.

had come to a sorry place when the likes of him owned the only bank in town!

      She resisted an overwhelming urge to slam his office door as hard as she could. Instead, she closed it quietly, relinquishing her grip on the polished brass knob when the latch clicked. The last thing she saw before the door swung shut was Rydell Wilder’s steady gray eyes looking at her from behind his big walnut desk.

      Oh! She could gobble down a whole keg of nails, he made her so mad!

      The minute she was gone, Rydell folded his fingers into a fist. Jane Charlotte Davis hadn’t a clue how hard real life could be, but by thunder she was going to find out. Was he crazy to lend her the money that could take her out of his life once and for all? Could she possibly make a go of setting up her own business?

      Not one chance in a thousand. He rose and paced to the window opening onto the street. A flash of blue caught his eye, sending a familiar ache into his chest.

      Oh, hell. Even if she could sew ruffles around a circus tent, she had no experience in trade, no understanding of life in a dusty Oregon lumber mill town. All he had to do was watch and wait—he figured in about ninety days he’d be a married man.

      God help him, he wanted her to fail!

      Maybe he wasn’t so crazy. He’d worked and sweated for ten years to offer Jane something more than the rough life of a freight line owner’s wife. He’d eaten beans and biscuits for months on end, saved the pay he’d earned riding shotgun for Lefty, and invested it. When Lefty grew too frail to drive the wagon, Rydell had bought him out, and after a few years saw his chance to establish a bank. It was a smart move. Owning a bank made him a lot of money and brought him the respect of the entire town. Now he ate steak every night, shared an occasional drink with Lefty, and was sought after by all the single women, respectable or not.

      The only hunger he hadn’t eased over the years was his longing for the shy girl with eyes like a summer sky and thick chestnut hair that hung to her waist. She looked different now, more filled out and sure of herself. He was older, too—work-hardened and female savvy. Even so, the thought of even touching her hand made his heart stutter.

      Leave it alone, Dell. Don’t think about her anymore.

      Ten long years he’d waited for a chance, and now it was here. He wondered if she remembered him, from before he’d become a man.

      He wondered if she knew how a man could feel about a woman.

      “Walk you home, Miz Jane? Barton Springer’s the name, case you don’t remember. Drove a wagon for Wells Fargo and knew your daddy.”

      Jane tipped her parasol so the shade covered the man’s weathered face. “Mr. Springer, of course I remember you. You were a great help to my father and Uncle Junius at the newspaper office.”

      He grinned and fell in step beside her. “Sure sorry to hear about your pa, Miz Jane. ’Specially so soon after Mr. Junius. What you gonna do, now he’s gone?”

      “The first thing I will do, Mr. Springer, is stop by the mercantile. I am going into business.”

      His bushy gray eyebrows twitched upward. “You, ma’am? All by yourself?”

      “All by myself. I’m going to rent the store next to the mercantile. Then I intend to purchase some bolts of fabric—muslin, I think, or perhaps sateen—and some thread. Oh, and maybe a lantern so I can work in the evenings.”

      “You gonna need some help totin’ them things, Miz Jane. I’m puttin’ myself at your service.”

      Jane surveyed the bent figure trudging beside her. He looked healthy enough, but his right shirt-sleeve was pinned up, indicating a missing arm. She couldn’t bear to embarrass him by declining his offer.

      “That is most thoughtful of you, Mr. Springer. First, however, I wish to inspect my place of business. Mr. Wilder said it was right next to the mercantile, but I don’t recall seeing anything that looked like a store.”

      The old man gave her a sideways look. “No wonder in that, I guess. ’T’aint much of a store, more like a…well, you’ll see fer yourself, it’s just yonder.”

      “I don’t care what it is, Mr. Springer, it’s a start. For me, it’s a whole new life!” For a fleeting moment she wondered at herself, talking so freely about her plans. She’d been taught never to speak of things other than the weather and recipes for rheumatism medicine and who’s having a baby, and here she was chattering on about her ideas. Maybe it was because Mr. Springer’s blue eyes snapped with intelligence. Or was it because he was a sweet, frail man whom she sensed was a bit lonely for company? Perhaps he was a kindred spirit. His interest in her venture seemed so genuine she didn’t even mind too much that he was a Yankee.

      “You don’t mind me sayin’ so, Miz Jane, you been frownin’ somethin’ fierce ever since you come outta the bank. I never seen anyone look more serious.”

      Jane stopped midstride and stared at him. “‘Serious,’ Mr. Springer, does not begin to describe my state of mind. I am committed. Determined. Resolute!” She stopped herself from adding “desperate” only because he was pointing at something behind her.

      “There ’tis. Your store.”

      Jane whirled to see. “Where? I don’t see a—Oh, you mean that little add-on next to the…? Oh. Oh, my.” Her heart sank.

      A tilting clapboard structure no wider than the back end of a wagon leaned against the mercantile building. She stepped closer. The single window, slightly wider than the plain plank door, was so grimy she could not see through the glass. No matter. At the moment, she couldn’t face looking inside. A weathered wooden sign swung on a chain in the wind. Mercer’s Feed & Seed. Cash Only.

      “Used to be Rafe Mercer’s feed storage room. Looks kinda worse for wear, don’t it?”

      Jane’s mouth was as dry as field cotton. “It looks like the darky quarters back home in Marion County. Only not as clean.”

      “Miz Jane, I jes’ gotta say this. This ain’t no kinda place for a lady. Why don’t you take your momma and go back where you come from?”

      She bit down hard on her lower lip. “I cannot, Mr. Springer. My mother is…unwell at the moment, and…”

      And she had no money for train fare, other than what Mr. Wilder had lent her. Besides, even if her mother could travel, she couldn’t leave Dixon Falls with Papa’s debts still unpaid, and now, on top of that, there was the bank loan to pay back.

      The old man’s eyes narrowed in unspoken understanding. “I bet you’d hightail it outta here if’n you could find a way.”

      “I’ll find a way,” Jane said quietly. “And the first step is to take down that awful sign and scrub that window.” She nodded her head politely. “Good day to you, Mr. Springer. I’d best visit the mercantile and purchase an extra bar of lye soap.”

      “You tell Mr. Mercer I’ll tote yer supplies on over to your store for ya. Meanwhile, I think I’ll mosey on down to the Silver Cup and have some words with an old friend.”

      “Dell, you outta be horsewhipped fer what you’re puttin’ that gal through. This ain’t no way to court a lady like Miz Jane.”

      Rydell downed the last of his whiskey and looked at Lefty across the oak table. “The courting part comes later. First, she’s got to give up that fool notion about supporting herself and her mother by making dresses.”

      “You gonna let her work herself to the bone so’s you kin pick up the pieces? Dell, her hands ain’t never done nothin’ but play the pi-anna and embroider tea towels.”

      Rydell looked straight at his friend. “I want a wife who’s a partner, not a decoration.”

      “Then choose some other gal. Lord knows you’d have yer pick.”

      Rydell ignored him. “Jane’s got more inside her than she knows,”