CHAPTER 1
SERENITY, NEW MEXICO
Tresia Morgan placed the last bar of fancy soap all the way from Paris, France on the display table and took a step back to admire her handiwork—or more truthfully, critique her work. It wasn’t perfect, but then, it rarely was, no matter how hard she tried.
She tilted her head to the side, pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, then reached out and made an adjustment. Better, but still not perfect.
And it didn’t matter. Nothing ever seemed to please her cousin, Arnold, who now owned Sullivan’s Emporium though it should have belonged to her. She’d had such plans for the store but that all ended at the reading of her father’s Last Will and Testament, which left everything to Arnold, including the apartment over the store she’d grown up in. Yes, she still worked here, but that was only because her father had made that a provision in his will. Arnold wasn’t happy with that arrangement. Neither was Arnold’s wife, Willetta, and they both let her know that with unceasing regularity.
She put up with their attitudes. She had to until she could either buy the store back from him—if he would consider selling, which she doubted at the moment—or save enough money tostart her own, either here in Serenity or somewhere else. That was The Plan anyway.
She made one more adjustment to the cakes of soap, then took another step back, still unsatisfied. The bell at the front door jingled, letting her know she had a customer. She pasted a smile of welcome on her face and whirled around to see who had entered the shop. The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“Oh no! You stay away from me, Lucy Hart! I know that look on your face!” She held up her hand in a stopping motion. “I am not interested in any of your matchmaking shenanigans today! Once was enough!” She dropped her hand once Lucy stopped in her tracks, still at the entrance to the store. “And don’t give me that innocent look either!”
Lucy, her best friend, had the audacity to giggle, before she swept into the store like she hadn’t a care in the world and drew her into a big hug.
“Believe it or not, Tresia, I’m not here for that.” Lucy released her from her embrace, then took a step away, her gaze roaming over the display of soaps before focusing once more on the matter at hand. “You told me the last time when I suggested you and Jameson Hicks should get to know each other better that you aren’t interested in finding a match. I understand and I respect your wishes.”
Hmmm, there was something about the way Lucy said those words that had the fine hair on the back of her neck rising. “Now why don’t I believe you?”
Lucy shrugged, giving off an air of innocence, her eyes wide, her smile still in place…a secretive grin that gave Tresia pause. “I’ve met the new marshal, Devlin Goodrich.”
And there it was. Despite Lucy knowing she wasn’t interested in ‘finding’ someone, the woman just couldn’t help herself. As a matchmaker—not to mention the town busybody and founderof the Serenity Ladies’ Society—she believed everyone should be happy like she was.
“Oh, let me guess. He’d be the perfect match for me.” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. “Even though I’m not interested. Getting married again is not part of my Plan.”
Lucy shrugged again, an elegant lifting of her shoulders. “Actually, I don’t think he would be. He seems nice enough, I suppose, and very serious, but he isn’t very handsome.”
She took umbrage at the statement. “What a terrible thing to say! As if a person’s looks has anything to do with who and what they are. You can be the most beautiful or handsome person in the world but if your heart is ugly, it doesn’t matter.”
“Is that right?”
“You know it is. My Brett wasn’t the handsomest man I’d ever known, but he was kind and sweet and funny and I loved him, so much so that I married him.” She stopped speaking and stared at her friend. “You know what?”
Lucy just continued to smile at her. “What?”
“You’re a terrible person, Lucy Hart. I don’t even know why I’m friends with you.”
“Because you love me, despite me being such a terrible person?” A sparkle of mischief lit the woman’s mocha brown eyes.
Tresia thought about the truth of those words before she responded. “Yes, I do love you.” She shrugged. “Can’t seem to help myself.” She snaked her arm around her friend’s waist. “Come on in the back. I think Arnold just made a pot of coffee. Maybe we can drink it all before he notices.”
“And you say I’m a terrible person,” Lucy laughed as they walked through the store to the storage room in the back, a place made comfortable with old furnishings that never sold. Tresia opened the back door to let some air circulate into the room, which was stuffy.
She chose two coffee cups from a wide selection on the shelf and placed them on the ornate table then grabbed the coffeepot from the little Ben Franklin stove that warmed the area. “So why are you here, if not to match me up with Marshal Goodrich?”
“I have a job for you,” Lucy said.
Tresia spread her arms wide to encompass the storage room of Sullivan’s Emporium, almost splashing the rich brew from the pot. “I have a job.”
“And you hate it. Hate working for your cousin and his wife. And they hate that they have to give you a job because your father’s will demanded it.” Lucy held out her cup and allowed her to pour coffee, then took a sip. “Admit it, Tresia, there is no love lost between you and Arnold. Or Willetta.” She added a little bit of sugar from the bowl on the table and stirred.
“No, there isn’t.” She poured coffee for herself as well. “It would be a different story if I owned this store, but the chances of that happening aren’t very good right now.” She bit at her bottom lip, still upset that her father, the late, great Lyle Sullivan—the man she’d taken care of for two years after he suffered a stroke—decided she wasn’t smart enough or worthy enough to inherit Sullivan’s Emporium. The knowledge broke her heart.
Lucy smiled at her and tilted her head to the side. “How would you like to tell Arnold you quit?”
“Oh, I’d love that, but I couldn’t.” She put the coffeepot back on the stove, then slid into one of the comfortable chairs. “I need a job to support myself. You know that. You know that Brett didn’t leave me much when he passed, and I won’t touch the money Daddy left me. That’s for the new store—or buying this one back.”
