about. It's those records you should be looking for."
Her father had never kept a ledger. Myers knew that. She met his gaze. “I will make good on the payments if you will provide me an accounting,” she said.
“What about my proposal, Miss Hallie? When we marry, you’ll have no need to run a general store, I’ll hire somebody to run it.
Hallie lifted her chin. “I like running the store. It is satisfying to me.”
Myers put a hand on her shoulder and Hallie stiffened.
She tried to step back but the bolts of cloth blocked her way.
"There are more satisfying things than being alone and running a general store, Miss Hallie.”
His beefy hand with its dirty fingernails on her shoulder deepened the suffocating queasiness in her stomach. Dampness seeped through her blouse. She shuddered in revulsion as the faint odor of unwashed flesh covered by bay rum and sour whisky reached her nose.
Mustering her courage and determination, she shrugged off his touch and stepped past him. “I am sure I can make reparations for any debts my father owed you, Mr. Myers. Please give me an accounting. As you can see, I am very busy this evening.”
Myers backed off, although the color in his face indicated he was still angry. “Don’t stay too late alone, Miss Hallie. You never know what could happen even in the short distance between the store and your home.” He touched his silly derby hat and left.
Hallie stood for a moment looking at the door, her thoughts in turmoil. Was it her imagination, or were Myers’ last words vaguely threatening?
You never know what could happen. . .
If she told anyone what he’d said, they would scoff at her apprehension. But they hadn’t seen the rage in his face, or the beads of sweat on his upper lip, or the leering glint in his eye.
She shuddered, suddenly apprehensive as the sun moved lower in the sky and shadows began creeping into the store.
Abandoning her chores, she grabbed her reticule and blew out the lamps. After taking a last look around, she locked the door and started home.
As she stepped off the end of the boardwalk, the sun was beginning to set. The soft blue at the edge of the setting sun reminded her of Jacob Chandler’s eyes.
Not even Brent Myers could ruin her day. Jacob Chandler had smiled at her. A shiver ran up her spine. What a difference it could make to a woman if someone like Jacob asked her to marry him.
She shook her head at her flighty thoughts. Her father was right. The novels she spent valuable money on certainly put fanciful notions in her head. Notions of marriage and love and romance.
Still, if she were going to have dreams of everlasting love, she’d much rather dream of the mysterious Jacob Chandler than of the too familiar and repulsive Brent Myers. After all, her dreams were probably the only romance she would ever know outside of books.
The thought of the new book she had received just this week quickened her step as she passed the alley between the saloon and the livery.
Suddenly, rough hands grabbed her. She stumbled, striking out in panicked reaction. She was shoved to the ground.
She opened her mouth to scream and a filthy, smelly hand clamped over it. A crushing weight pinned her. She struggled, trying to suck in enough breath to cry out.
He struck her on the side of the head and stars danced before her eyes. He tore at her clothes. She tried to focus, and caught a glimpse of stained, gapped teeth, a scruffy black beard and dark, beady eyes. The stench of unwashed flesh gagged her.
Hallie kicked and bucked and pushed, but the man was too heavy--too strong. Her arms and legs ached with effort. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe, much less scream.
One flailing hand collided with his face, so she curved her fingers instinctively and clawed.
“Argh! Bitch!” he shouted. He hit her again, sending daggers of pain through her temple.
She shoved and bit and kicked but to no avail. The filthy hands were under her skirt,
Her father had never kept a ledger. Myers knew that. She met his gaze. “I will make good on the payments if you will provide me an accounting,” she said.
“What about my proposal, Miss Hallie? When we marry, you’ll have no need to run a general store, I’ll hire somebody to run it.
Hallie lifted her chin. “I like running the store. It is satisfying to me.”
Myers put a hand on her shoulder and Hallie stiffened.
She tried to step back but the bolts of cloth blocked her way.
"There are more satisfying things than being alone and running a general store, Miss Hallie.”
His beefy hand with its dirty fingernails on her shoulder deepened the suffocating queasiness in her stomach. Dampness seeped through her blouse. She shuddered in revulsion as the faint odor of unwashed flesh covered by bay rum and sour whisky reached her nose.
Mustering her courage and determination, she shrugged off his touch and stepped past him. “I am sure I can make reparations for any debts my father owed you, Mr. Myers. Please give me an accounting. As you can see, I am very busy this evening.”
Myers backed off, although the color in his face indicated he was still angry. “Don’t stay too late alone, Miss Hallie. You never know what could happen even in the short distance between the store and your home.” He touched his silly derby hat and left.
Hallie stood for a moment looking at the door, her thoughts in turmoil. Was it her imagination, or were Myers’ last words vaguely threatening?
You never know what could happen. . .
If she told anyone what he’d said, they would scoff at her apprehension. But they hadn’t seen the rage in his face, or the beads of sweat on his upper lip, or the leering glint in his eye.
She shuddered, suddenly apprehensive as the sun moved lower in the sky and shadows began creeping into the store.
Abandoning her chores, she grabbed her reticule and blew out the lamps. After taking a last look around, she locked the door and started home.
As she stepped off the end of the boardwalk, the sun was beginning to set. The soft blue at the edge of the setting sun reminded her of Jacob Chandler’s eyes.
Not even Brent Myers could ruin her day. Jacob Chandler had smiled at her. A shiver ran up her spine. What a difference it could make to a woman if someone like Jacob asked her to marry him.
She shook her head at her flighty thoughts. Her father was right. The novels she spent valuable money on certainly put fanciful notions in her head. Notions of marriage and love and romance.
Still, if she were going to have dreams of everlasting love, she’d much rather dream of the mysterious Jacob Chandler than of the too familiar and repulsive Brent Myers. After all, her dreams were probably the only romance she would ever know outside of books.
The thought of the new book she had received just this week quickened her step as she passed the alley between the saloon and the livery.
Suddenly, rough hands grabbed her. She stumbled, striking out in panicked reaction. She was shoved to the ground.
She opened her mouth to scream and a filthy, smelly hand clamped over it. A crushing weight pinned her. She struggled, trying to suck in enough breath to cry out.
He struck her on the side of the head and stars danced before her eyes. He tore at her clothes. She tried to focus, and caught a glimpse of stained, gapped teeth, a scruffy black beard and dark, beady eyes. The stench of unwashed flesh gagged her.
Hallie kicked and bucked and pushed, but the man was too heavy--too strong. Her arms and legs ached with effort. Her heart pounded so hard she could barely breathe, much less scream.
One flailing hand collided with his face, so she curved her fingers instinctively and clawed.
“Argh! Bitch!” he shouted. He hit her again, sending daggers of pain through her temple.
She shoved and bit and kicked but to no avail. The filthy hands were under her skirt,
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