has another man finally caught your fancy?”

Hazel tossed her head. “I’m getting tired of waiting for Ward Gleason to take notice of me. It certainly won’t hurt anything to let him know I have options.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask? Do you have your eye on Mr. Cooper?”

Seeing the speculation in her friend’s expression, Verity tilted her chin up defensively. “Don’t be silly. I don’t even know the man.”

“He didn’t happen to be outside his store when you walked by just now, did he?”

Hazel was too perceptive by half. “He was. And yes, we chatted for a moment. But only because Joy wanted to pet his dog. You know she can’t pass by an animal without wanting to play with it.”

“So you did meet him.”

“Not exactly.” She waved a hand. “I mean, no introductions were exchanged. But saying hello was the neighborly thing to do.” Verity mentally cringed when she heard the defensive note creep into her voice.

And of course Hazel pounced right on it. “Well, now, isn’t this an interesting turn of events. Our meek-as-a-lamb, practical-as-prunes Verity is interested in the very rugged and far-from-meek-looking Mr. Cooper.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, drawing herself up even straighter. “I have no interest in the man beyond a natural curiosity.”

“Of course you don’t.” But from the knowing smile on Hazel’s lips, Verity could tell her friend didn’t believe her protests. It was time to steer this conversation in a different direction.

“Thanks for letting Joy play with Buttons,” she said. “She looks forward to it whenever I tell her I’m headed over here.”

To Verity’s relief, Hazel accepted the change of subject as she carried the hat to the nearby cheval glass. “Buttons enjoys it, too,” her friend said absently as she placed the hat on her head at a sassy angle. Then she preened, turning and tilting her head different ways to admire the effect. “Oh, I love it, especially the flirty way the brim is folded. If it wasn’t yellow I’d consider keeping it for myself.” She glanced over her shoulder at Verity. “Yellow never was my color.”

Verity disagreed. With Hazel’s vivacious red-gold hair and sparkling green eyes, there was very little that didn’t look good on her. But she kept her opinion to herself.

Hazel removed the hat and turned back around. “Now, you on the other hand, with that gorgeous mahogany-colored hair and your fair complexion, would look stunning in this.”

“Not particularly suitable mourning attire,” Verity said drily.

Hazel sighed dramatically. “I’ve already said my piece on that subject. But I can tell your mind is made up.” Then she shrugged. “Ah, well, it’ll look nice in the window next to that lavender dress with the scrumptious lace.”

Verity fidgeted with her sleeve. “I do wish you’d let me pay you something for displaying my hats in your shop.”

“Well, I won’t, so let’s hear no more about it.” Hazel patted a few stray hairs back in place before moving away from the mirror. “And don’t think it’s because I’m feeling altruistic. I’m getting something out of it, too. My sales have definitely gone up since your hats went on display next to my dresses.”

Verity had been thinking lately that she’d like to open a millinery shop of her own one day, and Hazel’s words gave her an added nudge in that direction. Despite Uncle Grover’s and Aunt Betty’s assertions that they liked having her and Joy stay with them, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live on their charity forever. It had been fifteen months since that awful day Arthur was killed. It was time for her to move on with her life, to decide what kind of future she wanted for herself and Joy.

If she could start her own business and make a go of it, she might just be able to afford to have a home of her own again. But there was so much risk involved in such an undertaking, risks she wasn’t sure she could afford to take. It definitely wasn’t a step to take lightly. For one thing she’d have to save up more money before she could even get started. And what if she failed? Besides, the one time she’d mentioned it to Uncle Grover, he’d counseled her about all the pitfalls she could face and she’d gotten the impression he didn’t think it was something she should even attempt.

Still, every time she allowed herself to dream about the future she wanted for herself and Joy, the yearning to take more control of her life grew.

“Have you heard about the plans for the Founders’ Day celebration?”

Verity pushed away her daydreams and focused on Hazel’s question. “You mean there’s going to be more to it than the town picnic this year?”

“A lot more. Ever since Mayor Sanders realized this is the seventy-fifth anniversary of Turnabout’s founding, he’s wanted to do something special, which to him means something bigger and flashier.”

That was Mayor Sanders, all right. Some things about this town never changed.

“He’s talking about a grand festival,” Hazel continued, “sort of like a county fair, with games, contests, food, performances. He’s even talking about bringing in a traveling circus or an acting troupe.”

Verity listened with only half an ear as Hazel recounted the discussion from yesterday’s town council meeting. Instead, her thoughts drifted back to Mr. Cooper.

Hazel was wrong. She wasn’t taken with the man. Well, not exactly. She was merely curious about him. When she looked into his intense eyes, she still got the sense of something controlled but dangerous. Yet seeing him with that little lapdog had contradicted that impression. Showing kindness to a small animal and speaking of putting down roots seemed to indicate a man who was compassionate and responsible.

Which was the real man? Or was it possible he could be a combination of both?

The sound of a dog barking outside made her think again of the small dog itself. Beans—what a whimsical name for the animal.

Perhaps someday—there was that nebulous someday again—if she could find a similar lapdog, one that she knew was well behaved, she could get it for Joy.

Verity glanced over her shoulder to check on her daughter again, but neither the five-year-old nor the cat was in the same spot any longer. She turned fully around. “Joy?” Where had the girl gotten off to?

Hazel paused midsentence and glanced quickly around the shop. “She probably followed Buttons to one of his hiding places. Check behind the counter.”

“Joy!” Verity said the name louder this time, using her no-nonsense, answer-me-now voice. She knew it was probably an overreaction, but she couldn’t help herself. Her late husband’s violent death had given her a terrible lesson on how tragedy could strike in the blink of an eye. And she’d found herself wanting to hold tighter and tighter to her daughter ever since.

When there was still no response, Verity’s focus sharpened. If Joy was just behind the counter, why wasn’t she answering? “Joy, this isn’t a game. Come out this minute.”

Still no answer. Could she have gone upstairs? Verity had half turned in that direction when Hazel spoke up, halting her in her tracks.

“She’s out on the sidewalk.”

Verity spun around and headed for the door. Why hadn’t she kept a closer eye on Joy?

A warning shout sounded just as she stepped outside, closely followed by a gasp from Hazel.

She watched in horror as her daughter, intent on chasing Buttons, darted in front of an oncoming wagon. Verity raced forward screaming Joy’s name. The child turned, then froze as she saw the horse bearing down on her.

Verity stumbled and realized with shattering clarity that she would never reach Joy in time.

Chapter Three

For an agonizing heartbeat, as the wagon bore down on her daughter, time froze. Verity felt every irregularity in the pebble that bit into her palm, could taste the tang of blood from where she’d bit the inside of her cheek when she fell to the ground, could see the dust motes hanging in the air before her.

Please, Jesus. Please, Jesus. Please, Jesus.

She wasn’t sure whether she was uttering the frantic prayer aloud or if it was just shrieking through her thoughts.

From somewhere a woman screamed, but all sounds, save for the wagon’s relentless rumbling progress, seemed to come from a great distance.

Verity spotted the moment the wagon driver spied Joy and tried to turn his horses.

And still Joy didn’t move.

Then, from out of nowhere, Mr. Cooper shot past her, and time sped up with a whoosh. He dived toward Joy, reaching her a heart-stopping split second before the horse’s hooves would have trampled the child, and pushing her out of the way.

Without remembering having moved, Verity was suddenly kneeling in the road with her weeping daughter clutched tightly against her. Her heart thudded painfully against her chest and her breath came in near gasps. She’d come so close to losing her precious baby. She could still feel the stab of keening desolation that pierced her the moment she’d realized she couldn’t get to Joy in time. This time the prayer she sent up was one of thanksgiving.

