Worth the Wait Page 2

  Tori wasn’t one for drawing attention to herself. Dressed in a tan business suit with a white blouse buttoned to her chin, she was the very picture of unassuming. Or would be to anyone but him. She might try to downplay her feminine assets, but he’d been around her long enough to recognize the slender shapeliness of her figure and the beauty of her blue eyes and creamy complexion. And when she smiled? She became radiant. Not that he’d witnessed many of those rare events. She usually just curved her lips slightly to indicate pleasure or contentment. But every once in a while, especially if her son was involved, a genuine smile escaped all restraints and transformed her into a true beauty.

  “I’m sorry for taking so long.” Tori straightened her shoulders as if readying herself for battle, then traipsed down the steps to the street. “I had a few last-minute details to see to.”

  Ben hurried around the back of the wagon to meet her and had opened his mouth to offer assurances that the delay was no problem when Lewis popped his head up.

  “About time! Sheesh, Ma. You took for-ev-er.”

  Ben cast a warning glance at the boy. “I’m sure whatever your ma was doing was important.” He turned back to Tori and gave her his most charming grin. “She’s worth waiting on.”

  Her lips tightened at that, but into a shape that looked more like disapproval than appreciation of a compliment. So much for his charm.

  “Yes, well . . . I suggest we delay no longer.” Tori lengthened her stride, giving him no chance to assist her into the wagon. She scrambled up the wheel spokes and onto the bench before he could even think about fitting his hands to her waist and hoisting her up.

  Unfortunate, that.

  Ben shrugged off his disappointment and moved forward to give his team a final check before climbing into the driver’s seat. Emma handed a large basket up to Tori and wished her farewell while Grace Mallory waved from behind the store railing.

  As he clucked to his Shires and set the wagon in motion, Ben grinned to himself. One of the best parts of this plan to call on area homesteaders was the sheer number of times they’d be required to enter and exit the wagon. Tori might have escaped him this time, but he’d have a couple dozen more chances to wrap his fingers around her slender waist. He could wait.

  CHAPTER

  2

  After forty-five minutes of maintaining ramrod straight posture and six inches of distance between herself and Mr. Porter, Tori’s lower back throbbed. She couldn’t keep this up for an entire day, not if she expected to have any energy available for winning new customers.

  Pretending to smooth her skirt, she felt along the edge of her right thigh until her fingers encountered the small, hard lump above her knee. Reassuring herself of the derringer’s presence, she allowed herself to relax, just a bit. Enough so she could sway with the natural movement of the wagon instead of forcing a rigidly proper posture. Because, really . . . what did being that stiff actually accomplish besides wearing her out and making her appear ridiculous? A lady might utilize such an unbending posture to communicate firm resolve and a standoffish manner when sitting in a parlor chair, but in a freight wagon such measures were far from practical. And she’d always prided herself on her practicality.

  Tori chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye to the man at her side. His attention appeared riveted to the road in front of them. Good. He probably didn’t even notice.

  His head suddenly swiveled her way as if he sensed her gaze. He winked at her. Winked!

  “I gotta say your stamina is impressive.” His voice held a warm, teasing lilt. “I didn’t think you’d make it past Mrs. Cooper’s chicken farm with that iron-poker spine, and here you lasted three times as long.”

  Tori stiffened, then realized the irony of the action and settled for pursing her lips instead. “I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  Mr. Porter chuckled. “And here I’d always thought you the honest type.”

  Tori couldn’t decide whether she should be more upset over the fact that he’d called her out on her prim yet completely false denial, or the fact that he’d been aware of her to such a degree that he’d noticed the change in her posture the very moment she let herself relax. The later was certainly more disturbing, especially because a tiny, foolish part of her couldn’t help but be flattered by it.

  “Look,” he said. “If it makes you feel better, set that food basket on the bench between us.” He nodded his chin toward the floorboard between their feet where the basket rested. “I don’t want you to be so stiff and sore that you can’t make it through the day. Hard to make a good impression if you’re permanently bent at the waist with muscle spasms.”

