Charles. He was lonely. Since he arrived in town, Fannie had come by the paper with one excuse after another. But her giggling and incessant chatter put a knot in his stomach. From what she’d said, she didn’t even read the newspaper.
No, he liked the appearance and manner of Miss Crum. “I’ve considered asking her to dinner,” he said before he thought.
“Miss Whitehall or Miss Crum?”
“Miss Crum.”
Teddy raised his brows. “So, what’s stopping you?”
“A woman who applied for an orphan would have only one thing on her mind—getting married and having babies of her own. I’ve no intention of tying that knot.”
Teddy scratched the back of his neck, peering at him with mild hazel eyes. “You running away from matrimony, boss?”
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Charles studied the floor, and then raised his gaze. “In my experience, Teddy, if you smile twice at a woman, she starts planning your wedding.” His hand left his pocket and pushed through his hair. “What makes women think they know a man better than he knows himself?”
Teddy hooted. “They do, that’s a fact.” His eyes disappeared in a lopsided grin, a grin fading faster than morning glories at noon. “What’s wrong with marrying? My Grace is a good woman, takes care of me just fine. Gave me four sons,” Teddy said, his tone laced with pride.
Countless Sunday mornings, Charles had seen Miss Crum set off for church, dressed to the hilt from the shiny tips of her shoes to the top of her elaborate hat, clutching the Good Book. Yes, a fine Christian woman. As different from him as any woman he’d ever known. Exactly why this sense of a connection between them wasn’t logical.
If Charles really cared about Miss Crum, he’d stay away.
But he had no intention of sharing that with Teddy. “We’d best get to work or we won’t get this edition out.”
Teddy gave him a long, hard look before heading inside. Once they had the presses running, Charles strode to his desk. Miss Crum’s dismay at the disorder he worked in made him as uncomfortable as having his knuckles rapped by his first-grade teacher. He began organizing the clutter and then stopped.
He wasn’t going to let any woman walk in here and, with one disapproving glance, change the way he ran his office. If he did, next thing he knew, she’d be running his life.
Tousling the paperwork, he restored the desk to its original state and for good measure, dumped the cup of pencils. Slumping into his chair, he eyed the mess with grim satisfaction, promising to steer clear of Miss Crum.
Yet loneliness washed over him, leaving him hollow. Empty. Unlike Fannie, unlike any woman he’d known, Miss Crum captivated him. Though he fought it, he craved substance. Biscuits instead of jam. But that meant letting someone get close. Even a woman like Miss Crum, whose guileless blue eyes tugged at the rusty hinges of his heart, needed to be held at arm’s length.
For her sake, more than his.
Chapter Four
That morning, Adelaide awakened with a sense of anticipation. How much did her excitement have to do with seeing Mr. Graves that day? Everything. That realization scared her more than horses, more than tornadoes—her worst fears…until now.
No, spending her life alone terrified her more than anything.
With God only a whisper away, shame lapped at her conscience. A Christian could never be alone. Still, hadn’t God intended His children to walk two by two?
Forcing her mind away from the editor, she picked up her Bible and opened it to the pink crocheted bookmark, a bookmark she hadn’t moved in weeks. She had a lot of catching up to do. “Forgive me, Lord,” she whispered, then began to read.
The clock struck nine. Adelaide jumped, then closed her Bible, amazed she’d read for an hour. Within these pages, pages she’d neglected, she found peace and comfort and strength. No matter what happened, she would never again make the mistake of neglecting Scripture.
She donned gloves and her latest hat, harboring butterflies in her stomach instead of the peace her Bible reading had given her, all because of Mr. Graves.
Minutes later Adelaide walked through the door of The Ledger. Mr. Graves and Teddy leaned over the boxes of type, selecting and then sliding them into place on narrow racks. When the door shut behind her, Mr. Graves’s gaze met hers.
Teddy threw up a hand. Adelaide waved back, excited to be in this fascinating world of words. Until Mr. Graves’s friendly smile put a flutter into the rhythm of her heart.
They met at his desk, a desk with less clutter and no stale food or empty coffee mugs. Adelaide bit back a smile.
The editor stuck his hands into his pockets and tipped forward on the toes of his shoes. “You look festive today.”
“Thank you.”
Amusement warmed his chocolate eyes as he viewed her hat with its nested bird. “Looks like some baby birds are about to hatch in that bonnet of yours.”
Laughter bubbled up inside Adelaide. She pressed her lips together, trying to keep her mirth inside, but a most unbecoming giggle forced its way out. Heavenly days, she sounded like Fannie. “I like birds.”
“Hopefully that fruit is fake or the birds you so admire might put your hat on the menu.”
“I’ll have you know my hat is in vogue,” she said, the hint of a tease in her voice. “What you need is someone to teach you and your readers style.”
He smirked. “I can’t see farmers reading it.”
“Well, no. But farmers’ wives spend money in town—”
“On birds for their heads,” he said.
She raised her chin. “Are you poking fun at me, Mr. Graves?”
His gaze sobered, something deep and mysterious replaced the mirth and sent a quiver through Adelaide. “Not at all, Miss Crum. Not at all.”
She glanced away from that look and the unspoken words it contained. “Good because I’d like to write a fashion column for the paper.” She covered her mouth with her hand, but the half-baked idea she’d been considering had already escaped. Being around this man scrambled her orderly mind.
Considering her proposal, Mr. Graves tapped a finger on his chin, very near the cleft. “I couldn’t pay much—”
“One free ad per column will do.”
“You’re a shrewd businesswoman. A fashion column isn’t a bad idea. Could you give me a sample? Say, by Monday?”
She beamed, barely able to keep from hugging him for this opportunity. A column would give her shop publicity. Perhaps increase sales, something she needed badly. An article would also give her a voice—granted one about style, but still a published voice. “It’ll be exciting to see my name in print.”
“You and I seem to be kindred spirits.”