“Mama, you’re squeezing too tight.” Joy’s querulous complaint ended on a hiccup.

Verity had to fight down the hysterical bubble of laughter that wanted to leap from her throat. Instead she loosened her hold and pushed back just enough to examine her daughter, brushing aside a tendril of Joy’s hair with fingers that trembled uncontrollably. “Don’t you ever scare Mommy like that again.”

Joy shook her head, then hiccupped again as her tears stopped.

Verity was vaguely aware that Hazel stood at her elbow and that a crowd had gathered, but her attention remained focused on reassuring herself that Joy really was okay.

Fortunately, her daughter appeared more scared and confused than hurt. The stains and smears on her pinafore were dirt, not blood.

“I’m so sorry.”

Verity looked up into the pale, worried face of Nestor James, the wagon driver.

“Please tell me your little girl’s okay,” he continued as he crushed his hat in his hands. “I didn’t see her ’til I was practically on top of her.”

“It’s not your fault, Mr. James.” Though her voice was still shaky, now that Verity knew Joy was okay she could be reasonable. “I should have kept closer watch over her. And it appears Joy isn’t hurt—just shaken up. Thanks to Mr. Cooper.”

She looked around for the man who’d saved her daughter.

And only then realized he hadn’t fared as well as Joy.

He was sitting up, his movements slow and stiff. There was a darkening bruise on his forehead, he held his left arm stiffly and his sleeve was ripped and stained with blood and dirt.

Sheriff Gleason had bent down to lend him a hand up.

Verity immediately intervened. “Don’t get up yet, Mr. Cooper. Not until I’ve had a look at you.” There was no telling how badly he might be injured.

He gave her a startled look, which she ignored. Instead she turned to Sheriff Gleason. “Keep an eye on him, please.” Then she turned back to Joy. “Do you hurt anywhere, pumpkin?”

Joy bent her right arm and lifted it for inspection. “I hurted my elbow. And Lulu got smushed.”

Quickly noting that Joy’s elbow was merely scraped, Verity bent down and gave it a kiss. “There, is that better?”

Joy nodded, swiping at the dirt and tears on her face with her other sleeve. Then she handed the doll up to her mother. Verity obediently gave the doll a kiss, as well. “There. You should both feel better once you’ve washed up a bit.”

Then she gave her daughter a stern look. “Now, I want you to stay close to Miss Hazel while I check on Mr. Cooper.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Hazel took Joy’s hand and gave Verity a nod.

Inhaling a fortifying breath, Verity turned to check on the condition of the man to whom she owed so much.

* * *

Nate Cooper watched the woman’s sudden transformation with fascination. A moment ago she’d been understandably shaky, emotional, on the verge of hysteria even, over what had nearly happened to her daughter.

He would have thought that the sight of his sorry state would have pushed her even further toward hysteria. Instead, she seemed composed and even decisive. Which was something of a relief. He’d rather deal with an oncoming wagon all over again than with an overly emotional woman.

But what had she meant by have a look at you? Did she fancy herself a doctor? He’d seen the kiss-it-and-make-it-better approach she’d used with her daughter and the doll—not exactly by-the-book medicine. Though, come to think on it, he wouldn’t be particularly averse if she wanted to try that method with him...

He quickly pushed that entirely inappropriate thought aside as the woman in question knelt down beside him.

“Before I do anything else,” she said softly, “I want to tell you how unbelievably brave what you just did was, and to let you know I’m so much more than grateful. You not only saved my daughter just now, but me, as well.”

The woman’s moss-green eyes glowed with a gratitude that verged on hero worship. That shook him much more than the accident with the wagon had. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of such a look since he’d lost his sister nearly a decade ago, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. But hero worship was something he didn’t want.

Or deserve.

He’d just been at the right place at the right time—nothing more. He’d seen Beans bark at the cat and send it running across the road. He’d then seen the child follow the feline. It had been pure instinct to go after her—nothing heroic about it.

“I’ll be okay,” he said brusquely, waving the woman away with his right hand. “You should see to your daughter.”

The woman ignored his suggestion and began rolling up her sleeves. “Joy is fine, thanks to you. And that gash on your arm definitely needs some attention.”

Without waiting for a response from him, she glanced up at the crowd milling around them. “Someone get me a pail of water to clean this up. And I’ll need some clean rags, as well.”

To his surprise, several individuals from the crowd nodded and rushed off to do her bidding. Then she turned to Sheriff Gleason. “Do you have a pocketknife I can borrow?”

The lawman never hesitated. He pulled out his knife, opened it for her and handed it over.

Nate raised a hand. “Now, hold on.” These folks might trust the woman, but he wasn’t ready to let her cut on him. “What do you intend to do with that thing?”

Her brow went up and there was an amused twist to her lips. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to operate on you. Yet.” He was only partly reassured by her dry tone.

She took the knife and, with a quick movement, sliced his already ripped shirt all the way to the cuff.

He tried one more time to wrest control from the stubborn woman. “See, it’s just a cut. I’ll be okay. If it makes you feel better I’ll go see the doctor.” He tried to push himself up, but a sharp pain shot through his left ankle and he winced involuntarily.

“You are not okay.” She put a firm hand on his right shoulder. “Don’t move until I have a look at you.” Her expression softened slightly. “Don’t worry, I do have some medical training.”

That would explain her air of authority. But was she serious? “You’re a doctor?”

“Not exactly. But the town’s doctor is my uncle and my late husband was a physician, as well. So you see, I’ve worked with doctors most of my life. I know what to do.”

The “not exactly doctor” turned to the dressmaker, who still held the little girl’s hand. “Would you mind taking Joy back to your shop until I’ve finished here?”

“Of course.” Miss Andrews smiled down at the little girl. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you and Lulu cleaned up and then we’ll see if we can find a cookie to snack on.”

The woman’s gaze lingered on her daughter as the two walked away. But a moment later a young man set the requested pail of water at her feet and she turned to smile up at him. “Thank you, Calvin. Now would you mind running over to the clinic and letting my uncle know he’ll have a patient shortly?”

“Yes, ma’am.” And with that the young man was off again.

Finally she turned back to him. “Since I’m about to tend to your injuries,” she said with a caretaker’s smile, “I should probably introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Verity Leggett.”

Nate gave a short nod. “Mrs. Leggett. I’m Nate Cooper.”

“Now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way, let’s get this arm cleaned up, shall we, so we can see what we’re dealing with?”

He still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being examined by a female doctor, no matter how pretty or confident she was. It seemed vaguely ungentlemanly to put her through such unpleasantness. “There’s no need to trouble yourself, Mrs. Leggett. I can get myself over to the doctor—”

She didn’t let him finish. “I agree that my uncle should see you. And he will—just as soon as I make sure we have this cleaned up and the bleeding has stopped.”

She dipped a cloth in the water and then gently dabbed at the gash, cleaning away the dirt and blood with her right hand while she supported his arm with her left. Her touch was gentle but sure, and not at all unpleasant.

As Mrs. Leggett bent over him, he could smell the faint scent of honeysuckle on her, could see the glint of sunlight tease out touches of auburn in her mahogany hair. The feel of her hand supporting his arm as she gently cleaned the cut was warm and strong in a uniquely feminine kind of way.

As she bent closer to study her progress, that stray image of her kissing her daughter’s injury popped up in his mind again. Would she—

He abruptly pulled his thoughts back from that dangerous cliff. His reaction to her was a testament to how long it had been since he’d felt the gentle ministrations of a woman, nothing more. And he was certain she wouldn’t welcome any indications that he felt anything other than gratitude.

