Page 164 of The Widow and the Wanted

Okee shakes his head, as if it no longer matters. His pained expression softens until he lets out a sigh that’s half a laugh. “I can’t believe you slapped him.”

I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle. Whatever grief had been in him does not vanish. It remains there, dark and deep. But something else rises beside it. Love. The fierce kind. The kind that refuses to let shame have the last word. He presses a kiss to my temple.

“Thank you,” he says, then kisses Boone’s forehead. “Both of you. For standing up for me.”

Boone takes his face, kissing his mouth. “Always.”

We hug, holding each other there for a sweet moment. Outside, camp life goes on in its steady rhythm.

Then, after a few indulgent moments I ask, “Are you taking the rest of the day off or are you ready to get back to work?”

The men chuckle.

“Always cracking your damn whip, woman.”

“Hugs don’t buy bread. Don’t I recall you saying something like that?”

“Yeah, all right. Back to work.”

Chapter 41

Boone

The door creaks and the bell rings, three of the Morton young’uns rush in, barefoot and bold, with dirt on their hems and pond water still drying in their hair. They ain’t strangers. Every few weeks, one or another finds a reason to nose about our shop.

Jars of camphor sit cooling on the counter, ready for rubbing on chests. Elderberries bubble, black and sweet, on the stove. The front counter’s a mess of jars and powders as I restock. I count all their dirty little fingers, watching for the one that might pocket something if they think I ain’t looking.

“Morning, Mr. Maddox,” one sings out, hand already plunging into the candy jar. Another drags a finger along the shelf, leaving a smudge on the glass.

“You young’uns got business here, make it quick,” I tell them, keeping my tone even. “This ain’t a playhouse.”

They snicker, dropping their pennies on the counter.

“My ma says y’all got unnatural vices,” the smallest one, Millie, blurts, bright-eyed with daring.

“Shhh,” an older one scolds, shooting me a guilty look.

I cover the mouth of the jar with my hand and drag it back. “That so?”

“Mm-hmm,” she says proudly, with a gummy toothless smile. Too damn adorable to begrudge her. Child don’t know what she’s saying.

“Then I reckon your ma wouldn’t want you lingerin’ ’round the likes of us. Best you skedaddle.” I shake my head, picking out three pennies’ worth of candy from the jar, adding a little extra even though they don’t deserve it, then set it on a piece of paper on the counter.

They snatch their candy and spill out into the sunlight, giggling all the way down the steps.

I call after them. “Have your ma come visit when she’s snifflin’ and hackin’.”

They’re already gone. The bell above the door gives a last lonely jingle, then settles.

Later that evening, just before we close up shop, Lula comes up front from the back room, arms full of tinned salves.

“You missed the Mortons casting judgment on us this morning, little bastards.”

“That family can judge all they want,” she says. “Won’t change the fact their daddy spends all day at the Gemini betting their supper money on cards.”

“And spending it on ass,” Okee chimes in, then slaps a ledger on the counter. “The shop was twice as profitable this week compared to the week before.”

Lula’s eyes widen. “Truly?”