kind of figured that. I aim to win them over to my side of things.”
“Is that why you came back?”
He handed her back her basket. “You be careful, ma’am. I wouldn’t want you to take a tumble. I might not be there next time.”
As she grabbed the basket, it shifted suddenly. A soft sound drifted out.
“Now, you girls hush,” Mrs. Dobson said. “We’ll be home soon. I’ve got some cream for you.” She looked up at him. “Kittens. Doc Ramsey told me their mother is a good mouser.”
She drew back the red-and-white-checkered cloth that covered the basket. He bent down. Three kittens were curled up together, feet and tails overlapping. Two were black-and-white with bits of marmalade color on their faces, the third was a small calico with big green eyes.
“I only wanted the two, but old Doc Ramsey snuck the third one inside with the others.” She glanced down and patted the kittens. “Silly thing is too small to be much good. But he said if I didn’t take it, he’d drown it.” She pulled the cover over the basket. “I’ve never had cats before. My dog always took care of the mice, but he didn’t make it through the winter. And with my fence in need of mending, another dog seemed like too much trouble.” She shifted her burden to her other hand. “So now I’ve got three cats. We’ll see if we like one another.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
She glanced around as if suddenly realizing how long they’d been talking. “Mercy, I’ve got to get on home. It wouldn’t do for me to be seen talking to a handsome young man. What would people say?” She gave him a quick smile, then turned away. “Thank you for helping me.”
“You’re welcome.” He watched her walk by the public water pump. Her basket bounced wildly as if the kittens had decided to start playing. They sure were cute, especially the little calico one.
He got the thought about the same time his feet started moving. It was a silly idea. Then he grinned. Why not?
“Mrs. Dobson,” he called as he hurried after her.
She stopped, turned and looked at him.
“If you don’t want the little cat, could I have her?”
She couldn’t have looked more shocked if he’d tried to steal a kiss. “You want a kitten? They’re not going to let you keep it in your room at the hotel.”
He didn’t bother asking how she knew where he was staying. The widow had always known everything about everybody. The only secret he’d ever kept in this town was the one about him and Megan. No one had known they’d been spending time together. No one had known that he’d asked her to marry him and she’d said yes. No one knew what she’d said to him that last day when he’d asked her to come away with him.
He pushed away those memories, knowing he would have to face them sometime but not wanting it to be today. “It’s a gift for someone.”
“A girl you’re bringing in from wherever you used to live?”
“There’s no girl coming, and no, I didn’t go and get married, either.”
Mrs. Dobson didn’t even have the grace to flush. She tilted her head. “You trust this person to take care of the cat?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” She reached in the basket and pulled out the little calico. “Here. She’s probably hungry, so don’t dawdle.”
He hadn’t been accused of dawdling since he’d been about eight, but there was no point in correcting her. He thanked her, tipped his hat and hurried toward the Bartlett General Store.
The kitten curled against his chest, then shivered. The wind was picking up in force and the temperature had dropped. He pulled open his coat and set the kitten into an inner pocket. After making sure the animal was comfortable, he carefully held the edges of his coat together tight enough to keep out the chill, but not so tight that she couldn’t breathe. He could feel the tiny vibration of her purring.
When he crossed the street in front of the general store, he stepped carefully so as not to jar the kitten, then shook his head in disgust. The little creature had probably received plenty of jostling in Mrs. Dobson’s basket. Still, he moved with care.
He was so intent on his passenger, he didn’t realize he was close to the store until he stopped in front of it. The big windows, ordered special from the East, gleamed. The painted name looked freshly touched up. Lace curtains hung over the glass in the door, and between the glass and lace was a sign saying Closed.
He swore under his breath. He should have remembered that the town kept winter hours until well after the spring thaw. Blizzards could crop up without warning, trapping the unwary for the night. Everything closed up early so that the shopkeepers had time to get home in the light. He shouldn’t have taken so long with Mrs. Dobson. No, he shouldn’t have taunted Megan in the beginning. Then he wouldn’t have to waste his time apologizing.
He was about to turn back toward his office, when he heard a door close. He looked around the side of the building and saw Megan walking briskly away from the back of the store. She was heading home. Justin started after her. If her sister had gone and married the town minister and Megan’s father had passed away, Megan most likely still lived in the Bartlett place on the edge of town. With her long dress and ladylike shoes, she would have to keep to the path. If he hurried, he could cut through the grove of trees behind the land office and beat her there.
“Hold on,” he told the kitten and circled around the front of the general store. He nearly bumped into a large man wearing a bloodied apron under his coat. “Evening, Mr. Greeley.”
“Evening. Justin Kincaid? Is that you?”
Justin didn’t bother to stop and chat. He tipped his hat and hurried along the boardwalk. Once past the land office, he headed directly into the trees. Without green leaves to hide the path, the way was easy to spot. He cupped one hand under the kitten and jogged through the grove.
When he came out the other side, he could see the Bartlett house sitting at the top of a small rise. It stood three stories tall, looking like a graceful old lady. Bare oak trees reached past the peaked roof. The setting sun reflected off the front windows. A wide porch circled the house, but all the outdoor furniture had been pushed to one side and covered with oilcloth. Bare patches of dirt showed where the garden would be, come spring.
He moved closer, fighting the memories. How many times had he stood just inside the grove of trees and stared at this house? He’d often willed Megan to come out and join him. Many afternoons, she had. One night, she’d crept out the back door and met him by the creek. They’d laughed and talked almost until dawn. Until he’d sent her inside because he’d wanted her so badly. Even as a young man, he’d known that Megan Bartlett wasn’t the kind of girl a man had his way with. She was the kind of girl a man married. That was why he’d proposed.
The familiar ache in his chest made him push the memories aside. He didn’t want to remember any of it. He wanted to apologize and be on his way.
He walked over to the front steps and sat down. Megan would be along any moment. The path she’d taken was longer, but only by about five minutes. He checked on the kitten. She’d fallen