When Mrs. Leggett had the cut cleaned to her satisfaction, she leaned back and studied it. “You’re definitely going to need stitches, but I don’t believe you’ve cut anything vital.” She looked up then and met his gaze with a reassuring smile. “The bleeding has slowed, but I’m going to wrap it tight to make certain it doesn’t start flowing again before we get you to the clinic.”

When she had put action to words, she met his gaze again. “Now, your left leg seemed to be giving you problems when you tried to get up. Where does it hurt?”

So she’d picked up on that. “It’s my ankle, but I’m sure it’ll be fine in just a bit.”

She scooted over and took his booted foot in her hands, again disregarding the niceties of social behavior. Her gentle probing had him gritting his teeth, but he did his best to not show any outward signs of pain.

She gently set the foot back down. “It’s definitely swollen. I think we’ll leave the boot on until Uncle Grover is ready to examine it. But you shouldn’t be walking on it for now.” Then she met his eyes. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

His head pounded, his shoulder and ankle throbbed and he was starting to feel light-headed. Nothing a little rest wouldn’t cure. “No.”

Her raised eyebrow told him she wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t press. Instead she gave his good arm a light pat. “Don’t worry, we’re going to take very good care of you.”

Despite his reservations, he had to admit he liked the sound of that.

Mrs. Leggett made as if to stand and the sheriff was at her elbow, lending her a hand.

She smiled up at the lawman. “Thank you, Sheriff. Would you find some men to help carry Mr. Cooper over to the clinic? I’ll go on ahead to help my uncle get things ready.”

The sheriff tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

Carry him? “That won’t be necessary. I just need a little help getting up.”

She gave him a don’t-be-ridiculous look. “You won’t be doing any walking on that ankle, at least not until Uncle Grover takes a look at it.”

The woman wasn’t shy about giving orders. “Well, I certainly don’t intend to let myself be carried through town like a sack of flour. I’d rather hobble. If I could borrow a shoulder to use as support—”

“Your hurt ankle is on the same side as your hurt arm so it would be inadvisable to put any strain on it.”

She even talked like a doctor.

Before he could protest again, the man who’d been driving the wagon stepped forward. “I can take him to your uncle’s clinic in the back of my wagon, if you like?”

Nate clamped down an uncharitable stab of annoyance that the man’s words were directed at Mrs. Leggett rather than him.

But the doctor’s niece nodded, as if she, too, thought it was her decision to make. “Thank you, Mr. James, that will work nicely. I’ll leave this in your and Sheriff Gleason’s very capable hands.” And with another reassuring but rather condescending smile for him, Mrs. Leggett turned and walked into the dress shop. A moment later she stepped out again with her daughter held on her hip. With the little girl’s head snuggled against her shoulder, she marched down the sidewalk.

His eyes followed her progress until she turned a corner and disappeared from view. He still couldn’t quite get over her transformation into a coolheaded, would-be doctor. When she’d stopped in front of his store on her way to the dress shop, he’d gotten the impression that she was more diffident than decisive. But just now, she hadn’t had the least bit of hesitation about taking charge and issuing orders. And she also hadn’t been the least bit put off by either the blood, ugly gash or the fact that she’d had to kneel in the middle of the dusty street to minister to him.

Now that she’d tended to him, she’d changed back into the concerned mother again.

The movement of the wagon pulled his thoughts away from the puzzle Mrs. Leggett presented and onto more immediate matters. He watched as the men maneuvered the vehicle right up beside him, then braced himself to stand. His left side had taken the brunt of the blow. Both his shoulder and ribs felt as if they were on fire, and the gash she’d taken such pains to clean and wrap protested any time he attempted to move his arm. His ankle was the most problematic, though. She hadn’t really needed to warn him not to place any weight on it—the offending joint was doing a thorough job of that all by itself.

But as long as nothing was broken, he should be able to deal with the discomfort, even if it meant using crutches to get around. After all, he didn’t need the use of his legs to do his job. And he certainly couldn’t afford for this to keep him out of commission for long. He was still in the process of getting his fledgling business established.

Not that he regretted his actions. Better he get hurt than something happen to that little girl.

Sheriff Gleason bent down. “I think it best you shove your pride aside for now and allow us to help you into that wagon. Mrs. Leggett isn’t going to be happy if I let you put weight on that ankle of yours.” He grinned. “And right now I’m more worried about her druthers than I am yours.”

Nate nodded. Being helped into a wagon might not be the most dignified way to board, but it was a good sight better than getting carried through town.

The sheriff nodded toward one of the other men. “Jeff, lend me a hand here.” The two men positioned themselves on either side of Nate, then helped him up. The action shot a bolt of pain down his left side, and he had to clamp down hard not to let loose with a string of expletives. He’d spent too much time away from the company of God-fearing folk—he was having to learn how to act in polite company all over again.

The sheriff climbed in beside him, presumably to keep him from falling out, then called to Nestor to get moving.

Nate gritted his teeth throughout the jarring, interminable-seeming ride to the clinic. Perhaps he would take it easy today. The workday would probably be half over before the doctor was finished with him, anyway.

When they finally arrived at the clinic, Nate was guiltily relieved to see Mrs. Leggett and an older man who was presumably her uncle step outside with a stretcher—he would have had trouble taking more than a few steps on his own. Mrs. Leggett had changed into a clean dress and wore a crisp white apron over it.

“Mr. Cooper, this is my uncle, Dr. Grover Pratt,” she said as soon as she was close enough to speak to him. “Uncle Grover, this is Mr. Cooper, the man who saved Joy’s life.”

Nate shifted. All this excessive gratitude was making him uncomfortable.

“Hello, young man. Let me add my thanks to that of my niece. That was a very brave thing you did, saving our Joy.”

“I’m just glad I was in a position to help her, sir.”

Sheriff Gleason clamped him on his uninjured shoulder. “Don’t let his modesty fool you, Doc. I saw the whole thing. Mr. Cooper here is a real hero.”

Dr. Pratt nodded. “Let’s start showing our appreciation by getting him inside, where he’ll be more comfortable.”

Sheriff Gleason and the wagon driver took the ends of the stretcher and Nate maneuvered himself onto it with a minimum of help. Mrs. Leggett stayed beside him as the men transported him into the clinic. Her hand rested lightly on his good arm, as if she wanted to make certain he didn’t fall off. The feel of her hand on him was...comforting. Then she looked down and gave him a reassuring smile. Almost as if she truly cared about him.

Was this all part of her job as the doctor’s assistant?

Stupid question—of course it was.

Once the men had deposited him on the padded table in the examining room, they took their leave. Nate sat on the edge of the narrow but sturdy table with his legs dangling over the side. By refusing to lie down, he felt marginally more in control of the situation.

To his surprise, Mrs. Leggett didn’t follow the men out. Surely she didn’t plan to assist in the actual examination?

“I have strict instructions to take extra special care of you.” Dr. Pratt cast a smile his niece’s way. “So let’s get to it.”

The doctor began to lay out some of his implements. “Verity, please help Mr. Cooper remove his shirt.”

Apparently she was going to stay. And participate. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

But she didn’t seem the least bit disconcerted by her uncle’s request. Her expression remained pleasant but detached and her movements were businesslike as she approached him. Still...

“That’s okay, I can manage,” he said as he quickly started working the buttons with his right hand.

“Don’t be silly.” From her tone, she could be speaking to a wayward child. “This is part of my job. Besides, your arm is hurt and it’s best you don’t move it more than necessary until the doctor can take a look at it.”

By this time Nate had managed to free all of the buttons, but he let her help him ease the already-ruined shirt off his arms and shoulders. As he did so, he was very conscious of the old scars she would see on his torso. What would she think?

