take it.”
“Why don’t you wear it, dear? I’ll just put your porkpie in the bag when I ring you up.” She bustled off to the register.
“I thought this was a clothing store. Do they sell food too?” McCall asked and Rachel looked up at him, confused. “Pork pie? Is it good?”
Rachel laughed. “My hat,” she told him.
“A hat,” he said, shaking his head and looking quite serious. “I need a notebook.”
Again, confusion. “Mr. McCall, you’re a very difficult man with whom to hold a conversation. Hats, food, notebook? And, by the way, they’re called copybooks. You can buy one at the General Store.”
“You see ? That’s exactly why I need one. Notebooks are copybooks. Hats are porkpies. Underwear are unmentionables…”
“Mr. McCall! They’re unmentionable for a reason,” she hissed and then realized his eyebrows were raised and his cheeks were sucked in to cover a s mile. “You said that on purpose,” she accused.
He didn’t deny it. “You’re cute when you get all prim and proper. Maybe I should get a copybook for that, too. Things that make Rachel Kincaid prim and proper.”
They were interrupted by Mrs. Simon calling her to the register. “Are you going to the Lantern Show, Miss Kincaid?” she asked when the bill was settled.
McCall mouthed the word ‘copybook’, spread his hands, and grinned.
“Pictures shown on a screen,” Rachel explained and then to Mrs. Simon. “When is it? I haven’t heard.”
“Sunday evening after we close the gates. It’s a potluck and you really should come. Mr. Washington will be speaking about his travels. He’s wonderful to listen to, so compelling. He’s quite handsome and quite, quite… Well, I don’t quite know what to say. You must meet him.”
“She looked like a groupie at a rock concert. Who the hell is Mr. Washington ?” McCall asked when they left the shop.
He snapped his fingers and the faithful Dog trotted from the corner of the building where he’d been sitting quietly awaiting McCall’s return. He then reached for her packages.
“Language, Mr. McCall,” Rachel reminded, though she was pleased by the gentlemanly gesture.
“Hey, Sheriff! That your wolf? She’s pretty,” a small boy called while his mother tried to drag him away from the dog.
“She is pretty, isn’t she , and yep, she’s mine.” He reached down and scratched the animal’s ears. “Dog, however, is a boy, a long-haired German Shepherd mix.”
“Does he bite?” the boy asked, tugging against his mother’s hand while trying to get closer to the dog.
“Not unless I tell him to.”
“You ever tell him to?” The boy’s eyes were bright with interest.
“A few times,” McCall told him, perfectly straight faced, “Usually only small boys who give their mothers a hard time. You’re not one of them, are you?”
The questioning look the boy gave his mother made Rachel smile.
“No t today,” the mother laughed.
“Why don ’t you give him a scratch, then?”
The boy scratched Dog between his ears and then looked up. “Hey. Didn’t you say she’s pretty? Is it a boy or a girl?”
McCall looked as surprised as Rachel felt, because he’d also said, “She’s mine.”
“Must have been a slip of the tongue, son.”
The boy’s mother smiled and winked.
“Now, who’s this schoolteacher?” he asked quickly when the pair moved on.
“Mr. John Washington is our school master. He came a little over a year ago. I’ve seen him several times, of course, but met him only once. He is quite handsome.” Her hand went to the shepherd’s head as it nudged her skirts for attention. “He likes me.”
“ The dog or the schoolteacher?” he asked with a grin and then frowned. “A schoolteacher and pictures on a screen.” He shook his head. “I didn’t like school the first time around. Damned if I’ll volunteer for a second. Are you going?”
Rachel shrugged. “Probably not. It’s your choice, of course, but other than drinking
“Why don’t you wear it, dear? I’ll just put your porkpie in the bag when I ring you up.” She bustled off to the register.
“I thought this was a clothing store. Do they sell food too?” McCall asked and Rachel looked up at him, confused. “Pork pie? Is it good?”
Rachel laughed. “My hat,” she told him.
“A hat,” he said, shaking his head and looking quite serious. “I need a notebook.”
Again, confusion. “Mr. McCall, you’re a very difficult man with whom to hold a conversation. Hats, food, notebook? And, by the way, they’re called copybooks. You can buy one at the General Store.”
“You see ? That’s exactly why I need one. Notebooks are copybooks. Hats are porkpies. Underwear are unmentionables…”
“Mr. McCall! They’re unmentionable for a reason,” she hissed and then realized his eyebrows were raised and his cheeks were sucked in to cover a s mile. “You said that on purpose,” she accused.
He didn’t deny it. “You’re cute when you get all prim and proper. Maybe I should get a copybook for that, too. Things that make Rachel Kincaid prim and proper.”
They were interrupted by Mrs. Simon calling her to the register. “Are you going to the Lantern Show, Miss Kincaid?” she asked when the bill was settled.
McCall mouthed the word ‘copybook’, spread his hands, and grinned.
“Pictures shown on a screen,” Rachel explained and then to Mrs. Simon. “When is it? I haven’t heard.”
“Sunday evening after we close the gates. It’s a potluck and you really should come. Mr. Washington will be speaking about his travels. He’s wonderful to listen to, so compelling. He’s quite handsome and quite, quite… Well, I don’t quite know what to say. You must meet him.”
“She looked like a groupie at a rock concert. Who the hell is Mr. Washington ?” McCall asked when they left the shop.
He snapped his fingers and the faithful Dog trotted from the corner of the building where he’d been sitting quietly awaiting McCall’s return. He then reached for her packages.
“Language, Mr. McCall,” Rachel reminded, though she was pleased by the gentlemanly gesture.
“Hey, Sheriff! That your wolf? She’s pretty,” a small boy called while his mother tried to drag him away from the dog.
“She is pretty, isn’t she , and yep, she’s mine.” He reached down and scratched the animal’s ears. “Dog, however, is a boy, a long-haired German Shepherd mix.”
“Does he bite?” the boy asked, tugging against his mother’s hand while trying to get closer to the dog.
“Not unless I tell him to.”
“You ever tell him to?” The boy’s eyes were bright with interest.
“A few times,” McCall told him, perfectly straight faced, “Usually only small boys who give their mothers a hard time. You’re not one of them, are you?”
The questioning look the boy gave his mother made Rachel smile.
“No t today,” the mother laughed.
“Why don ’t you give him a scratch, then?”
The boy scratched Dog between his ears and then looked up. “Hey. Didn’t you say she’s pretty? Is it a boy or a girl?”
McCall looked as surprised as Rachel felt, because he’d also said, “She’s mine.”
“Must have been a slip of the tongue, son.”
The boy’s mother smiled and winked.
“Now, who’s this schoolteacher?” he asked quickly when the pair moved on.
“Mr. John Washington is our school master. He came a little over a year ago. I’ve seen him several times, of course, but met him only once. He is quite handsome.” Her hand went to the shepherd’s head as it nudged her skirts for attention. “He likes me.”
“ The dog or the schoolteacher?” he asked with a grin and then frowned. “A schoolteacher and pictures on a screen.” He shook his head. “I didn’t like school the first time around. Damned if I’ll volunteer for a second. Are you going?”
Rachel shrugged. “Probably not. It’s your choice, of course, but other than drinking
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