The Bride Next Door. Winnie Griggs

ripen for another week or so, but there were some that were ready to pick. I gathered up a bunch and they made for a right tasty breakfast.”

      Something flickered in his expression, but she couldn’t quite read what it was. Not that it mattered. She handed him the cloth-wrapped bundle. “And I brought you some, as well.”

      He didn’t seem particularly eager as he accepted her gift.

      “I assure you that wasn’t necessary,” he said. “All I did was loan you a broom.”

      “And brought me supper last night.” Daisy watched him unwrap the cloth. “Anyway, it’s not much. But they are quite tasty.” She didn’t believe in not returning favors. “Thank the good Lord there’s a plentiful crop of them this year.”

      He stared at her offering for a moment without saying anything. Was something wrong?

      “It’s quite kind of you,” he said, finally looking back up. “But shouldn’t you keep them for yourself?”

      Was he feeling sorry for her? That wouldn’t do at all—she wanted friendship and respect, not pity. “Don’t you like dewberries?” She couldn’t quite keep the starch out of her tone.

      “I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted them. It’s just—”

      “Then it’s settled,” she said firmly. “I can pick more when they ripen—the vines are thick with them.”

      Looking for a way to change the subject, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Do you have any idea what sort of business used to be in my place?”

      “I haven’t a clue. Someone who’s been in Turnabout a lot longer than I have could probably tell you.”

      That confirmed something she’d already guessed. “So you’re not from around here?”

      He spread his hands. “I’ve only settled here recently. I lived in Philadelphia before that.”

      “Philadelphia. That’s over on the east coast, isn’t it?”

      He nodded. “It is.”

      She’d seen a map of the entire country once, and the east coast seemed a far piece from Texas. “So how’d you end up way out here?”

      His expression closed off again. “Just looking for a change of scenery.” He straightened a few papers on his desk. “So what do you have left to do?”

      Had she gotten too nosy? Curiosity was a weakness of hers. “I’ve sorted through most of the furnishings downstairs, but I’m sorry to say most of what was in there wasn’t fit for anything but firewood. There were a few pieces worth salvaging, though. And I found an old bed frame upstairs that’ll be good as new once I get some new rope to string it with and some ticking. I figure I can collect some straw and then stuff me a fresh mattress. Before you know it, I’ll have a proper bed to sleep on.”

      He shifted in his chair when she mentioned her bed. Her grandmother would chide her for being so indelicate.

      She’d best change the subject again. “Do you know of anyone looking for help? I need to find a way to earn some money.”

      He leaned back in his chair. “What kind of work are you qualified to do?”

      Something about the way he asked the question got her back up. “I can cook, clean, do laundry—I’ll take just about any honest labor I can find. I’m not afraid of hard work or of getting my hands dirty.”

      “I haven’t heard of anything, but you might want to check with Doug Blakely over at the mercantile. His store seems to be a gathering place for most of the townsfolk, so if anyone’s looking, Doug’s probably heard about it. In the meantime, how do you plan to get by?”

      Now who was being nosy? “Don’t you worry about me. I have a roof over my head, and I know how to live off the land when I need to. Besides those berries, there are plenty of edible roots and plants around here if you know what you’re looking for.”

      “You can hardly live entirely on berries and roots for very long.”

      A gent like him probably didn’t have any idea what it meant to go hungry for days at a time. “You’d be surprised what a body can live on when one has to. I also plan to set me up a little kitchen garden out behind my place. I’m especially eager to plant some herbs. Not only will they add flavor to my meals, but I use some in my concoctions.”

      “Concoctions?”

      “Yes. I make balms and potions to keep on hand for cuts and burns and such. Father calls them my concoctions.”

      “And is that something you sell?”

      “Oh, no. It’s mostly for personal use, though I’ve given some away when I saw a need.” She lifted her head proudly. “Some of those folks have asked to buy more from me, though.” She shrugged self-consciously. “But I don’t really feel right taking money for healing potions.”

      “It appears you are a woman of many talents.” The sarcasm in his tone killed any chance that she would think he was paying her a compliment.

      But she chose to ignore his lack of manners. Instead, she gave him her sunniest smile. “That’s kind of you to say. And you’ll see the proof of that when I open my restaurant.”

      * * *

      Everett realized he’d been harsher with his new neighbor than the situation warranted. But she’d apparently misread his tone. He glanced down at her offering of berries, and his conscience tweaked at him again. “Speaking of a job,” he said impulsively, “I can’t offer you anything full-time, but I do have a proposal for you.”

      This time she leaned forward eagerly, apparently ready to forgive his earlier rudeness. “What did you have in mind?”

      He was beginning to rethink his impulse, but it was too late to back out now. “Since you say you’re a good cook, what do you think about cooking for me?

      “Really?”

      Her hopeful expression brushed away the last of his hesitation. Besides, what could it hurt? “I’m the first to admit I’m not much of a cook myself, and I’m getting tired of the few dishes I’ve learned to prepare. I can’t pay you much, say two bits a day, but if you did the marketing and cooking for me, you could also share in the meal.” At least this way he wouldn’t have the distraction of worrying about her not having enough to eat.

      She smiled at him as if he’d just handed her the keys to the town. Did that mean she’d forgotten his earlier rudeness?

      “That’s more than generous,” she said. “And you won’t be sorry—cooking is something I’m good at. You’ll see.”

      She folded her hands in her lap and struck what he supposed she thought of as a businesslike pose. “Just to make certain I understand what you’re wanting, are you looking for me to provide three meals a day, seven days a week?”

      He waved a hand. “I believe I can get by with something a little less all-encompassing. I was thinking six days a week, with Sundays off. I’ll manage my own breakfast. And I’m not averse to eating the same thing twice, so if you prepare a large enough meal at noon, I can dine on leftovers for the evening meal.”

      “That’s agreeable. When would you like me to start?”

      “Is tomorrow too soon?”

      “Not at all.” Then she fingered her collar. “Do you have much of a larder?”

      “It would probably be best if you start from scratch and pick up anything you think you’ll need. I’ll leave the menus up to you. And I’ll let the shopkeepers know to put your orders on my tab.”

      “Good. And don’t worry, I know how to be frugal with my purchases.”

      A good quality, but he should make certain they were both working under the