But it wasn’t until she’d laid the garment aside and turned back to him that he noticed any sort of reaction. Unlike the recoil or emasculating pity he’d expected, however, it was a wince and flash of guilt that she quickly suppressed.

Glancing down, he saw the ugly bruise that had formed on his left side, no doubt from his contact with the wagon. Had she not noticed anything else?

Once more wearing that businesslike, doctor’s-helper demeanor, she quickly moved around to remove the arm bandage she’d applied earlier. Her touch was every bit as sure and impersonal as before.

Once done, she stepped away and allowed her uncle to take her place.

“Well, Mr. Cooper, let’s take a look, shall we?”

Nate nodded. “Please call me Nate. And your niece didn’t seem to think it was too serious.”

Dr. Pratt smiled. “Verity’s got a good eye, but why don’t you let me have a look, anyway?”

As Dr. Pratt performed his examination, he took his time and made a point of letting Nate know what he was doing and why. It was all very different from the treatment he’d grown accustomed to the past nine years.

Even though Mrs. Leggett did her best to remain unobtrusive, Nate found himself very aware of her presence. Her movements were deft and sure, and she seemed to anticipate her uncle’s requests so that very few words were spoken between them.

Verity—that was a rather old-fashioned name, but somehow it suited her. And her daughter was named Joy. Both named for virtues. The jaded part of him wondered if they found the names a burden to live up to. Not the little girl, of course, at least not yet. But the mother?

After cleaning the wound and studying it, the doctor looked up to meet Nate’s gaze. “You’re going to need stitches, but I don’t see any reason why this cut shouldn’t heal completely with no lasting damage, other than a scar, as long as you take it easy the next few days.”

That was a relief. He could deal with one more scar. It would be difficult, though, to do his work without full use of his arm.

The doctor moved on to examine Nate’s shoulder and side. Nate did his best to bear the probing stoically and not show any signs of discomfort. Mainly because he didn’t want to make Mrs. Leggett feel any guiltier than she obviously already did.

But a part of him admitted that he didn’t want to display weakness in front of her, either.

Finally, Dr. Pratt straightened. “Well, your shoulder and ribs are bruised but not broken. That knot on your head is of some concern, but so far you aren’t exhibiting any signs of a concussion. Now I’m going to take care of suturing your arm before we take a look at your ankle.”

Nate nodded. “Whatever you say.”

Dr. Pratt gave him a considering look. “I think this will go better if you lie down on the table.”

Without a word, Nate swiveled and swung his legs up on the table, then lay back. The doctor offered him a strip of leather to bite down on, but Nate shook his head. This wasn’t his first time to get stitched up, so he knew what to expect.

Mrs. Leggett, who had quietly laid out the necessary implements, stood beside her uncle as he applied the stitches, ready to assist as needed.

Nate kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling as the doctor went to work, refusing to utter so much as a whimper. But apparently he wasn’t as impassive as he would have liked, because about halfway through the procedure, Mrs. Leggett moved next to him and applied a cool cloth to his brow. Surprised by the action, he left off staring at the ceiling long enough to meet her gaze. She gave him an approving, sympathetic smile that somehow eased the pain of the procedure. A moment later she had slipped back into her less personal, bedside demeanor and returned to her uncle’s side.

When at last Dr. Pratt was done, he straightened. “You can sit up now if you like,” he told Nate.

Nate had to admit, if only to himself, that it hadn’t ended any too soon. It had taken all he had not to cry out a time or two. Only the fear that he would embarrass himself in front of Mrs. Leggett had kept him from doing so.

The doctor glanced toward his niece as he helped Nate sit up. “Verity, would you take care of wrapping his arm for me?”

“Of course.” She reached into a cabinet and pulled out a roll of gauzy-looking cloth.

As she had out in the street earlier, she used her left hand to hold his arm with a gentle firmness while she wrapped the bandage around it with her right hand. She kept her eyes focused on her work so he was free to study her at will.

Trying not to think too much about the warmth of her hand on his, he found himself fascinated by the lone wispy curl of hair that had escaped her otherwise tightly controlled hairstyle. It swayed and danced with her every movement, an incongruously playful counterpoint to her businesslike demeanor.

His fingers actually itched with the desire to reach up and touch it, to let it curl around his finger and see if it felt as impossibly soft as it looked.

Startled once again by the direction his thoughts had taken, he forced himself to look away and found Dr. Pratt watching him thoughtfully. He suddenly felt like a schoolboy caught in some mischief.

A moment later, Mrs. Leggett was done and she stepped back and gave him a smile. “There. How’s that? Not too tight I hope.”

“It’s fine, thank you.” Not that he would have complained even if it hadn’t been.

Dr. Pratt moved closer. “Now let’s have a look at that ankle.” The older man studied it a moment without touching him, then looked back up. “My recommendation is that we cut the boot off. Otherwise, you’re going to find this much more than uncomfortable. And if your foot is broken it could cause even more damage.” He spread his hands. “But the choice is yours.”

Nate frowned. He didn’t have the funds to spend on new footwear right now. And he was no stranger to pain. “Let’s give removing it whole a try first.”

“Very well. If you change your mind once I get started, though, you just have to say the word.” He turned to his niece. “Verity, please stand behind Mr. Cooper so he has something to lean back against if he needs to.”

With a nod, she did as her uncle asked, positioning herself at his back and gripping the edge of the table on either side of him.

And he was honest enough with himself to admit he liked the feel of having her all around him. But, knowing she wouldn’t feel the same, he refused to take advantage of the situation.

He’d remain upright, no matter the cost.

With that in mind, this time he accepted the offer of a leather strap to bite down on.

Chapter Four

Verity could tell Mr. Cooper was doing his best to avoid leaning against her. She saw his knuckles whiten as his grip on the table edge tightened, saw his muscles tauten to unbelievable levels, saw the sweat bead on the back of his neck. This couldn’t be good for that freshly stitched gash.

That reminder of his bandaged arm made her fingers tingle again. When she’d wrapped his arm earlier, she’d found it surprisingly difficult to maintain the polite detachment that usually came so easily to her. Instead she’d been keenly aware of the warmth of his skin, the sound of his breathing and the feel of his gaze on her.

That last had rattled her more than anything else. Why had he been staring at her with such intensity. What was he thinking? Did he believe it unladylike for a woman to do this sort of work? Or maybe he’d noticed her scar and was fascinated the way some folk were by such imperfections.

Uncle Grover asked him again if he’d prefer to have the boot cut off, but Mr. Cooper shook his head. Probably gritting his teeth too hard to speak, stubborn man.

A few excruciatingly long minutes later, he let out a single grunt of pain as her uncle managed to finally wrench the boot free. It was only then, as he reflexively sagged with relief, that he allowed himself to lean back against her.

She stood completely still, supporting his solid torso for the three heartbeats it took for realization to hit him. She knew the second it happened. He suddenly stiffened and then jerked upright again. Without turning, he tossed a mumbled apology over his shoulder. Was he embarrassed at what he might consider a show of weakness?

He removed the leather strip he’d been biting on and set it on the table beside him. Verity couldn’t help but notice how deep an impression his teeth had made.

She moved around to assist her uncle and winced at how red and swollen his ankle was. As her uncle went about his examination, she kept an eye on the patient. Mr. Cooper bore it stoically, but she saw the muscles in his jaw tighten each time her uncle put the least bit of pressure on the injury.

At last her uncle straightened. “Well, the good news is you have a sprain, not a break.”

“And the bad news?”

“You’re going to need to stay off of it for a while.”

Mr. Cooper frowned. That was obviously not what he’d wanted to hear. “How long?”