  There he went being insightful again. And instead of trying to assure her with words that he was not a threat, he gave her a tangible way to feel safe. A barrier to replace the one she was forfeiting.

  He understood her . . . on a frightfully deep level.

  Tori’s stomached clenched at the implication.

  Then the fighter inside her, the one who had defied the odds by starting her business while raising a child on her own, roused. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I’d hate for our lunch to topple and spill if we hit a deep rut in the road.” And she’d hate even more for him to think her so emotionally fragile as to need a flimsy wicker box between them to feel secure. She wasn’t fragile. She was cautious. There was a difference.

  “Fine by me.” He shrugged and turned his attention back to the road. “I think I see the turnoff for the first farm up on the right, anyhow. We’ll be getting out in a few minutes.”

  Tori placed a hand against her middle in a vain effort to still the sudden bout of nerves dancing through her midsection. She twisted slightly and craned her neck to see into the wagon bed.

  “We’re nearly at the first house, Lewis. Remember what I told you. Don’t interrupt the adults while we’re talking, and stay where I can see you.”

  He aimed his popgun at a knothole in the side of the wagon, squinting one eye to sharpen his aim, and pulled the trigger. A tethered cork shot out and hit the knothole dead center. Lewis let out a small whoop, an ecstatic grin spreading.

  “Did you see that one? I got it right in the middle!”

  Tori smiled slightly even as she narrowed her eyes in motherly sternness. “Yes, I saw it. But what I need to know is if you heard what I said.”

  He tamed the grin into submission, yet his eyes continued dancing with little boy excitement. “Yes, ma’am.” Lewis gave a vigorous nod that slammed his chin into his chest. “No talkin’ to the grown-ups and no runnin’ off.”

  “Very good. I expect you to be on your best behavior today.”

  “I know.” Lewis smiled at her—that private, only for his mama smile that never failed to melt her heart—then turned back to his target practice.

  Tori’s heart swelled with love and pride. He really was a good boy. Bright. Obedient. A bit rambunctious at times, but never rebellious. Most shopkeepers wouldn’t dream of taking such a young child with them on a business trip such as this, but Tori had no qualms. It had been just the two of them for so long, she would have been lost without him.

  “I’ll help you keep an eye on him.” Mr. Porter’s deep voice rumbled near her ear, bringing Tori’s head back around. “So you can concentrate on selling our services without the added distraction.”

  Some ornery part of her wanted to turn down his offer, to argue that her son wasn’t a distraction, and that she didn’t need his help. But that bit of irrational feminism served no practical purpose. The truth was, having an extra pair of eyes keeping track of Lewis’s whereabouts would be a blessing.

  “Thank you.” She dipped her head graciously to the man seated beside her, hoping he had no inkling of the thoughts that had just run through her head.

  He nodded back without a word, but the suppressed laughter in his gaze hinted that he probably suspected her true feelings. Annoying man.

  Mr. Porter turned his team of giant black draf
t horses down the rutted lane that led to a farmhouse nestled between a pair of large oaks. Sunlight winked off the window glass in a welcoming fashion, and Tori’s pulse hummed a little faster. She sat straighter on the bench seat and raised a hand to check the simple chignon beneath her bonnet. She’d used a pile of hair pins to ensure it didn’t move, but the wind always managed to tug a few wisps free.

  “You look fine,” Mr. Porter mumbled.

  The gruff compliment would have lifted her spirits if the man’s tone hadn’t given her the impression he considered her efforts at tidiness frivolous. She stretched her chin forward and continued checking her appearance by running a hand along the ruffled collar of her shirtwaist, then down the center of the bodice to her skirt, brushing away any travel dust that might have accumulated. Though, thanks to the rains a couple days ago, the dust had been minimal so far.

