The Stafford Collection, Historical Western Romances by Lynn Hubbard

outside. Will was off the horse almost before he stopped. He looked at Brock with his arms crossed in front of his chest, daring him to say a word. Sighing, Brock headed toward the mercantile and hoped that Will was following him.
    Sabrina stopped outside of the store and hesitated. The same blue dress was still in the window mocking her. She hated it. She hated all dresses. She had much more freedom.  Now she could go and do whatever she wanted to do; be whoever she wanted to be. So why wasn’t she happy? Frowning, she followed Brock inside.
    He led her over to a table of denim overalls and pants. She chose a pair of bib overalls in blue and, at Brock’s insistence, another pair of brown jeans. Next came the shirts. Grabbing two, she added them to her pile along with a pair of long johns that Brock tossed on top, smirking as she glared at him. Ignoring him, Brock added some socks to the pile. He headed over to the boot section and Sabrina put her foot down.
    “My boots are just fine; I don’t need another pair,” she hissed in embarrassment.  “It’ll take me a year to pay all of this off as it is.”
    Brock let her win the shoe argument but insisted on buying a jacket for winter. It was already fall and, even in Oklahoma, it can get awfully cold. Sabrina was battling with herself. She knew she needed a coat she just didn’t need one right now . If she said no she knew he would argue with her and make a scene. It would save her a lot of grief if she just went ahead and let him buy the damn coat now. She reluctantly agreed, but Brock was already searching through the coats. 
    Mr. Taylor added up her purchases and wrapped them in a burlap bundle tied with string.
    “Here you go,” he said, smiling happily at the large sale.
    “How much is everything?” she asked.
    “Don’t worry about it, son, I just added it to the Sheriff’s tab.”
    She scowled up at him. “How much?” she repeated slowly, as if he was dense. The mercantile looked at Brock nervously. “Um, four dollars.”
    Sabrina glared at both of them. “Really?  Cause I added it up to be fifteen dollars.” Brock and Mr. Taylor both looked surprised at that.
    “Um, yes, but we’re having a sale.”
    “Sure,” Sabrina said, stomping out of the mercantile angrily as Brock grabbed the package, thanked the clerk, and chased after her.
    Hearing him hurrying behind her, she stopped and spun around to face him. Not anticipating such a sudden stop, Brock knocked her backwards into a very large puddle of mud. He expected the boy to explode in anger but was taken by surprise when he sat silently in the puddle.  The look he gave Brock made his heart ache.
    Sabrina bit her lip as tears burned her eyes. What a crappy week. Hearing piercing laughter, she looked around and saw Sally and Thomas nearby. Perfect.
    Brock watched in contempt as a chuckling Thomas went to Will’s aid, pulling him to his feet. Taking control, Brock stepped forward, thanking Thomas for his assistance and pulling Will down the street and into a narrow alley.
    “I don’t appreciate being lied to. I told you I would pay you back. I can take care of myself. I don’t need anyone.”
    “Don’t you?” Brock asked softly.
    Sabrina could hide the tears no longer. She felt Brock’s arms wrap around her and h eld her to his chest. She didn’t know how long they were standing there in the alley.  Time had stopped for her.  All she knew was that it felt damn good to be held in Brock’s arms. She reluctantly pulled away, sniffling as she wiped at her face, smearing mud on it.
    “You’re getting muddy,” she told him.
    “I don’t care.”
    “I’m sorry for being such a cry baby. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with you.  You have been through too much lately; it’s good to cry on occasion.“
    “Do you cry?” she asked, taking Brock off guard.
    “I have,” he answered, looking away. “I got paper work to catch up with; why don’t you