“If you want that ankle to heal properly I strongly suggest that you stay off of it for at least a week.”

Mr. Cooper raked a hand through his hair. “But it’s nothing that will keep me from my work?”

Uncle Grover gave him a severe look. “Only if you work sitting down.”

“I do. And I suppose I can use a cane to get around.”

“Crutches would be better. But with your bruised shoulder and the fresh stitches I’ve just applied to your arm, neither will be advisable for the next few days.”

Verity saw the rebellion in Mr. Cooper’s eyes. Then she realized that, like Hazel, he probably lived above his shop. Stairs would be very difficult, if not impossible, for him to navigate in his condition.

“What do you expect me to do in the meantime, just lie about?” His tone was short and clipped. “I have a business to run.” Then, as if he realized he’d been abrupt, his expression lost some of its hard edge. “I’m sorry. None of this is your fault.”

Verity disagreed. This was all her fault—he’d gotten injured because she hadn’t kept a close watch on her daughter. “Perhaps I can assist you in some way,” she offered. “I’m sure Uncle Grover can spare me for a few days.”

Before her uncle could confirm what she’d said, Mr. Cooper spoke up. “I appreciate the offer, ma’am, but I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll figure a way to work it out.”

Was he just being polite? Or was it that he wasn’t interested in having her around?

“You two can work that out later.” Uncle Grover’s stern look was aimed at them both. “For now, I would suggest Mr. Cooper stay here at the clinic, where we can keep him under observation.”

“I don’t think—”

Her uncle raised a hand. “If it’s money you’re worried about, don’t.” He met Mr. Cooper’s gaze with an earnest, direct look. “You were injured helping my great-niece—there will be no charge for anything related to your injuries.”

“That’s very kind of you. But—”

How did he expect to go anywhere without help? “The only place you’re going is to our infirmary.” She could see another protest forming on his lips so she tried again. “You need to listen to my uncle. With that knot on your head, someone should keep an eye on you, at least for the next twenty-four hours, and since you live alone, this is the best place for you. Besides, I believe you live in an apartment above your shop, is that correct?”

“Yes, but—”

Uncle Grover joined the debate. “Even if you could make that climb to the second floor—” his tone made it clear that was doubtful “—it’s not something you should be doing right now, not in your condition.”

Verity saw Mr. Cooper’s jaw tighten at the phrase “in your condition.”

“If need be I can bunk downstairs in the shop for a few days.”

“Young man, now you’re just being stubborn.”

“Besides,” Verity added, “we have a nice comfortable bed right through there.” She waved to a door in the far wall.

“It’s just a sprained ankle. I’m not some sickly bed patient.”

So his irritation stemmed from a bit of male pride. “Of course you’re not. We just want to make certain we take good care of you. Besides, meals are provided, and I promise you Aunt Betty’s cooking is something to look forward to. She has a pot of chicken and dumplings on the stove for lunch today.”

Without giving their patient a chance to argue further, Uncle Grover turned to Verity and nodded to one of the cabinets. “Please fetch Mr. Cooper something more comfortable to wear while I prepare a draught for him. Then you’ll need to step out so he can change.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the clothes I have on.”

Was the man going to fight them every step of the way?

“I was being polite,” Uncle Grover said. “Your shirt is now rags and the rest of your clothing is the worse for wear and, not to put too fine a point on it, filthy. For the sake of your health, and my niece’s and wife’s sensibilities, you need to change. There’s a clean nightshirt we keep here just for such circumstances.”

Verity hid a grin. Uncle Grover wasn’t averse to using a bit of blackmail to get his way, especially when he felt it was for his patient’s own good.

She placed a clean nightshirt on the table beside Mr. Cooper, then collected the soiled bandages and his discarded shirt and moved to the door. “I’ll take care of these and let Aunt Betty know we’ll have an occupant in the infirmary.”

Uncle Grover nodded absently. “Thank you, my dear.”

With a breezy smile for the still-glaring Mr. Cooper, she sailed out the door and closed it behind her.

She had to admit, she was pleased by the idea that Mr. Cooper would be under their roof a bit longer. It would give her an opportunity to get to know him better. Because she felt that the two of them were linked now in some intangible but very real way.

Partly because he’d saved her daughter’s life.

And partly because she felt that little tug of attraction whenever she was around him.

* * *

Nate swallowed down the unpleasant-tasting draught Dr. Pratt handed him without a word, but refused the man’s offer to help him change clothes. After the doctor made his exit, Nate frowned at the oversize nightshirt. This day had certainly taken an unexpected turn. It wasn’t a very auspicious milestone on the road to his fresh start.

Then again, it hadn’t been all bad. Getting to know Mrs. Leggett better certainly hadn’t been an unpleasant experience. Of course, she seemed to think of him as either a patient or hero, neither of which sat well with him.

Best not to think on how he wanted her to think of him, though. With a huff of frustration, he snatched up the nightshirt.

Nate had barely finished changing when he heard a light tap on the door. Had the doctor forgotten something? But when he bade the person enter, it turned out to be Dr. Pratt’s niece, rather than the doctor himself.

Verity entered the room and gave him an approving smile. Then she moved purposefully across the room. “Now let me get you settled into the clinic’s guest room.”

“Guest room, is it? I feel as if I was coerced rather than invited to stay there.” He watched her, admiring her efficient movements.

“Oh, come now, it’s not such a hardship to stay with us here, is it?”

How did he answer that? “I know you’re doing what you think best.” He offered her a half grin. “And guest room does sound friendlier than infirmary.”

His answer seemed to satisfy her, but she dropped the subject. Instead she waved a hand toward a door across from the one through which she’d entered. “Our clinic guest room has comfortable beds for long-term patients. Fortunately, it’s not in use right now so you’ll have it all to yourself.” She pulled a wheeled chair out from a corner of the room and pushed it over to him.

Ah, well, he supposed a conveyance that allowed him to sit up was preferable to that stretcher again.

She stood beside the examination table, obviously prepared to assist him.

“Where’s your uncle?”

“He was called out to tend to another patient. Don’t worry, I can get you situated.” She moved closer to the examination table. “Just place a hand on my shoulder for support.”

He didn’t much relish the idea of treating her like a support post, but it didn’t look as if he had much choice. “Thank you.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, finding it both firm and soft at the same time. And then he caught the faint scent of honeysuckle again—it was all he could do not to inhale deeply.

Perhaps accepting her help wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

He carefully slipped from the table, using her shoulder for balance more than support, then slid into the chair.

As soon as she saw that he was settled in, she moved behind the chair and set it in motion. “Don’t worry, we’ll see that you’re made as comfortable as possible.”

“I don’t doubt that, but my shop—”

“Taken care of. I already asked Sheriff Gleason to have someone keep an eye on it so no one will be bothering it. If you’ll let me know where you keep your key, I can go by a little later and lock it up for you.”

The woman was nothing if not efficient. “But that doesn’t take care of my dog.”

“Oh, my.” He heard the dismay in her voice. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Then, as they crossed into the other room, “Of course we must see to your dog.” There was a short pause where he could almost feel the wheels turning in her mind. “I suppose I’ll just have to bring him here until you’re well enough to go home.”

From the way she said that, he could tell she wasn’t particularly happy about it. Did she blame Beans for the accident? “Perhaps I should just go home after all.”

“Nonsense. Joy has been after me for ages to get her a pet. You wouldn’t want to deny her this taste of what it would be like, would you?”

Before he could respond, she moved on. “I don’t imagine you could do much work for the next day or two, anyway. And for that I’m truly sorry. It’s a poor reward for your valiant rescue.”

