there, an amused half smile on his face. Adam was the closest thing Nate had to a friend these days, and was the person to whom he owed his current toehold on stability.
Nate returned the smile. “Just enjoying the morning sunshine.”
Adam nodded and Nate knew without any exchange of words that his friend understood his meaning.
Nate leaned against the broom. “And what is the town’s esteemed banker doing on this side of the street? Checking up on me?” He was only half joking. The bank, where Adam had his office, was a block and a half in the other direction.
“Not at all.” Adam nodded toward the apothecary. “Reggie asked me to stop by Flaherty’s for her.”
Nate frowned. Reggie, Adam’s wife, was expecting their third child. “She’s not taken ill I hope.”
Adam shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s for Patricia. She’s developed a rash and Reggie asked me to pick up some ointment for it.” Beans had joined them now and was sniffing at Adam’s boots. The man stooped down to absently scratch the animal behind the ears. “So how is business?”
Nate shrugged. “Slow. I sold a bridle Monday and yesterday Ed Strickland brought in a harness for me to mend.” He tightened his hold on the broom handle. “But it’s only my third day so I didn’t expect a rush of business just yet.” But it would need to pick up soon if he was going to pay his bills.
Adam nodded toward the display window. “I imagine that’s getting you some interest.”
Nate glanced at the item Adam was referring to and felt a small tug of pride. It was a saddle—one of the few possessions he’d brought with him to Turnabout. He’d made it himself and spent a lot of time and effort on it. The display piece was a visible testament to his skill as a saddler. “I’ve had a few inquiries, but nothing serious yet.”
“I predict it will catch just the right eye soon.” Then Adam glanced ahead. “Looks like Mr. Flaherty is opening his doors, so I’ll let you get back to your sweeping.” And with a nod, Adam headed for the apothecary.
Nate brushed the broom over the sidewalk one last time, his thoughts still with his friend. When Adam had invited him to move here to Turnabout, he’d described the town as a good place for fresh starts, something he’d known Nate was seeking. Nate had now seen firsthand just how well things had worked out for Adam. His friend, who hailed from Philadelphia, had truly made a life for himself in this town. He’d married a local woman and now had two children with a third on the way. He also had a position as manager of the local bank and had become an accepted, even prominent, member of this community. All that in spite of having spent six years in prison. Of course, not everyone here knew that part of his past.
Nate, whose own past was similar to Adam’s, both in where he’d come from and where he’d been, passionately wanted that kind of future for himself. At least the being accepted and belonging part.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want the family part too—he absolutely did. It was just that he knew it was better—for everyone—if he didn’t pursue that dream.
For one thing, he had no luck whatsoever in relationships. More often than not, he ended up hurting the very people he cared most about.
For another, he could never pursue a serious relationship with a woman without letting her know what he’d done. And what woman would want to marry a man with a past like his? Especially not a certain widow whose face popped into his head at the thought. No, it was best all the way around if he just settled for a comfortable, neighborly relationship with the folks around here.
After all, what more could a man who’d robbed a bank and then spent nine years in prison paying for it expect?
“I can’t wait to see the latest of your fabulous creations.”
Verity firmly pushed aside thoughts of the very interesting Mr. Cooper as she smiled at her friend Hazel’s extravagant compliment. “I’m not sure about fabulous, but I do hope you like it.” She glanced toward Joy, who sat on the floor playing with Buttons. Maybe someday, when they had a house of their own, she could get Joy the pet she so passionately wanted. In the meantime, perhaps Aunt Betty and Uncle Grover wouldn’t mind a caged pet, like a sweet little songbird...
“Oh, my...”
Her friend’s delighted exclamation pulled Verity’s thoughts back to the present.
Hazel lifted Verity’s current millinery creation out of the hatbox and studied it, her eyes gratifyingly alight with admiration. “I do believe this is your best one yet. It’s absolutely exquisite.” Then she shook her head in mock confusion. “Who would guess that your restrained demeanor hides a woman with such a stylish flair?”
Verity drew up at that. “I’m a widow, remember. My restrained demeanor, as you call it, is not only appropriate but expected.”
Hazel seemed unimpressed by her reasoning. “You’ve been widowed over a year now, so it’s okay to put off wearing such dreary colors all the time. And we both know that before you were even married you dressed much more conservatively than the rest of us.”
Verity knew her friend meant well, but the words still stung. As if her mourning for Arthur would automatically end based on a date on a calendar. Besides, she had already added some color to her wardrobe. True, she still wore black skirts, but her shirtwaists contained gray or lavender or even some dark green. In fact, her Sunday best was the only solid-black dress she still wore, and she’d even added a bit of gray to the collar and cuffs of that one. It was only proper that, as a widow, she didn’t try to wear bright colors or frills.
As for the rest, with that scar on her face, she’d never been one of the “pretty girls,” and she’d long since come to terms with that.
Verity gave her friend an exasperated look. “Not all of us are as comfortable with flamboyant airs and drama as you are.”
This shop was proof of that. Color and furbelows were everywhere. Besides the dress forms that displayed examples of her work, there were bolts of fabrics in every shade imaginable, from pastels to deep jewel tones, both solids and prints, spools of lace and cord and ribbons, trimmings such as feathers and beads and medallions, fashion plates displayed artfully around the store—and all arranged in a manner to catch the eye and entice one to come close to admire and touch and perhaps purchase.
Verity loved it here, loved how it made her feel, as if she was inside a fantastical daydream where nothing harsh could intrude.
But she was just a visitor here—it wasn’t her world.
“Which is a shame.”
For a startled moment Verity thought her friend had read her thoughts. Then she realized Hazel was merely responding to her last statement.
Hazel’s grin had an I-know-best twist to it. “I think a little flamboyancy and drama in your life is just what you need.”
Verity relaxed and returned her grin. “That’s what I have you in my life for. And why I create these hats.” One of the things she’d missed most about Turnabout when she’d married Arthur and moved so far away was her friendship with Hazel. They’d kept in touch