  “Might as well get used to the ritual,” Tori announced in regal tones. “A businesswoman must always be cognizant of her appearance when dealing with customers. A tidy appearance gives the impression of capability and competence. Your muscles and height might be enough to recommend your abilities to tote and carry heavy crates and supplies, but for money to change hands, customers need to be assured that they are dealing with a professional.”

  Tori folded her hands in her lap, proud of her little speech until she realized she’d basically insulted her business partner, implying that all he was good for was hauling heavy objects, as if he were no better than the draft horses pulling their wagon. She knew for a fact the man had a keen mind. Why, this entire venture was his idea.

  Her posture sagged a bit as she turned in the seat to face him. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I . . . ”

  He glanced her way, a cocky half grin making her belly tighten. “Like my muscles, do you?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Too bad we didn’t bring along a few sacks of flour on this run. I can carry two at a time. ’Course, if someone loads me up, I can do twice that many. Two on each shoulder.”

  Good heavens! That was nearly four-hundred pounds. Not that she doubted his word. All one had to do was look at him. His coat barely contained the width of his . . .

  He flexed just as her attention drifted to his biceps, stretching the already strained material even tighter around the impressive bulge of muscle. Tori jerked her gaze away, hating that he’d caught her looking. For pity’s sake. She didn’t even like big men. They were too powerful. Dangerous.

  Yet Mr. Porter looked far from dangerous when he wiggled his eyebrows in that ridiculously overblown fashion and puffed up like a tom turkey showing off his feathers.

  Well, this hen wasn’t impressed with a bunch of fluff and gobble. That swirling in her belly was simply nerves about meeting her first potential customers of the day. Nothing more.

  She wouldn’t allow it to be anything more.

  Tori cleared her throat. “I’m afraid the heaviest item you’ll be required to lift today is a bolt or two of fabric. You’ll probably waste away from lack of use.”

  He laughed. The deep, resonant sound poured through her like a long swallow of hot cocoa, rolling through all the cold places inside and warming them as it passed. Thankfully, she didn’t have long to ponder the ramifications of her reaction, for the farmhouse door opened as the wagon rolled into the yard. A woman stepped out onto the porch, wiping flour-coated hands on a white apron tied about her waist. A little girl of about three years followed, her pudgy arm wrapped firmly around her mother’s skirted leg.

  “Can I help you?” The woman finished cleaning her hands and brought one to rest on her daughter’s head.

  Tori waved a greeting as Mr. Porter brought the team to a halt. The instant the brake was set, Tori stood and set about climbing down from the bench. Unfortunately, the freight wagon stood several feet taller than the wagons she was accustomed to, and since she had to exit backward, her right foot groped for a wheel spoke with no success.

  Wonderful. Nothing like making a competent first impression. She adjusted her grip on the seat back and stretched her toe down a little farther, not liking the feeling of falling that assailed her when her shoe failed to connect to anything solid. Twisting her head sideways to better gauge her aim, she stretched a little farther.

  Where was that confounded spoke?

  Her palms began to perspire, and her grip grew slick. She slipped downward. A desperate prayer for help soared from her spirit at the same instant a pair of very large, very strong, very warm hands pressed into her waist.

  He didn’t say a word. No teasing comment whispered in her ear. No flirtation. Just a firm grasp and a smooth descent to the ground. The next instant he was gone, busying himself with the horses. A perfectly gentlemanly action that no one would think twice about. Except her.

  She feared she’d be thinking more than twice about it over the course of the day. It had happened so fast and in such a matter-of-fact manner that she hadn’t had time to be afraid of his intentions. In fact, with the graceful way he’d conveyed her to the ground after she’d started to flounder, his touch had actually made her feel . . . safe.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt safe when a man touched her.

  But she didn’t have time to ponder that small miracle at the moment. Not when her first customer and her daughter were making their way down the front steps.

  Tori brushed a hand down the front of her bodice to still her jitters and stepped forward with a smile. “Good morning. I’m Victoria Adams. I own the general store in Harper’s Station, just a few miles southwest of here. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She extended her hand.