He wished she’d quit bringing up terms like rescue and hero. She was right about his condition, though. He certainly didn’t want to put out shoddy work by doing things one-handed. Nevertheless, it was frustrating to have to shut down his shop right now.

But he was suddenly feeling lethargic. Was it a delayed effect of his injuries? “Perhaps, just for today then. As to your question about the key, I keep it next to the till during the day.”

Mrs. Leggett parked the chair next to one of two comfortable-looking beds. She turned down the coverlet, then straightened and faced him again. “Now let me help you into bed.”

He nodded. While he was certain he could accomplish the task on his own, he found himself not quite so reluctant to accept her help this time.

She placed a hand around his waist as he stood, then helped him ease over to the bed. Once he’d swung his legs into the bed, she fussily arranged the light coverlet over him.

“There now.” She stepped back. “That draught Uncle Grover gave you should help ease your pain and also help you to sleep, which is the best thing for you right now. We’ll talk again when you wake up.”

A sleeping draught? No wonder his lids were feeling heavy.

She pointed to a cord that hung in easy reach of the bed. “If you need anything, pull that cord. It’ll ring a bell in the house and one of us will be right in to see what you need.”

He tried to watch as she bustled about the room, but his eyelids were getting heavier. She pulled the curtains closed, cocooning the room in shadow. He lost sight of her for a moment, then suddenly she was there bending over him. “One last question. I’m afraid your trousers and shirt are in a sorry state. Would you like me to get you a fresh change of clothes when I fetch your dog?”

Were they really talking about his clothing now? “I suppose. They’re in the wardrobe in my bedchamber.”

She smoothed the covers over his chest one more time, and the gesture brought him back to a time when his family had been intact and his world had been pleasant and uncomplicated.

“Sleep now,” she said softly. “We’ll talk again when you wake up.”

So he did.

* * *

Verity softly closed the door behind her. Mr. Cooper was a true hero in her book—literally a godsend to her and Joy. She was only sorry he’d paid such a steep price for his quick action and bravery. If only there was something she could do to make certain his business didn’t suffer for his absence.

She headed for the kitchen, where she found Joy and Aunt Betty preparing lunch. Verity still felt the need to reassure herself that her baby was okay.

Aunt Betty looked up. “How’s our patient doing?”

“He’s settled in the infirmary.” Verity moved to stand behind Joy’s chair and placed a hand lightly on the girl’s shoulder. “Hopefully he’ll sleep for a few hours.”

Her aunt nodded. “Poor man. Sleep’s the best thing for him.”

“Before he fell asleep, he reminded me that he has a dog.” Joy’s head went up at the mention of the animal. “I assured him I’d see to it while he’s laid up.” She gave her aunt a diffident look. “I can check on it several times during the day, of course. But I was wondering what you would think about my bringing the animal here instead. I know Uncle Grover doesn’t like house pets, but it’s a small dog, so it shouldn’t be much trouble.”

Her aunt hesitated for just a moment, then spoke. “Of course you should bring it here. I’m sure your uncle will agree, it’s the least we can do for the man who saved our little Joy.”

“Thank you.” Relieved, Verity rushed to reassure her aunt. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure the animal doesn’t get in your or Uncle Grover’s way.”

Aunt Betty gave her a gently chiding look. “Verity dear, this is your and Joy’s home now, too. You must learn to treat it as such.”

Only it wasn’t, not really. Verity felt that longing again to have a house of her very own. If only she could open a millinery shop with some assurance it wouldn’t fail.

Joy, who was practically squirming in her seat, looked up. “Are you really going to get Beans?”

Verity smiled at the hopeful expression on her daughter’s face. “I am. Would you like to come with me?”

Joy immediately slid from her chair. “Yes, ma’am.”

As she and Joy headed out a few minutes later, Verity found herself moving with a bounce in her step. She tried to tell herself that it was just an eagerness to get this errand taken care of, but she knew better. Was it wrong of her to be so intrigued by the idea of getting a peek at Mr. Cooper’s lodgings?

Then she pulled her shoulders back. Of course not. It was nothing more than a natural urge to learn more about the man who’d saved her daughter’s life.

Or at least that’s what she told herself.

Chapter Five

Obviously excited by the idea of seeing Beans again, Joy chattered all the way to Mr. Cooper’s place. Fortunately, most of her comments were directed to her doll, Lulu, and didn’t require a response from Verity. She kept firm hold of her daughter’s hand the whole time, but her mind kept drifting to thoughts of what Mr. Cooper’s place might look like and if it would provide new insights into the man himself.

When they arrived, Verity spotted Calvin Hendricks seated on the bench that sat between the apothecary and the saddle shop. Calvin was a local youth who was fast approaching adulthood. Apparently he’d been the one tapped by Sheriff Gleason to keep an eye on Mr. Cooper’s shop.

“Hi there, Miz Leggett.” Calvin stood, then turned to her daughter. “And hello, Joy. I sure am glad to see you walking around and looking good as new.”

“Mr. Cooper saved me,” Joy said, as if it was momentous news. Which, as far as Verity was concerned, it was.

“That he did. And it was right heroic of him, too.” Calvin turned back to Verity. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s got some painful bruises, a gash on his arm and a sprained ankle, but thankfully nothing that won’t heal. Uncle Grover stitched him up and he’s resting at the clinic.” She waved toward the saddle shop. “I’m here to fetch his dog and a change of clothes, and to get his key so we can lock the place up.”

Calvin nodded. “Anything I can help with?”

“Thank you, but no. It shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes.”

“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be right out here.” And the youth sat back down on the bench, as if to demonstrate he wasn’t going anywhere.

Verity opened the shop door and stepped inside. She and Joy were immediately greeted by a yipping ball of excited dog. Joy stooped down to greet the animal and quickly had her face washed in doggie kisses.

Verity carefully closed the door behind them, unwilling to risk Beans running out and Joy following him in a repeat of the earlier mishap.

Deciding to tackle the matter of clothing first, she headed toward the stairs at the back of the shop. She slowly crossed the room, studying her surroundings with keen interest. The place had a definite masculine feel—all leather and wood and metal.

Harnesses and leather straps of various lengths and widths hung from pegs on the wall to her right. There was a worktable to her left. A selection of tools, most of which she didn’t recognize, were displayed there. They were neatly arranged and organized, though his system wasn’t immediately obvious. She imagined him working here, wearing the heavy canvas apron that hung on a peg behind the table, his head bent over his work, his strong, callused hands wielding those strange tools, his arresting blue eyes focused on his work.

The smell of leather hung heavy in the room, so strong she could almost taste it. Under that scent, she could also detect the aroma of oil and just a faint tang of metal.

Only when she reached the bottom of the stairs did Verity realize her daughter hadn’t followed her. Appalled by her lack of attention so soon after Joy’s accident, she spun around. “Come along,” she said, holding out her hand. “We need to fetch something from Mr. Cooper’s room upstairs.”

Joy’s lower lip pushed out in something suspiciously like a pout. “But I want to stay down here and play with Beans.”

“Beans can come with us.”

Her daughter’s expression cleared. “Okay.” She stood and waved to the dog. “Come on, Beans.”

The dog obediently trotted at her heels, then bounded up the stairs with her.

The staircase led up to a landing that had an open sitting room straight ahead and a kitchen to the right. The rooms were stark, with only a bare minimum of furniture. Perhaps Mr. Cooper just hadn’t had the time, or the funds, to do much more. But surely he would have brought some personal possessions with him, from his former home.

There was a door off to her left that she assumed led to his bedchamber. “Joy, you and Beans can play right over there. I won’t be but a minute.”

