Want Ad Wife. Katy Madison

collar. He couldn’t exactly throw the man out for ogling his wife, as much as he wanted to. Did she see working in the store as a way to look over all the other men and see if another one was more to her liking? She didn’t seem to be encouraging Olsen with smiles or coquettish looks.

      John caught her elbow and guided her toward the back. This time he was prepared for the low thrum of excitement that heated his blood. But he had absolutely no indication from her that she felt it, too.

      “Don’t you want to look around upstairs where we’ll live?” he asked. Didn’t she want to rearrange and tidy up the way women always did?

      “Of course I do. I’d love to have you show me our home, but I know you can’t while the store is so busy.” She patted his arm, sending jolts through him. “Don’t worry. I’ll go upstairs in plenty of time to prepare supper.”

      “You needn’t do that. I’ve arranged for the hotel to provide our dinner tonight. I didn’t want you to have to cook today.”

      “Oh, that is so sweet,” she said. There was that smile again that almost made him brainless and sent jolts to his lower region. But he had to get their roles straightened out.

      “Minding the store is my job.” He’d likely be working like a fiend through the next few hours, which would help him keep his mind off her and their wedding night.

      Her brow crinkled, but her dark eyes seemed sincere. “It seems like I should help, since there are so many customers.”

      He couldn’t breathe deeply enough. He tugged her farther into the storeroom, out of Olsen’s view. John could watch the store and the cashbox through the doorway. He definitely should be watching the cashbox, because watching her made him wish all the people who bought his goods and paid his way in life to perdition. “Your job is to keep the house. You don’t need to help in the store.”

      Her eyes flashed as if he’d wounded her. She twisted her new wedding ring. “Unpacking won’t take me long and if I don’t need to cook...” Her brow furrowed. “I’d like to be a helpmate in the store. Besides, we haven’t had much of a chance to talk.”

      “We won’t have a chance until later.” His spine tightened. The last thing he wanted was to talk, especially if she was going to pester him about how he came by his name. As if it weren’t obvious he’d been left on a park bench. For the first time since he’d kissed her at the altar, his randy urges eased. He knew he’d have to talk to her, be gentle with her, seduce her properly, but she didn’t need to go digging at his sorest spots right away. “The store will be too busy today.”

      She twisted to look over her shoulder. “Then won’t we be able to take care of everyone faster if I help you?”

      “It won’t get us alone any sooner.”

      For a second she just stared at him, her smile frozen. Her smile cracked and fell from her face. She clasped her hands in front of her, holding the fingers of one hand tightly.

      His collar tightened on his neck. No, he didn’t expect she wanted to be alone faster or for the same reason. He would just have to keep his eagerness in check.

      Her eyes dipped, but then her chin firmed and tilted up. “Come now, it can’t be that hard compared to the work I did in the mill.” She tilted her head and her voice turned cajoling. “I could sort the mail for you.”

      A couple of other men stepped up to the counter. No doubt they wanted to know if they had any mail. Trying to convince her to go upstairs delayed helping them even longer.

      “Have no fear, I won’t expect you to cook or clean just because I spend time in the store,” she stage-whispered conspiratorially. “Truly, I just want to help.”

      Why in the world would she want to take on more work when he’d said she didn’t need to? He scuttled a half-dozen reasons almost as fast as they popped into his mind. Rather than wanting to be with him, or get onto the business of marriage, she most likely just didn’t want to be alone. She had been through a horrific experience earlier in the day with the stage holdup and shooting. Had Selina been terrorized? “Are you all right?”

      Her gaze darted down and away. His heart kicked hard. If she wasn’t all right, he had no idea what to do. He could make conversation with strangers all day long, even offer sympathy for a plight—but he had no knowledge about how to comfort a wife.

      He could kiss her, but that could make matters much worse. Especially since it was broad daylight and his store was full. And while he’d take a great deal of comfort from kissing, he didn’t expect she’d see it in the same light.

      “I’m fine,” she said in a way that left him skeptical. “Thank you for being so protective of me. I do appreciate it.”

      But he didn’t want to dig too deeply into her state of mind. When she’d looked over his shoulder as if searching for someone else after he’d stepped forward to introduce himself, he hadn’t been surprised. No one had ever chosen him. But if she’d hoped for a better man, he didn’t want to know. He sure as hell didn’t want to see her toss aside his apron if some superior specimen came into his store to woo her.

      “All right. If you want to sort the mail, I suppose that will help.” He guided her back into the store, showed her the eighteen cubbyholes for the mail and explained his system.

      “Mr. Bench,” nagged one of the customers. “I need half a pound of lard, five pounds of flour and a pound of salt.”

      “I’ll be right with you.”

      Selina pulled a handful of letters from the canvas mailbag and began reading the names.

      John stared at the white stripe of skin under the heavy bun on the back of her head. Would she like kisses there? It would be hours before he could find out. Having her so close would be torture.

      “If you come across anything for Pete Olsen, that would be me,” said the miner still leaning against the counter.

      “I’ll let you know, Mr. Olsen,” she said in an even, pleasant tone. “But I better get to sorting so it gets done.”

      She turned her back on the leering man.

      Breathing a sigh of relief that she sounded normal and seemed to understand there was a fine line between discouraging attention and being rude, John spread out a length of paper and scooped flour onto it. Hell, he was just glad she was not encouraging the miner. She could have been a hussy or worse. Did he dare to hope that their marriage might be more congenial than he’d envisioned? That they might do more than come to like each other?

      As he lifted the paper onto the scale, Selina bent for another handful of letters. Her backside bumped him. He nearly jumped right out of his Sunday-best suit. Flour showered over the floor and counter.

      She swiveled and said, “Excuse me.”

      Heat pounded through him. His response to the brush of their bodies was worse than spilling a bit of flour. He fought for control. Breathing hard, he scooped out more flour to replace what littered the floor.

      Grasping at the ordinary and normal motions of running his store, he reached to put the paper on the scale and very nearly dropped the flour bundle as Selina darted under his arm and scraped the counter clean.

      “Damn it,” he muttered, and then winced. He shouldn’t curse around his wife. Usually he didn’t around ladies.

      Her face pinked. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

      “It’s all right,” he managed to reply between gritted teeth. He only hoped his response to their backsides touching was hidden by his apron. He wasn’t used to having anyone behind the counter with him, let alone a beautiful woman. Who was his wife.

      Her scent flooded his brain. He forgot how much flour he was supposed to be packaging.

      In just a few hours he could touch her and kiss her more thoroughly than the entirely unsatisfactory kiss after their wedding. But he couldn’t function while