The Bride Next Door. Winnie Griggs

with the businesswoman persona, because her face split into another of those delighted smiles. “Mr. Fulton, I’m beginning to think of you as my guardian angel.”

      Now there was something he’d never been called before. And it was definitely not something he aspired to be.

      “Not only is this job going to give me some security,” she continued, “but since you’ll only need me for part of the day, I’ll have time to find other odd jobs, as well.”

      Other jobs? Did she even realize what she was saying? “That’s an admirably industrious attitude, but I imagine just getting your place in shape will take up most of your free time, at least for a while.”

      She waved a hand as if that was of no consequence. “I’ll have to just fit that in when I can. Like I said, I need to earn some money, not just for staples, but to get my place furnished properly. Because the sooner I can open my restaurant, the better.”

      She was back to that again. Oh, well, far be it from him to harp on a point once he’d made it. “If you’re serious about finding another job, as I said before, check down at Blakely’s Mercantile.”

      “Thanks. I’ll do that.” She stood. “Now I’ll get out of your way. I know you’re busy, and I have some more work to do over at my place. Besides, I’ve made Kip wait on me long enough.”

      Would the rest of her meals today consist of nothing more than a handful of berries? “I was thinking, Miss Johnson, that I might do an interview with you for the paper.”

      “With me?” She seemed genuinely startled at the idea.

      “It’s not every day someone new moves to town and sets up shop.” Although that’s exactly what he and his companions from Philadelphia had done less than a year ago.

      He saw her hesitation and pressed further. “It would be doing me a favor. I’m always looking for something fresh to print in the paper.”

      Her face puckered as she contemplated his words. Then she gave him a doubtful look. “If you really think it will help you...”

      He jumped in, not giving her time to change her mind. “Wonderful. Let’s discuss this over supper tonight. The hotel has a small restaurant where we can go. And eating there has the added bonus of giving you an opportunity to check out your future competition.” Not that he truly expected her to ever open her own restaurant.

      “All right, I’ll do it.”

      “And of course it will be my treat, since I am imposing on you for this interview.”

      She fingered her collar. “That’s not necessary. I—”

      He schooled his features in his haughtiest expression. “I assure you, for a business meal such as this, it’s customary for the reporter to pay.”

      She studied him as if not quite believing him. But he didn’t relax his expression, and she finally nodded.

      “Good. I’ll stop by your place at six o’clock, and we can walk to the hotel together if that’s agreeable.” Even though he’d concocted the idea on the spur of the moment to see that she had a meal this evening, he was fully prepared to take advantage of the opportunity to practice his reporting skills. This wouldn’t be a very challenging interview subject, but at least it would give him something interesting to write about.

      Then he gave her a severe look. “And please, leave your dog at home.”

      Chapter Four

      “So let’s start with where you’re from. Originally, I mean.”

      Daisy shifted, uncomfortable with Mr. Fulton’s scrutiny and with having to talk about her background. She sat across from him in the hotel dining room, trying to decide if there was some polite way for her to get out of this. After all, she’d come to Turnabout to make a fresh start, not dredge up the past.

      Still, he’d been kind to her, and this was the first thing he’d actually asked from her in return. Determined to focus on his kindness, she sat up straighter and smiled. “If you’re asking where I was born, it was in a little community called Bluewillow, Texas. I didn’t live there long, though.”

      He scribbled a few strokes, then glanced up again. “Well, then, where did you grow up?”

      “We traveled around a lot—Father was a peddler, even then. Most of the time, our wagon was our home. Then, when I was about four, my mother’s health began to go downhill, and traveling became difficult for her. So the two of us went to live with her mother while she tried to recuperate.”

      “And where was that?”

      “New Orleans.” Daisy brushed at the tablecloth, smoothing away a wrinkle. That wasn’t a part of her life she wanted to elaborate on. “Do you think the folks around here are really going to want to read about this stuff?”

      His smile had a cynical twist to it. “I find that people everywhere have an infinite curiosity about the lives of others.” He poised his pencil over his pad again. “How much time did you spend in New Orleans?”

      “Eight years.” Eight of the most smothering, uncomfortable years of her life. “Then I went back to traveling with my father.”

      “Only you? What about your mother?”

      Daisy nudged the lamp on the table about a quarter inch, not quite meeting his gaze. “She passed on when I was eight.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      There seemed to be genuine sympathy in his voice.

      “Thank you,” she said. “Mother was a good person, you know, the kind who always tries to see the best in everyone. She was real pretty, too. Want to see?” Without waiting for his answer, she lifted the locket from beneath her bodice, then slipped the chain over her head. Opening the catch, she smiled at the picture, then handed it to Everett.

      He studied the picture for a moment, his expression unreadable, then handed it back to her. “You’re right. She was quite lovely.”

      Daisy carefully slipped the locket back over her head, feeling slightly disappointed at his lack of reaction. “What about you? I mean, I know you don’t have a locket, but do you have any kind of pictures or likenesses of your family?”

      “No. Now let’s get back to the interview.”

      She smothered a groan. If only the meal would come so they could end his string of uncomfortable questions.

      “If I’m doing the calculations properly,” he continued, “it sounds as if you spent another four years with your grandmother after your mother passed on.”

      “That’s right. Father thought it best to wait until I was older to resume traveling with him.” She tried not to dwell on that.

      “Understandable.”

      That pronouncement stung. It hadn’t been understandable to the grieving child she’d been. To her, it had felt like a second abandonment.

      But Everett was already moving on to his next question. “Once you resumed traveling with your father, did you enjoy it?”

      Daisy relaxed. This was a topic she was happy to talk about. “Very much. It gave me a chance to meet lots of wonderful people and to see places I’d never have seen otherwise. There are so many interesting folk out there, and they all have their own story to tell.”

      “Stories? Now you sound like a reporter.”

      She grinned. “Not at all. I’d be too fascinated listening to what they had to say, I’d forget to write anything down.”

      His smile warmed for just a moment, then he seemed to come to himself, and he resumed his cynically amused expression. “If you enjoyed all that traveling, why did you decide to settle down?”

      “Because I’m not twelve anymore.”