She marched to the door, then hesitated before opening it. It suddenly seemed invasive to enter his private space, even if she did have his permission. Which was silly. She was only going to fetch him a change of clothing and then leave. And she did have his permission to be here, after all.

Verity opened the door and stepped inside. A quick glance around showed a neatly made bed, a wooden chair and a small bedside table. On the opposite wall was a trunk and the wardrobe. Everything looked as if it had seen better days.

She noticed a picture on the bedside table, and her curiosity got the best of her. She went closer and discovered it was the image of a young woman. She was quite lovely, in a delicate, fragile sort of way. Her clothes were fine quality, her heart-shaped face very sweet and delicate. She had an ethereal quality to her and seemed to be everything Verity was not. Was this the kind of woman Mr. Cooper admired?

Who was she? She was obviously someone who meant a great deal to him as it was the only picture, the only personal item really, in the room. A family member? A sweetheart? And where was she now?

Verity straightened abruptly and turned away. What was she doing? She had no right to snoop into Mr. Cooper’s personal life. He’d given her permission to take care of some necessities for him, not snoop into things that were none of her business. She marched to the wardrobe, grabbed a clean shirt and pair of trousers, then headed back out.

“Come along, Joy, time to go.”

As she descended the stairs she thought how different his clothing smelled from what Arthur’s had. Where her husband’s had smelled of antiseptic, soap and cigars, Mr. Cooper’s smelled of leather, of course, but also soap and something faintly woodsy.

She decided that she liked it.

* * *

Nate woke from his nap to see flowers floating in front of his eyes. What in the world—

Was he still dreaming?

“Do you like them?”

The flowers, which he now saw were in a glass jar, floated to the side and the little girl holding them finally came into view.

“Well, hello there, Joy. Does your mother know you’re in here?”

“I just wanted to give you these,” she said, not answering his question. She held the flowers out toward him a little more. “Do you like them?” she asked again.

“They’re lovely.”

Apparently this was the correct response, because her face split with a grin. “They’re for you. From me and Lulu.” She proudly held them out to him.

“Why, thank you. But who’s Lulu?”

The child held out her doll. “My dolly.”

He looked the doll in the “eyes.” “Very nice to meet you, Lulu.” Then he turned back to Joy. “The flowers are nice, but may I ask why you are giving me such a nice gift?”

“You rescued me and Lulu. You’re a hero.”

There was that word again. “It was my pleasure. But little girls really shouldn’t play in the street.”

“That’s what Mama told me, too.” Her tone wasn’t particularly penitent. “But I wasn’t really playing in the street. I was trying to catch Buttons.”

“Buttons?”

“That’s Miss Hazel’s cat. He likes to have me chase him.”

Nate let the girl’s interpretation of the cat’s motives stand. But he had a feeling Mrs. Leggett was going to have her hands full raising this one. “I see. But you still shouldn’t have gone out in the street.”

Joy pursed her lips in a stubborn line. Then she smiled. “I’ll put your flowers right here on the table where you can see them whenever you want to.” She put words to action, then came back to stand beside him. “Everyone is saying you’re a hero. What’s a hero?”

Now, how was he supposed to answer that? “First of all, I’m not a hero. I was just the first one to get to you. But to answer your question, a hero is a person who does something for other people who need help, without worrying about what it might cost him.”

“Oh.” She pondered that for a while then waved toward his bandaged arm. “Does it hurt a lot?”

He was touched by the worried look in her eyes. “I’ve had worse.”

She hugged her doll to her chest. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?”

Another tricky question. He studied her woefully guilty expression, wondering how best to answer her. But before he could say anything, Joy spoke again.

“I’m sorry. And Lulu’s sorry, too.”

He smiled. “Apology accepted.”

She brightened and changed the subject. “Beans is in the kitchen with Aunt Betty. We gave him some of the scraps from lunch. Me and Mama brought him here so he could be close to you. Do you want me to go get him for you?”

“Not right now—”

The door opened behind the little girl, and Mrs. Leggett came in carrying a tray. He sat up straighter, his stomach reacting to the delectable aromas with a rude rumble.

Mrs. Leggett, however, was staring at her daughter rather than him. “Joy, what are you doing in here?”

Her daughter looked at her as if that was a particularly silly question and waved toward the makeshift posy. “I brought Mr. Cooper some flowers, see? You said we should always thank people who do nice things for us.”

He saw the woman struggle with whether or not to chastise the girl. “True,” she said, finally. “But bothering Mr. Cooper is not a good way to thank him. I hope you didn’t wake him from his nap.”

“She wasn’t bothering me,” Nate said quickly. “I woke up on my own. But it was nice to have such a pretty face to wake up to.”

And nicer still to have Mrs. Leggett’s smiling presence here with him. Even if that smile was currently directed at her daughter.

* * *

Verity smiled as Joy preened at Mr. Cooper’s compliment. He was a much more thoughtful man than she’d first assumed. She set down her tray and turned back to Joy. “We’ll discuss this later. Why don’t you go check on Beans?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Before heading for the door, Joy turned back to the patient. “Thank you again for saving my life, Mr. Cooper. And I think you’re wrong. You really are a hero.” And with those words she skipped out of the room.

Once Joy disappeared out the door, Verity turned to her daughter’s rescuer and shook her head. “I’m afraid Joy is much too impulsive. I hope she wasn’t bothering you.”

“Not at all.” He sat up straighter and she hurried to his side, setting the tray down and plumping pillows behind him. All part of being a nurse.

He inhaled deeply. “Whatever you brought in with you smells wonderful.”

“It’s that bowl of my aunt Betty’s chicken and dumplings I promised you. I thought you might be ready for something to eat.”

He smiled and she liked the way it softened his entire face. “You thought correctly.”

Verity lifted a napkin from the tray and handed it to him, then carefully set the tray on his lap. “How’s this?”

“Fine, thank you.”

Then, as she took the spoon, he frowned. “There’s no need for you to wait on me.”

“Are you sure?” She’d been rather looking forward to feeding him. “I know your arm and shoulder are injured.”

“Just on my left side. My right arm is fine.”

“Very well.” She surrendered the spoon reluctantly. But for some reason she wasn’t quite ready to leave. After all, she needed to keep an eye on him to gauge his condition.

“I locked up your shop when I fetched Beans,” she said. Then she waved a hand to the small dresser across from his bed. “Your change of clothes is in the upper drawer and the key is on top.”

“Thank you.” He scooped up another spoonful of the chicken and dumplings, his gaze never leaving hers. “How long did I sleep?”

“About four hours. It’s after one o’clock.”

He grimaced and she hurried to reassure him.

“No, that’s a good thing. You needed the rest. It helps you to heal faster.” He didn’t appear convinced, so she changed the subject. “How does your leg feel?”

“Better.”

Not a very descriptive answer. “Uncle Grover should be in shortly to change the dressing on your arm and also have another look at your other injuries.”

“Perhaps then he’ll see that I can manage well enough to go home.”

Why was he in such a hurry to leave them? There certainly wasn’t anyone at his place to rush home to. Instead of responding to his comment, however, she crossed the room to open the curtains. “Let’s let a little more light in here, shall we?”

When she returned to his side, she lifted the tray with the now empty bowl and smiled down at him. “Would you like some more?”

“Not now, thank you. But please relay my compliments to your aunt. That was very good, especially compared to my own cooking.”

Was he dismissing her? Perhaps he wanted to rest some more. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

He seemed to hesitate a moment, then raised a brow in question. “Something to read perhaps?”

That was unexpected. “Of course. What sort of books do you like?”

“What do you have on hand?”

