Mail Order Bride: Winter (Bride For All Seasons 4)

“After all, I am a business owner, and a successful one, if I do say so myself,” Abigail continued, letting her announcement sink in while Hannah somewhat dazedly digested the words. “I know what is expected, how to manage, what needs to be done. And, confidentially, my dear, with my wealth and support I am able to wield a fair amount of influence in this town.”

“That’s—that’s true. All very true. It’s just—you’ll be dealing with men, Abby. Men who are used to a certain way of doing things, of keeping all the authority for themselves. They won’t easily accept a mere woman in their midst.”

Abigail’s smile reminded one of a cat sinking its chin into a bowl of rich sweet cream. “We’ll just have to change their minds. On behalf of all the women in Turnabout, Hannah, will you help me get started on this project?”

“Why, Abby, I’d be delighted to.” Hannah’s own crooked half-smile brought one dimple into play. “What did you have in mind?”

“The article—interview—first of all. Then a few words into the ear of your brother-in-law might be helpful, as well. Before I talk directly to him myself, of course. Because, if he could appoint me to fill the vacated post, then the council, and the town itself, might accept the situation more readily.”

“Done and done.” Eyes sparkling, Hannah reached out to shake Abigail’s hand, and the bargain was sealed. “This will be an exciting campaign, and I do believe you’ll turn this little metropolis upside down before things are over. I can’t wait for the fun to begin.”

Seeing the new vim and vigor in her friend that her plans had inspired was all the payment Abigail needed. “We’ll make a good partnership, Hannah.”

“I’m sure we will. And, now, Abby, it’s time for me to leave; I’ve taken up far too much of your time as it is. You have a whole houseful of guests to see to, and I—” the barest flutter of laughter, “well, I must get home to my cats.”

Chapter Fourteen

“MAY I TREAT YOU TO dinner, Ben?”

February temperatures were still cool enough to require a coat, and perhaps a hat, for any outdoor work. However, Ben, who had been helping his newest roustabout, Brent Wheeler, unload and transport heavy wooden crates stacked to the rim of Forrester’s buckboard, was sweating like a Trojan. He paused near the door of the storage room to swipe a shirt sleeve across his flushed and clammy face.

“Dinner, huh? Is it that time already?”

Hannah glanced down at the tiny jeweled timepiece pinned to her bodice. “Close enough.”

Breathing heavily from exertion, he swiped again. “Thought you were tied down to the Gazette office whilst Oliver went off gatherin’ news at the Sittin’ Eat.”

“Normally I am. Today—” she spread her gloved hands wide, with a disarming smile, “—today I am not. I hear the Sarsaparilla is serving some special concoction of mutton stew and brown peas.”

“Doncha believe it, Hannah. Wilbur is just givin’ a new name to somethin’ leftover. Yesterday it was lamb stew. With green peas. The whole mess has aged a trifle. Howsomever, I reckon I can always eat. Hey, Brent, give it a rest, boy,” he interrupted to call out to the teenager still straining his muscles. “Come on back about two o’clock, and we’ll set things to right.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Forrester, sir.” Taking his boss at his word, the young man saluted, hopped agilely down from his perch near the wagon’s seat, and immediately disappeared.

Ben, watching him go, grinned. “Havin’ these whippersnappers show such respect makes me feel old. Like I’ve got one foot in the grave.”

“He seems to be in a hurry,” Hannah observed. Had the ground not been semi-frozen, surely little puffs of dust would have been created by Brent’s hasty footsteps in the opposite direction.

“Yeah. He’s head over tincups in love with Bessie, over to the bakery. Reckon he’s been havin’ his noon meal there ever since I hired him. Many more cookies and cakes, and the kid will be too hefty to work here. So. Whatcha got in mind, sister-in-law?”

“Well, I had something rather private I wanted to discuss, soooo...”

“Huh.” Ben paused to consider, his fine greenish-brown eyes squinted just a little against the pale noonday sun as he looked off into the distance.

Tuesday, with milder temperatures and a whiff of spring in the air, brought men and women out in force: to shop, to congregate, to conduct whatever business must be done. Ben’s crowd of happy hooligans, his gray-haired or balding pot belly stove-sitters, were gossiping in their usual place. They had gotten adept at employing pipes and spittoons with equal dexterity, and tearing apart the reputations of anyone they could think of, while sprawled in the way of every serious customer attempting to navigate the store aisles.

“Tell you what.” He needed a third brush of his damp sleeve before continuing. “Let’s gwan to the house. Got privacy galore there; and, if Cam is restin’, well, I reckon we can scare up somethin’ to eat from somewhere. Just lemme get my jacket.”

She waited the necessary few minutes while he fetched outerwear, spoke a few words to Elvira about his destination, and rejoined Hannah. As they started off along the wooden sidewalk, she sniffed delightedly at the air and its whole motley mixture of scents, some pleasant, some not so much.

“And how is my sister?”

“Gettin’ along as good as can be expected. I’ll be relieved when that dirty dog Gabe gets back in town, though.”

“Dirty dog? Why is that?”

Ben shrugged his broad shoulders in their trapping of denim and cord. “Well, no, I reckon I ought not call him names. Every man should be able to go visit relatives, if he has a mind to. You got any idea when he’ll get his tail back in town?”

“Why ask me? Letty is the one you should be consulting.”