“What if I told you Marshal Goodrich needs someone to keep house and take care of his daughter?”
“I don’t know, Lucy.” She paused, thinking it over, then admitted, “That’s the last thing I want to do. I’m thirty-one?—”
“I know how old you are.”
Tresia continued, ignoring the interruption. “—and I’ve taken care of people since I was thirteen. First Mama, then Brett when he became ill—which was an honor, don’t get me wrong—then Daddy after he had his stroke.” She shook her head and glanced at her friend. “It’s my time…to just live for myself, to follow my dreams.”
“And how is that plan working for you? Have you saved enough money to buy this store back from your nasty cousin and his equally nasty wife? Can you afford any of the stores you’ve found in the newspapers you get from all over the country?”
She hung her head. “No.” She put her coffee cup on the table, then twisted her hands in her lap to keep them still. “It just isn’t right, Lucy! I worked hard, keeping the store open and taking care of Daddy.”
“You did. No one worked harder than you.” Sympathy flashed in Lucy’s eyes.
“And I was good at it. Efficient. Smart about my decisions. I made a steady profit, just like Daddy did.” She twisted her fingers a little tighter, until they hurt, then untwisted them and rubbed her palms against the material of her skirt. “To have it all taken away after Daddy died is sometimes more than I can bear. It makes me angry, too, at the unfairness of it all.”
“I, more than anyone, know what you’ve been through, Tresia, and I know that working for the marshal is not what you want. Not right now anyway, but here’s the difference.” Lucy studied her over the rim of her coffee cup, her eyes crinkling at the corners with both concern and something else she couldn’t identify. “Neither Devlin Goodrich nor his daughter are ill. He’s a widower. He just needs someone to take care of Avery during the day and make sure his house is clean and there’s healthy food on the table.”
“What would happen to Sullivan’s if I’m not here?”
Lucy shrugged. “Arnold would continue to run it into the ground, despite your efforts. Or maybe in spite of them.”
She let out a sigh. “I would hate to see that happen. Sullivan’s has been in Serenity for over thirty-five years. It’s a staple in the community. Everyone comes here.” She let out another sigh. “At least, they used to.”
“You can’t stop what he’s doing.” Lucy lowered her voice. “Your father should have known better.”
Still reeling with the pain and regret that her father had done this, she stiffened. “Yes, he should have known better.” She paused before saying what she suspected. “Arnold manipulated him, I think. Took advantage of him because he couldn’t think as clearly as he did before the stroke. That stroke took more from him than his voice and his ability to move freely.” She laughed a little. “Except when it came to playing chess. His mind was definitely sharp then.”
“Taking the job with the marshal would pay so much more than what you’re currently making here. The hours would be steady. Just think, more savings toward The Plan.”
“I don’t know, Lucy.” She shook her head. “It’s not what I want.”
“And you’ll never get what you want with Arnold running things and cutting your hours. If he had his way, you’d only be working one hour a week, and we both know that wouldn’t go far. You’d have to dip into your savings just to pay your room and board.” Lucy leaned forward, took her hand, and squeezed gently before releasing her. “I so wish you would have moved in with Ben and me.”
Tresia shook her head. “No, that wouldn’t have been right, Lucy, and you know that. You and Ben have only been married two years. Neither one of you needs me making a nuisance of myself.”
“Be that as it may, let me tell you about this job. Or rather, the marshal’s daughter. Her name is Avery. She’s almost five and she’s just adorable!” Lucy smiled a big Cheshire cat grin. “Just meet them, Tresia. What could it hurt?”
What could it hurt, indeed? Actually, it couldn’t hurt at all. She’d love to tell Arnold she quit. Maybe then, he and his wife would actually have to work, which they didn’t now because she did everything from ordering supplies and keeping the books to making sure all their displays were attractive, despite the meager hours he gave her. Oh, Arnold came in every day, strolling in whenever he pleased, but he stayed in his office. What he did in there, she had no clue. And Willetta? She only came in when she wanted something or to berate her for some imagined slight.
And the extra money? Yes, she could use that, save it all for the day when she could take the store back from right under Arnold’s nose…or buy another one somewhere else and make it her own. “All right. I’ll meet them, but I’m not making any promises.”
A knowing smile crossed Lucy’s face before she lifted the coffee cup to her lips as if to hide that smile. “I can guarantee you’ll love little Avery as soon as you meet her. I know I did. She doesn’t speak much, but that’s all right. She’s as cute as a button!”
Half an hour later, coffee and Lucy gone, she removed the white apron she wore, pulled on the jacket that matched her skirt, and knocked on Arnold’s office door. She didn’t wait for him to respond, simply pushed it open to see him sitting there, cigar in his mouth, feet up on the desk, hands folded across his big belly. He didn’t move except for his eyebrows, which lowered into a frown.
She ignored the cigar ashes that littered the floor and the desk, because he couldn’t even be bothered to use the glassashtray that was sitting right there. “I’m taking my lunch, Arnold.”
She didn’t give him a chance to respond as she closed the door as quickly as she’d opened it and hurried from the store. Walking across the town square, she felt the first jitter of anticipation flooding her belly. It had been a long time since she’d felt that and she had to admit, it was good. Her life, since losing Brett, then losing her father and the Emporium, had been a series of disappointments. Maybe this was the opportunity she’d been waiting for.
Stopping in front of the house all the Marshals of Serenity had lived in for as long as she could remember, Tresia smoothed her hair back into the chignon at the nape of her neck, tugged down the hem of her jacket, and stepped up to the porch. Her heart was in her throat. This was crazy. How’d she ever let Lucy talk her into this!
She knocked and waited. It wasn’t long before she heard little footsteps scampering across the floor from inside the house. A moment later, the door swung open, and she came face to face with a tiny cherub of a girl, clutching a carved wooden horse in her hand. In an instant, she was smitten. Lucy hadn’t lied. Avery Goodrich was the most adorable little girl she’d ever seen—short, light-brown curls that looked like she’d brushed them herself, if at all, sparkling, big blue-gray eyes, pert little nose, cupid’s bow mouth. She was a petite little thing, too.
The girl fidgeted in the doorway, eyes wide, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as if anxious to be moving—or perhaps, a little frightened. She did not speak, nor did she move out of the doorway. Peeking past her into the parlor, Tresia noticed two more horses on the rug in front of the cold fireplace.
She brought her attention back to the little girl. “You must be Miss Avery.”
The girl stopped moving and nodded, those curls surrounding her head like a halo bouncing as she did so.