“I’m afraid Uncle Grover’s library consists mostly of medical tomes and journals. I believe Aunt Betty has some books of poetry and some devotionals. I have a volume of poetry, some Shakespeare, Dickens and a few of Mr. Twain’s novels. And of course some children’s stories for Joy. Oh, and I think I also still have a copy of yesterday’s Turnabout Gazette if you haven’t seen it.” She waved a hand. “If none of that is of interest, I’d be glad to find you something at Abigail’s library. Just let me know what sorts of books appeal to you.”

“I’ve read Shakespeare and Dickens. Perhaps I’ll try Twain. And I believe I will take a look at the Gazette.”

Apparently he was well educated. Now that she thought on it, there was a certain refinement that crept into his speech from time to time. It embarrassed her that she’d made so many wrong assumptions about this man. She should know better than to jump to judgments.

“I’ll fetch the book and newspaper for you as soon as I put away these dishes. Can I do anything else for you?”

After his No, thank you response, Verity made her exit and slowly headed toward the parlor, where most of the family’s books were located. Her thoughts, though, were on Mr. Cooper rather than her errand.

There was still a faint air of something less than welcoming simmering below the surface in this man, a feeling of standoffishness. But for some reason it didn’t scare her away—in fact it had just the opposite effect. She was beginning to see him as a brave, honorable, well-educated person who just needed someone to teach him to trust enough to open up.

If he had a wilder side to him, well, he seemed to have it well controlled. And that was a sign of maturity and responsibility, wasn’t it?

* * *

The sound of a tap at the door pulled Nate from his reading. One thing he could say for this place, they respected a person’s privacy. Which, after his time in prison, was another thing he’d never take for granted again.

He sat up straighter. “Come in.”

Mrs. Leggett stuck her head in the doorway. “You have a visitor, but if you’d prefer to rest I can ask him to come back at another time.”

There was only one person here in Turnabout who would be visiting him. “Not at all. Show him in.”

She gave him an assessing look, as if gauging his condition, then nodded and withdrew.

Sure enough, Adam Barr strolled through the open door a few minutes later.

“Hope I’m not disturbing you,” his friend said, “but Dr. Pratt said you’re up for visitors.”

Nate waved Adam to a chair near the bed. “Actually, other than being a bit banged up, I’m fine. I’d be back home if it was up to me, but Dr. Pratt practically strong-armed me into staying.”

“He cares about his patients,” Adam said. Then he grinned. “Are the ladies of the house smothering you with kindness?”

Smothering wasn’t exactly the word he’d use, but he let it stand. “It’s a definite change from what I’ve been used to.”

“A little female attention is never a bad thing.” Then Adam leaned back. “I hear you’ve become something of a town hero as of this morning.”

Nate grimaced. “I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. You and I both know there’s nothing heroic about me.”

Adam frowned. “I know nothing of the sort. In fact, I have good reason to believe otherwise.” He stroked the faded scar on his cheek, a reminder to both of them of how they’d met—in a prison fight.

When Adam had entered prison all those years ago, Nate had already been there six months. That first day, a couple of the more hardened inmates had cornered the new arrival as he exited the food line and Nate had weighed in to even the odds. The two had been friends ever since.

“That was just me looking for a fight—nothing more.”

“That’s not how I saw it.” Adam crossed his arms and gave Nate a drawn-brow look. “Besides, I spent time in prison, too. Do you think that makes me less capable of acting heroically?”

Nate gave a sharp, dismissive wave. “You didn’t belong there. I did.”

That was one reason, besides his own selfish desire to be free of his past mistakes, that he couldn’t reveal to the townsfolk that he’d spent time in prison. Because, since folks knew that he and Adam were already acquainted, any confession on his part might cause speculation about Adam’s own past.

“You had your reasons for what you did.” Adam shrugged. “But be that as it may, you served your time, so your debt is paid. And everyone deserves a second chance.”

He had come to Turnabout looking for a fresh start, a place to begin again without the anchor of his past to weigh him down. Knowing that his friend believed in him allowed him to have faith that he might be able to pull it off.

He just wished he felt as if he deserved this second chance. He knew the Good Lord had forgiven him long ago, but he was still having trouble forgiving himself.

Then Adam changed the subject. “So how long do you plan to lie around here lollygagging?”

“Assuming Dr. Pratt doesn’t tie me to my bed, I’m heading back to my place in the morning.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be in too big a hurry. I hear Mrs. Pratt is quite a cook.”

“You’ve heard correctly. I’ve already sampled her chicken and dumplings and it has my own cooking beat by a mile.” Then he turned serious. “Which reminds me, would you mind letting Mrs. Ortolon know I may not be able to help her at the boardinghouse for the next several days?” He touched the bandage on his arm. “I definitely won’t be swinging an ax anytime soon.” He’d been doing odd jobs at the boardinghouse in the evenings for meals and pocket change to help him get by until his business was better established.

“I’m sure she already knows, but I’ll stop by when I leave here.”

“Thanks.” Nate brushed at a bit of lint on his coverlet. “Mrs. Leggett—she’s a widow, I take it.”

“She is. Her husband died a little over a year ago. She and Joy moved back here shortly after it happened.”

Some time had passed, then. Of course, he knew from his own experience that one never totally “got over” the death of a loved one. “So she wasn’t living here when he passed away.” He hoped she’d had friends, people she could lean on, around her.

Adam shook his head then shifted in his seat. “There’s something you should probably know if you’re going to be around Mrs. Leggett much—her husband’s passing wasn’t peaceful. He died of a gunshot.”

Nate froze for a moment as that sunk in. That must have been horrific for her. Had she witnessed it? Had Joy?

Then Adam cleared his throat and gave him a look that had a touch of sympathy in it. “It happened during a bank robbery.”

Nate dropped back against his pillow as all the implications of that news thundered down around him like a rockslide.

Chapter Six

After Adam had gone, Nate retrieved his book, but he didn’t open it immediately.

Adam’s revelation changed everything. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t trespass on this family’s hospitality any longer than he already had, couldn’t bear to have Mrs. Leggett look at him with that admiration and gratitude, not knowing what he now knew.

Injured ankle or no, he’d make it back to his place. He just wished he’d thought to ask Adam to bring a wagon around to transport him.

Deciding to test his mobility, Nate threw off the bedcovers and stood, putting all his weight on his good leg.

Before he could try taking a step, there was another tap at the door. He clenched his jaw and sat back down on the bed, but left both feet on the floor. It might not be Mrs. Leggett. It could be Dr. Pratt or even Adam, returning to say something he’d forgotten earlier. “Come in.”

But, of course, it was Mrs. Leggett. She halted just inside the doorway and frowned at him. “What are you doing up?”

His frustration and guilt spilled out before he could stop them. “For goodness’ sake—I have a sprained ankle, not a bullet in my chest.”

Her recoil brought him up short. None of this was her fault. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired of being treated like an invalid.”

She recovered quickly. “Of course. But you do know that you have to take it easy if you want to heal properly, don’t you?”

“I do. But I don’t take well to mollycoddling. In fact, I can get absolutely churlish. Which is why I should head on back to my place now.”

That set her back again. “Nonsense. We’ve already agreed that you should spend the night here. Nothing’s changed.”

Oh, but it had. In fact, everything had changed. “I know what I said earlier. But now that I’ve had my rest, I’m thinking clearer and I believe it’s better if I go on home.” He shifted, feeling at a distinct disadvantage dressed in this ridiculous nightshirt.

She crossed her arm like a schoolmarm confronting an unreasonable child. “Uncle Grover, as an experienced physician, would certainly know better than you how to deal with your injuries. And he has stated that it’s important for someone to keep an eye on you for at least twenty-four hours.”

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