a handful of single women in Jasper Gulch.”
“A small handful.”
“There’s Crystal Galloway.”
“Crystal Galloway has as much use for men as she does for another degree.”
“That’s true,” Sky said thoughtfully. “I can’t figure that out, either. She’s a looker, that’s for sure. But why did she come to a town that advertised for women if she had no intention of looking for a man?”
“Who knows,” Jake answered. “You were saying?”
“Oh, yeah. There’s Tracy Gentry.”
“She’s barely out of diapers.”
“She’s twenty-one. For a desperate man, you’re mighty choosy, McKenna. I probably shouldn’t even mention Brandy Schafer, since lately she seems to have hooked up with Jason Tucker. There’s that gorgeous, far-removed relative of Wes Stryker’s, Meridith Warner, but to tell you the truth, I’ve been keeping my eye on her myself.”
Jake turned his head slowly. Or at least it felt that way to him. Ah, yes, the rum was doing its job. “You finished?”
“Not quite. I suppose I could be noble and give you first dibs on Meridith.”
Oh, no. Jake didn’t live by many rules, but an honorable man didn’t move in on another man’s territory. Besides, Jake happened to know that Meridith had been keeping an eye on Sky, too. “You want her,” Jake said slowly, “you go for her.”
Sky looked relieved. “There is one other single woman.”
“Who?” Jake downed another good portion of the spiced rum in his glass.
“Josie Callahan.”
“Jo—” Jake sputtered, choked and sputtered some more.
“Well looky there. You’re already out of breath just hearing her name.”
Jake wheezed. He coughed. “Josephine Callahan? That’s the best you can do?”
“What’s wrong with Josie Callahan?”
“She’s as shy as a church mouse and about as appealing. Besides, she’s been in Jasper Gulch for more than a year. If she wanted to be married, she would be by now.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Jake thought about the pale little redhead who would sooner study her shoe than look at him. “Yeah,” he said, shoving his glass toward Sky. “As a matter of fact I do. Fill ’er up.”
Josie Callahan, indeed.
“Please let there be a mistake. Please.” Josie Callahan added the column of numbers in her ledger a second time. A third time. Figuring had always been her strong suit, and today was no exception. There was no mistake. Her income didn’t add up to her expenses. It was as plain as the freckles on her nose.
Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot.
She squeezed the pencil and tried not to panic. There wasn’t going to be enough money to buy much food this month, let alone enough money to pay her rent and the rest of her bills. Josie could have gone hungry, but her little girl needed to eat. Kelsey also needed a roof over her head and security, something Josie had strived to give her daughter since she’d laid big, robust Tom Callahan to rest two years ago.
Think, Josie, think.
She was good at adding and subtracting. Planning was something else again. Tom used to tell her she planned with her heart, not her mind. That’s what had landed her at the altar when she was barely nineteen. It had brought her to this quaint little town in South Dakota a year ago, too.
She wasn’t sorry about either of those things. No sir, she wasn’t. Marrying Tom had been the best thing she’d ever done, unless she counted having Kelsey nine months to the day later. And moving to Jasper Gulch hadn’t been a mistake. It couldn’t have been.
“Isn’t that right, Tom?” she whispered.
That’s right, Josie.
She smiled the whole time she was wrapping up the loaves of homemade bread she’d baked earlier. She just couldn’t help it, Unlike other widows who grew sad because they couldn’t remember the sound of their husbands’ voices, Josie knew exactly how Tom’s voice sounded. She heard it all the time. Sometimes he only mumbled a word or two, but just the other day he’d gone on and on about how it was time for her to find another husband. He’d even told her he was going to help. She’d rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and told him she would prefer it if he would help her choose the winning lottery numbers. His laughter had carried to her ears all the way from heaven.
She was still smiling when she set the cellophane-wrapped loaves of bread in the window. Oh, she wasn’t sure it was possible for a man to help a woman find a new husband, especially from the other side. She didn’t want another husband, anyway. But darned if she hadn’t been watching the door to her little shop on Main Street more than usual these past two days.
Several people had stopped in. Unfortunately it seemed that most of the fine folks in Jasper Gulch only wandered into the combination dime store, bakery and flower shop to hear the floor creak. If only she could come up with a way to charge for that, she wouldn’t be in so much trouble right now. She’d waited on the fine folks, listened to the town gossip and tried not to worry about the future. She had to admit she’d rather enjoyed trying to figure out who Tom might pick out for her. Some of the people she’d waited on had been men. A few were even single men. But so far, not one of them was anybody she would want to marry—not that she wanted to marry anybody ever again.
The bell over the door jingled, and a broad-shouldered, muscularly built man paused just inside the door. Josie swallowed and quickly averted her gaze. She especially wouldn’t want to marry him.
Jake McKenna. His name was as hard as the rest of him; his eyes were dark brown, his hair darker still. Although he wore it a little longer than the other men in the area, it did nothing to soften his angular face. It did nothing to alleviate the nerves that crawled up her spine every time she came face-to-face with him, either.
“Afrernoon,” he said, tugging once on the brim of his black Stetson.
“Hello. Can I—” She cleared her throat quietly. “That is, can I help you?” she asked, sliding her accounting underneath the counter.
“As a matter of fact, I’m hoping you can.”
She didn’t know what made her more nervous: his answer or the fact that he was staring at her in a very deliberate, very assessing sort of way.
“What would you like?” she asked, striving for a cheery tone. “Something baked? A bouquet of flowers? Or something from the five-and-dime end of the store?”
What did he want? Jake thought, glancing around. Now there was a question. Stalling, he peered at the glass-fronted cooler where a few scraggly bouquets of flowers sat in glass pitchers. Next he cast a glance at the bread in the window, and finally at a bin at the end of the counter containing kites and rubber balls.
“Mr. McKenna?”
He eased closer and was about to try on the smile he’d been practicing when a young voice called, “I’m all done with my painting, Mama, what can I...”
A little scrap of a girl slipped around a curtain separating the back room from the rest of the store, her question trailing away the instant she noticed Jake. “Hello,” she said, smiling sweetly.
The girl looked about five or six. She wasn’t pretty, exactly, but she was female all the way down to the holes in her shabby tennis shoes.
“Mama,” she said without taking her eyes off Jake. “I have a joke.”
“I have a customer, sweet pea.”
The little girl all but