Last Chance Wife. Janette Foreman

strange smile lifted his lips, one she didn’t know how to read. Then he cleared his throat. “If I come across a letter for you, I’ll direct it there. Your name, ma’am?”

      “Winifred Sattler.” Why, oh, why couldn’t she disguise the tremor in her voice?

      Muttering a farewell, she took to the street, weaving through passersby and breathing in dust without really noticing it as she returned to the Golden Star Mine. With every step, her heart plummeted farther into her gut. The realization that somehow her letter had been mailed washed over her again and again until all she wanted to do was sink into a mine shaft and disappear forever.

      What had he thought of her? While the poor man had used an unfortunately phrased ad to seek a wife, that did not mean he deserved to be barraged with the bitter sentiments of a jaded woman. The valise bounced against her hip as she walked, almost like it begged her to look inside at his reply.

      Why had he written her back? To berate her, lash out at her careless words? No one spoke to strangers in such a forthright way, least of all through formal written correspondence.

      At least she hadn’t used her real name, so he couldn’t hunt her down in person. As her feet hit the long wooden walkway that led to the shop’s door, she glanced at the sky and groaned. “Lord, please help me know what to do now.”

      “Miss Sattler?”

      Having just stepped over the threshold, Winifred gasped at the sound of her name. She hid her bag behind her as if she’d been caught with pilfered goods. Mr. Burke stood at the counter. He raised one brow at her jittery response, so she forced a smile. No reason to look guilty in front of her employer. She’d done nothing wrong. He acted suspicious of her enough as it was—the last thing she needed was for him to think she’d been up to something.

      * * *

      Ewan felt the smooth wooden counter beneath his fingertips, hoping the action would calm his irritation. Kindness, regardless of affliction.

      Miss Sattler scrambled into the store in a manner not unlike a little whirlwind. Commonplace behavior for her, it seemed. “I’m not late, am I?”

      He glanced at the small clock perched on a shelf. “No, you’re on time.”

      “Oh.” Miss Sattler relaxed her shoulders and made her way to the counter, then slipped her bag beneath it, out of sight. “I had to...run an errand.”

      Did a blush color her cheeks? She was permitted to run errands in her free time, so why the embarrassment? And why had she paused in her explanation? “Miss Sattler, I need to discuss something very important with you.”

      Miss Sattler brushed a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear and exhaled, like she needed to calm herself before listening to what Ewan had to say.

      Ewan stepped away from the counter. “Please explain to me what you’ve done with my store.”

      Miss Sattler stared at him, wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”

      Did she honestly not know, or was she pretending? “You moved things.” He strolled into the room, touching merchandise as he went. “The potatoes, the dry goods, the shovels...”

      Miss Sattler hastened to open the curtains in the front windows. “You walked through here last night as I rearranged and didn’t say a word about it, so I figured it was fine.”

      He flicked her a glare. Had he really been that preoccupied? “I wouldn’t give permission to move my merchandise. You’re supposed to watch the store, take customers’ money. Not fiddle with design.”

      “I was bored. I needed something to do.”

      Ewan almost laughed. “Then mop the floors or dust the shelves.” He gestured toward the mop and broom propped in the corner behind the counter. “There is plenty you could do, but do not touch my arrangement again under any circumstance.”

      “All right, I’m sorry.” Throwing up her hands, she yanked the broom from behind the counter, giving vent to her obviously building nerves. “Although I fail to see why it’s a problem.”

      “It’s a problem because this store needs to be in pristine condition. It’s the public face of the mine.” And, right now, a major source of income to keep the whole business afloat.

      “My point exactly.” She paused midsweep to look at him, maintaining eye contact surprisingly well. “People like things that are new and fresh. Isn’t it dull to go into a store that always looks exactly the same? And the current arrangement didn’t make sense, so I fixed it.”

      Ewan narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t make sense?” He’d put a lot of thought into where things went. “Tell me, have you decorated a store with success in the past?”

      “Really, Mr. Burke, the shovels by the onion bulbs?” Her thin hand gestured at the basket near the door.

      He folded his arms in return. “That makes perfect sense.”

      “No, shovels should be with other mining supplies.”

      “Or with gardening supplies, where I put them, next to the onion bulbs.”

      She didn’t reply—only lowered her brows and stared at him. What emotion was that? Confusion or defiance?

      Ewan crossed the floor toward her, his shoulders feeling square and severe, like he’d been carved from wood. “Just...ask next time. In fact, there shouldn’t be a next time. I can’t allow this kind of whimsical nonsense to affect my business. It is my name on the line, not yours.”

      “Will switching a couple baskets and crates tarnish your reputation, Mr. Burke?”

      Ewan cocked his head and watched as fire ignited Miss Sattler’s cheeks while she focused on sweeping. Had he been too harsh? Might’ve been, to coax such sarcastic responses from her.

       Kindness, regardless of affliction.

      Turning away, Ewan ran a hand over his hair and then down over his mouth. When he faced her again, he worked to keep his voice lowered. “I apologize for speaking so harshly. I overreacted.”

      Miss Sattler stopped her sweeping and looked up.

      Exhaling, he reached the counter, facing her on the opposite side. “I don’t know why I feel compelled to tell you this, but it seems you need to understand what I’m up against—why every aspect of this business is crucially important to me. The Golden Star Mine sits on prime real estate. Our water rights are coveted by every mining camp downstream, and while our gold production isn’t where it should be yet, our current findings promise quite the delivery.”

      He paused, formulating his next sentence. Miss Sattler watched him with wide, interested eyes, nudging him to continue.

      “Right now, the store is a major source of income. A potentially steady source of income, when we don’t know what the yields will be in the mine from one day to the next. There are many other shops in town offering the same things, so nothing really makes us stand out—all we can do is offer good quality, fair prices and a pleasant shopping experience. Which means having all the goods right where people know they can find them. I must have complete control over what happens. I can’t afford to let anyone else handle it.”

      Miss Sattler set aside her broom. “Why do you need the store to supplement your mine’s earnings?”

      An innocent question, but it stung just the same. “I need capital to expand this mine into what it should be, but so far all of our proceeds go back into the business simply to stay afloat. There are veins in the mountain I’m sure will lead to large quantities of gold, but I don’t have enough resources yet to mine or process it. More machinery is needed, both inside the mine and out, and more drifts need to be driven. I’m currently seeking an investor to help me over this hurdle.”

      “Yes, you met with one the other day. It must be easy to find an investor in this town.”