  The farm woman hesitated a moment, then fit her palm briefly to Tori’s. “Hazel McPhearson.” She tilted her head toward the moppet at her side. “My daughter, Sarah.”

  Tori bent at the waist. “Delighted to meet you, Miss Sarah. My son, Lewis, is assisting Mr. Porter with the horses.” She pointed in the direction of the menfolk a few feet away. Lewis grinned and waved with exuberance. “He’s four, not much older than you, I would guess.”

  The girl craned her neck to better evaluate the strange boy who’d come for a visit, then looked back at Tori, her blue eyes wide. She released her mother’s leg long enough to hold up three fingers.

  “Ah.” Tori clapped her hands on her knees. “Three years old. I thought so. Such a grown-up young lady.” She glanced back at Mrs. McPhearson. “I brought some ribbon samples with me to give away to all the ladies I meet today. Would it be acceptable for me to give Sarah one? At no charge, of course.”

  Emma McPhearson eyed her suspiciously. “What do I have to do to earn it?”

  Tori shook her head. “Absolutely nothing. Though, if you’d be willing to give me just a couple moments of your time, I would like to explain what brought me here today. If not, you can have the ribbon, and I’ll be on my way.”

  She held her breath. It was a risk to give a customer the chance to send her away without listening to her sales pitch, yet Tori refused to bribe or manipulate another woman for her own financial gain. She knew all too well how few choices women had in this life. She’d not steal one more from Mrs. McPhearson.

  The wagon creaked behind Tori. She glanced back to find Mr. Porter climbing into the back. As if completely unaware of Mrs. McPhearson’s regard, he whistled softly as he went about uncovering the crate containing the fabric bolts, then proceeded to do the same for the toiletry items and seed packets.

  Lewis came alongside the wagon and held up his hands. Mr. Porter gave him the wooden box Tori had packed her lengths of ribbon in. As if the two males had worked out this scheme ahead of time, Lewis accepted the box and traipsed over to Tori, wearing an expression that would make any businessman proud.

  She accepted the box from her young assistant and opened the lid to show Mrs. McPhearson the rainbow of colors available.

  The woman’s hungry eyes said it all. She glanced down at her daughter’s dark brown braids, then back to the box. “All right,” she fin
ally said. She turned to Sarah. “Just one, now. And be sure to thank the nice lady.”

  Tori held the box in front of the girl, whose gaze darted back and forth through the box as if unable to land on any one ribbon. She swallowed, then with a cautious flick of her eyes back toward her mother, reached her hand into the box and pulled out a bright pink ribbon. “Fank you,” she murmured in a soft voice before darting back behind her mother’s skirts.

  Mrs. McPhearson collected the ribbon from her daughter and placed it in her pocket. “Why don’t you show Lewis the puppies, Sarah? Let Mama talk to Mrs. Adams for a few minutes.”

  The girl dashed off toward the barn with only a small wave at Lewis as invitation. Lewis looked to Tori for permission. Unsure, she hesitated. She’d not be able to see him inside the barn.

  Mr. Porter hopped over the tailgate, a pair of tin pails dangling from his right hand. “Would it be all right for me to fill these water buckets at your trough, ma’am? For the horses?”

  Mrs. McPhearson nodded.

  Porter bowed his head. “Thanks.” He shot a meaningful glance at Tori.

  The trough was right next to the barn. He’d be able to watch over Lewis.

  Sarah stopped halfway to the barn when she realized no one was following her. “You comin’?” she shouted back to Lewis.

  Tori gave him the nod he’d been waiting for. He grinned and sprinted after the girl. “You bet!”

  Mr. Porter tipped his hat to both ladies, then followed the children.

  That unexplainable safe feeling returned to Tori as she watched the freighter traipse after her son.

  “So what brings you out here, Mrs. Adams?” Hazel McPhearson’s voice brought Tori back to the matter at hand.