Last Chance Wife. Janette Foreman

and conducting a meeting?

      Mr. Burke stopped beside her, the brim of his hat shading his face from the morning light. “Farewell, gentlemen.”

      “Farewell,” one said over his shoulder, though his voice sounded tight. The other didn’t say anything, only shot Mr. Burke a narrowed look before they headed toward downtown Deadwood.

      Winifred tipped her head back to look up at her boss. “Who were they?”

      Mr. Burke stared after them. “Graham Young and his partner, Terrance Michaels.”

      Capitalists from California. She remembered him mentioning them before—a duo of cousins who’d bought up several establishments in the area. “I gather they wanted to buy us out?”

      “Yes, and they were most displeased to hear me say that my business is my business and will remain so.” Dropping his gaze to hers, he cocked his head to one side. “What are you doing?”

      She would ignore his lack of courtesy. “I thought I’d pull weeds while I waited for customers to arrive.”

      The man blinked. “Then you plan to help customers in sweaty clothes?”

      “No, I—I...” The question caught her off guard. Mr. Burke caught her off guard. Just when she thought she knew what he’d say next, he surprised her by coming up with something even more exacting. “I wanted to work when the temperature is coolest—which is now.”

      “Except, why are you working in the yard at all?”

      She stood, brushing off her hands. “The weeds are atrocious. I figured as long as I worked at the store, I’d make the place look a little nicer.”

      “Miss Sattler.” The man’s eyes caught hers, a piercing crystallized gray. “I hired you as the clerk, not the gardener.”

      His statement made her eyebrows raise. “Then you should hire one of those, too, because no one’s going to shop at a place that looks like rubbish.” Sales attested to that fact. Wiping her hands on the apron she’d borrowed from Granna Cass, Winifred bypassed Mr. Burke and made her way to the store.

      For someone so concerned with the success of his shop, Mr. Burke would do well to consider the tactics that attracted customers.

      As her heels clicked over the wooden surface of the walk, she couldn’t help but string together a list of other things she wished to say—like how an occasional motivating word would go a long way in benefitting his staff, making this place wonderful and thriving instead of dull and stringent. And that life was too short to waste himself acting like a starched shirt.