His Substitute Wife. Dorothy Clark

her, taken aback by her sensible detailed answer. “I see.”

      Pink spread across her cheekbones. “Forgive me, Blake. I got carried away—”

      “Not at all. I appreciate you explaining a woman’s thoughts on such things to me.” He shifted his gaze away from her face. Linda had never blushed like that. It was surprisingly touching. “I will move the dry goods. Where would you suggest?”

      “Me?”

      He nodded at the gasped word. “You must have had a place in mind.” The shock on her face turned to dismay.

      “No, I didn’t. Truly! I only noticed the darkness of the corner. I wasn’t trying to—”

      “But you would place the dry goods at the front of the store?”

      “Well...yes. But—”

      “Where?”

      She stared at him a moment, then walked to a tool-covered table situated at the left front corner of the room. “I would put them here—in the natural light from the window. And—” Her teeth caught at her lower lip. She glanced at him, then looked away and gave a small, dismissive wave of her hand.

      “And what?”

      “Nothing. I’m sorry, Blake. Please forgive me for being so bold as to offer you advice on your store. I have no experience as a shopkeeper.” She smoothed her skirt, looked toward the door. “Shall we go now?”

      “Not yet. I’d like to hear what you were thinking.” The dismayed look returned to her face.

      “It was nothing of importance. I only thought...” Her shoulders squared. She waved her hand toward the window. “If you feel you could spare the space, you might want to put a bolt of fabric and a basket of notions, ribbons and such in the window.” She glanced toward the shelves behind the long counter. “And perhaps one of those large ironstone pitchers... And a pewter candlestick... And perhaps a crock of that marmalade...” She met his gaze again. “My thought was—with only tools and hardware items in the window—how are the women passengers to know the store sells things they may want or need?”

      “How indeed?” He pushed aside his shock at her astute suggestions, focused his attention on the window. “You make excellent sense, Audrey. A few household items in the display would draw a woman’s eye. I believe I will make those changes before I—we go to the depot to talk to Asa.” He strode to the back table, lifted the bolts of fabric and carried them to the counter. “Which would you suggest for the window?”

      Her expression brightened. She hurried to his side, touched a rose silk, an apple-green organdy with a delicate white embroidered flower trim at the edge, then sighed and shifted her hand. “This blue taffeta. Most women are partial to blue.”

      He stared down at the taffeta the color of Linda’s eyes, fought back memories of her gazing up at him through her long lashes and shook his head. “I’ll use the green.” The words came out more brusque than he’d intended.

      Audrey withdrew her hand, stepped back. “Forgive me, Blake. I—I didn’t think about—”

      “No reason why you should.” He cleared the gruffness from his throat, looked over at her and read the understanding in her eyes. “What happened, happened, Audrey. You had no part in it, and you’ve no reason to keep apologizing because of my...feelings. I’ll get over them.” He headed back to the dry goods table.

      Will I? Will I ever forget the feel of Linda in my arms? Will the longing to hold her and kiss her, to have her for my own, ever go away? He stared down at the baskets and clenched his hands to keep from throwing them at the wall, busting the table in pieces and walking out the door to never return. It would cost him all he had to leave, but he could find employment, make his way somehow. At least he would be away from all these things that brought back the memory of his plans for a life with Linda. But he had Audrey to think of now. She had come all this way to save his store for him; he couldn’t walk out on the debt he owed her for that. He had to figure out a plan that would release them both from this sham of a marriage!

      His temple throbbed. He unclenched his hands, piled the baskets one atop the other and carried them to the counter. Audrey had that stricken look in her eyes again. He groped for something to take her mind off Linda and their situation. “Show me where you would place the things in the window and I’ll clear the spot. If you’re of a mind to, you can put the things you suggested there while I finish switching the goods on the tables.”

      She nodded, picked up the bolt of green organdy and followed him down the length of the counter toward the window. “I think it would be good to put them in the center front, where those saws are—if that’s all right?”

      “Makes sense.” It was the best response he could manage. He lifted the saws out of the window and carried them to the storage room, fighting the swelling pain of betrayal.

      * * *

      “I’ll tell them if I ain’t too busy—or they ain’t.”

      What an officious little man! Audrey held her smile and stared back at the stationmaster peering out at them, his balding gray head and slumped shoulders framed by the ticket window in the depot wall.

      “But I can’t promise you. Things get busier than a hornet’s nest ’round here when a train stops. Them conductors only got but twenty minutes to get any messages from dispatch, see to their passengers and the loadin’ and unloadin’ of freight before they’re out of here. And we got to see to the consignments and waybills. And I got the telegraph and all.”

      Blake nodded, let go of her arm and shoved his fingers through his hair. “I understand you have a job to do, Asa. And I know it’s against the Union Pacific rules for any signs to be placed on their stations. But I was wondering if a small one sitting here at the window would be acceptable? That would—”

      “I’m afraid not. Rule says clear, no signs nowhere on the property. There’s the telegraph! Got to answer it.” The balding gray head dipped her direction. “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Latherop.”

      “And you, Mr. Marsh.” She was talking to air. The stationmaster had slipped off his stool and disappeared. Clicking sounds drifted out of the open ticket window.

      “Well, that puts paid to that idea.” Blake frowned, grasped her elbow and turned toward the steps. “I’ll have to wait for the train passengers’ patronage until I get the store sign made. A large sign, big enough to be read from here. I’ll hang it on the board across the top of the porch.”

      “And that will teach Mr. Marsh there is more than one way to skin a cat!”

      Blake jerked to a stop. His eyebrows rose. “‘Skin a cat’? Why, Audrey Prescott...er Latherop. You’ve read Major Jack Downing’s adventures!”

      She lifted her chin. “Hasn’t everyone?”

      His smile turned into a grin—the crooked kind he used to wear when he teased her about something. “Men, yes. But I don’t know any other women who read Seba Smith. They read Godey’s Lady’s Book.” The grin faded with his words. He released her arm, looked off into the distance.

      Godey’s Lady’s Book. Linda’s favorite—for fashion. Linda didn’t read the articles. She took a breath and prepared to throw herself on the sacrificial pyre of Blake’s teasing. Anything to draw his thoughts back away from her sister. “Father and I read Major Downing’s adventures together. We discussed them over his morning coffee.” Blake didn’t respond. She moved closer to the edge of the platform, looked down the dirt road to the beginning of the town and returned to their purpose in coming to the depot.

      “A large sign will be easily read from here, Blake. And I’m certain one will draw the passengers to your store.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, then lifted her hems and walked down the steps. “Twenty minutes is a long time to simply stand around this station trying not to get in the way of the other passengers or the train crew. And the short walk will be inviting to those