Love on a Dime by Cara Lynn James Page A

category—disreputable fiction. Mama certainly did.
    Lilly’s coachman reined in the horses and pulled up to the curb in front of the book shop. A line of women snaked around the entrance to the store. Laughter, loud Irish brogues, and clipped Yankee accents mingled with the clatter of carriages and carts. Everyday dresses made from inexpensive cloth without ribbon or lace defined most of the women as average townsfolk. As the crowd inched forward, Lilly scanned the unfamiliar faces. Although they’d never recognize her, she kept her eyes down and yanked her short mesh veil to the tip of her nose.
    Ten minutes later she passed the plate glass window and entered the busy store. Mrs. Price sat straight ahead, bent over a copy of her book, pen in hand. Lilly caught a glimpse of her plum satin dress, cut low, and titian hair frizzing beneath a large hat trimmed with silk violets, black lace, and an immense purple plume. Suddenly the author rose to her feet, chin jutting forward, arms spread wide. A hush fell over the audience.
    “Ladies,” she boomed, her gaze traveling from one fan to the next, “my publisher, Mr. Sterling, and I are most appreciative of your overwhelming hospitality.” She gestured toward the white-whiskered man beside her. “When we came to your fair town today we had no idea how kindly you’d treat us. Your support for my novels brings tears to my eyes.” As if on cue, her eyes glistened. A few teardrops rolled down her slightly shriveled cheeks. “Thank you so much for your outpouring of love.”
    Hands clapped in a deafening roar.
    Elna raised her palms and the crowd quieted. “As I meet you and autograph your books, please write your name and address on the slip of paper we’ve provided. At the end of the signing, I shall pick a name out of my hat.” She pointed to her headgear. “The lucky winner will receive a copy of one of my most beloved books, Flames of Love . However, if you don’t win the prize, we have copies you may purchase. I know you don’t want to miss this thrilling tale which I have penned just for your enjoyment.”
    Another round of applause broke out. Women rushed forward, jostled each other for position, and snatched books off the table, thrusting them at Elna for signature. Her laughter rang above the voices of the crowd. “Thank you so much for your affection, ladies.”
    Lilly stepped aside, ready to leave this theatrical event. She ’d seen more than enough to convince her that she didn’t find mob adulation appealing. She shuddered to think this was the kind of publicity Jack wanted Fannie to embrace. Raucous crowds, tours in strange cities, shaking hands, and signing autographs would rob her of her privacy. She ’d never take part in such a distasteful task. And Mama would die of humiliation to see her daughter make a public spectacle of herself.
    Turning, she made her way out the door just as the line surged forward. A nudge from behind pushed her off balance and she stumbled into the back of a gentleman. Jackson Grail.
    “What are you doing here?” she muttered. Her legs wobbled and her hands shook.
    Jack chuckled. “I could ask you the same question.” He hiked an eyebrow, obviously amused by her discomfort.
    “I came to buy—Irene—an autographed copy of Mrs. Price ’s new book. I thought she ’d appreciate the addition to her library of—dime novels.” A stack of cheap novels hardly qualified as a library of any sort. Would he believe her? Her excuse sounded so ludicrous. “And you? Did you come to purchase a book?” Picturing Jack engrossed in an Elna Price story brought on a broad smile, in spite of herself.
    Jack leaned forward and murmured in her ear, “I do have to keep up with the competition, you know. I’m here to see how well publicity works for Atwater Publishers. I expected to find crowds of fans lined up to fill the coffers and I was right.” His face split in a satisfied grin. “A book tour would work equally well for Miss