Slow Talkin' Texan

“I believe you.”

“You do?”

Ellen smiled. “Yes.”

“What about Kyle?”

“What about him?”

Janis hesitated, a frown marring her forehead. “He’s been acting kind of squirrelly lately. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Me, either. But right now, you and I have work to do. There are six boxes to unpack. That’s your job.”

“Then I’m not fired?”

“No. I believe in second chances, but not third ones.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ellen ran a hand through her hair, and her palm came away moist. Damn, but it was hot, she thought even though the air conditioner was on as far as she dared turn it. The shop was still in the red, and she had to be careful.

What a day, and it wasn’t over yet. The morning’s escapade with Janis and Kyle had started her off on the wrong foot. Things had gone from bad to worse. When Janis started unboxing the freight, half of the items shipped turned out to be either wrong or damaged.

She’d been furious and still was. But there wasn’t anything she could do about the problem except reorder, which took time.

Ellen glanced at her watch, noticing that closing time was only thirty minutes away. She had expected to hear from Meg sometime during the day; so far she hadn’t. Apparently Kyle hadn’t told her yet or she would have called demanding Ellen’s side of the story.

Just how serious were Kyle and Janis? But how serious did kids nowadays have to be to make love? God, she hoped Janis wouldn’t turn up pregnant. That thought sent a chill darting through her. At this moment, she didn’t envy her sister having a teenager.

The Lord seemed to have known what he was doing when he hadn’t given her a child.

The buzzer on the door sounded, drawing her attention away from her maudlin thoughts. She smiled at the customer, only to have that smile disappear. Mrs. Cavanaugh. What had she done to deserve this? Ellen asked herself. Especially at the end of a hellish day?

“I’m glad I caught you,” Ruth Cavanaugh said in her haughtiest tone.

“Me, too,” Ellen lied, plastering a fixed smile on her lips.

This tall, horse-faced woman had been her cross to bear from the first day she’d opened the shop. She was one of the richest, but most miserable, women Ellen had ever met.

“This tea set I bought yesterday doesn’t work.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s the wrong color.”

Ellen sighed and held on to her temper by a thread. “Would you like to get another one?”

“No. The other colors aren’t right, either. Besides, for what it is, it’s too expensive.”

Bitch. Ellen’s fixed smile broadened. “I’ll be happy to credit your account.”

“I want my money back.”

“That’s not my policy.”

Mrs. Cavanaugh’s watery-blue eyes—a perfect match for her watery-blue hair, Ellen thought cattily—hardened. “Then change your policy.”

“Fine.” Ellen opened the cash drawer and withdrew a hundred dollars in twenties. “Here’s your money.”

“Thank you.” With that, Ruth Cavanaugh turned and marched out the door.

“Damn!” Ellen muttered, feeling her stomach churn.

Coffee, Anyone? couldn’t afford many financial hits like that one and survive. But maybe she’d saved her reputation by returning the money to the cantankerous old biddy.

Deciding her troubles just had to be over for the day, Ellen went into the back room, remembering a gift she hadn’t wrapped. She had just climbed to the top rung of the ladder to get the right box when she heard the buzzer.

Wouldn’t you know it!

If whoever had come in spent money, she wouldn’t mind climbing down. But if the customer only wanted a cup of coffee, she would not be happy. Immediately Ellen chastised herself for that attitude. A two-dollar coffee customer today could return tomorrow and buy a fifty-dollar gift.

That thought sent Ellen scrambling down the steps and into the front room. She’d barely cleared the door when she froze.

“Hi.”

The last person she’d expected to see was Porter Wyman. Nevertheless, all six feet plus of him was leaning against the door, a smile strengthening the grin lines around his mouth and eyes.

Ellen cleared her throat and tried to collect herself. She didn’t remember his being so big or so good-looking. Although he was dressed in worn jeans, a casual shirt and scuffed boots, attire she normally frowned on, she couldn’t find fault with those clothes on him, a fact that didn’t set well with her.

“Hi, yourself,” she finally said, knowing she sounded out of breath. His presence had not only caught her off guard but flustered her, as well. Maybe it was the way he was looking at her with those unusual eyes, deep and mysterious.

“What can I do for you?” She couldn’t imagine what he wanted in a shop like hers.

Porter grinned and pushed himself away from the door. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“You sound surprised,” she responded, stiffening.

He shrugged. “Tell the truth, I didn’t know what to expect. This isn’t my thing, you know.”

No kidding, she wanted to blurt out, but didn’t. Not only would that be rude, but ugly to boot But then, she was in an ugly mood, and his arrival had exacerbated it. Even so, she was curious.

“So how’s business?” he asked in an unhurried drawl, as if time was of no consequence.

“Fine.” The stiffness in her body and voice was more noticeable than ever.

She knew he was aware of her discomfort; his mischievous smile said as much. “I hope I’m not keeping you from closing up.”

“You’re not,” she said meaningfully, with a look at her watch.