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Chauncey Miller announced loudly, “According to the good doctor, she’s spending her own money.”
A buzz went up and Lacy snapped, “Chauncey, hush.”
“Just telling the truth. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Doc?”
Someone else called out with a laugh, “Careful Chauncey before she shoots you like she shot the doc.”
Laughter.
Regan steamed. She wanted to ask the people if they didn’t have someplace else to be, but kept the question to herself. It was a small town and amusements were hard to come by.
She finished her shopping and Miller totaled up what she owed. He called out the sum so that everyone could hear and Regan agreed with her husband’s take on the store owner—he was a pain in the rear. As everyone watched and waited to see if she could pay the large sum, a thick silence settled over the scene. She reached down into her boot and calmly withdrew her money pouch. When she slapped three double eagles on the counter, the crowd cheered. She smiled at Miller. His crestfallen face told all. It was his business to sell goods, had he really looked forward to crowing about her not having enough funds? Regan wondered how he’d react were she to tell him she could’ve paid ten times the amount.
A glance Lacy’s way showed her terse face. “You’d think he’d be pleased to have a customer spend so much, but he’s never been a smart man.”
He glared at her.
She ignored him, except to say, “Get her things crated up, Chauncey, so she can take them home.”
She and Regan stepped outside to wait for her purchases and Regan asked about the invitation from the Paradise Ladies group. “We usually meet Friday evenings at the home of Glenda Cale. Her husband owns the bank.”
“How many women are in the club?”
“Seven, sometimes eight.”
“Is Spring a member?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They think she has questionable morals.”
Regan didn’t care for that. “I see. Was Dr. Lee’s late wife a member?”
“Yes. In fact, Adele was our secretary. Her aunt’s a member, too.”
Armed with this new information, Regan wanted to decline the invitation, but being the doctor’s wife made some activities mandatory and this sounded like one she couldn’t wiggle out of easily. She’d belonged to a women’s group back home and had enjoyed it immensely. If she found the Paradise club not to her liking, she’d concoct plausible excuses to miss as many meetings as she could.
While his wife was possibly buying everything Miller’s General Store had to offer, Colt left his office and walked down to the telegraph office run by Odell Waters. It was the gathering place for the old men of Paradise. Many of whom, now in their sixth and seventh decades of life, shared a past tied to hunting, fishing, prospecting, mining, and gossiping. He was hoping mill owner and carpenter Porter James would be there so Colt could ask him about heading up the work needed for Regan’s new bedroom. Like Colt, Porter was a man of color, one of the few in the area. Colt also wondered if Odell had any news on his grandfather Ben.
The men in the office greeted him warmly and as always there was a checkers game going on. Odell was playing Porter. Colt told them why he’d come and Odell shared news about Ben.
“I was up at his cabin yesterday,” he said, eyeing his next move on the checkerboard. “He’s still mad that you didn’t listen to him about marrying Miss Regan, but then Ben thinks everything that comes out of his mouth is gold.” He moved his black piece and waited while Porter studied the board.
“I can do the work on the room, if you like, Doc,” Porter said. “Know a glazier, too.”
He kinged one of his pieces and Odell blew out a breath of frustration. “I hate playing with you.”
“I would, too, if I lost to me as many times as you have.”
Porter proceeded to make short work of the increasingly glum Odell and when the game was over, Odell gave up his seat to the next challenger, stagecoach driver Moss Denby.
Odell walked over to the telegraph equipment and said to Colt, “Your wife’s telegraph finally went out last night. A reply came back about an hour ago.” He handed the folded message to Colt who placed it in his shirt pocket.
“I’ll make sure she gets it.”
Moss looked up from the checkerboard and asked Colt, “Did somebody really take a shot at her and your daughter?”
