Page 6 of The Love Knot

Claire strode down Main Street, weaving a path to avoid parked wagons, men on horseback, and townsfolk who loitered on the boardwalk. She finally halted in front of a large storefront painted bright red. A plate-glass display window stretched wide in front of her. Yet she hesitated to go in.

That was all the signal Pieter needed. He jogged the trunk back to the depot, stored it in the back room with the others, then loped down to the store. Peering through the same window where he’d last seen Claire, he caught a glimpse of her in the back of the shop, fingering a bolt of white cotton. She glanced over her shoulder. Once. Twice. Then a third time. Pieter opened the door and walked into Fischer’s Emporium.

“I’ll be right with you, sir,” the proprietor called from behind a counter at the front of the store, where a matronly woman was rearranging her purchases in a large basket.

Pieter waved noncommittally at the clerk, not wanting to encourage his attention. Wandering down an aisle with an assortment of fishing gear, pipe tobacco, and match safes on display, Pieter positioned himself near the end so that he had an unobstructed view of the fabric table across the way. He pulled a box of fishhooks from the top shelf and pretended to examine them while keeping his focus on Claire.

When the bell above the door jangled and announced the departure of the lady with the basket, Claire jumped. Her gaze darted to the counter, then back to the cloth. She shifted, aiming her back toward the front of the store and hunching her shoulders as if trying to hide. He’d never seen her so timid. She’d always approached life, whether in good times or bad, with energy and a take-charge attitude. Something about this place definitely had her rattled.

The shuffle of footsteps and a wheezing breath behind him alerted Pieter that he was no longer alone. He pivoted to find the paunchy shopkeeper making his way down the aisle toward him. The clerk’s welcoming grin dimmed somewhat when he noticed Pieter’s interest appeared to lie in a ten-cent box of fishhooks.

“An outdoorsman, I see.” The proprietor puffed up his chest and thumped Pieter on the back. “I have some excellent new reels in stock.” He stepped back a pace and pulled a box off the top shelf. He opened the lid for Pieter to view. “Nickel-plated with a range of up to two hundred yards. Best quality you’ll find anywhere.”

“Not interested.” Pieter tipped his head in Claire’s direction, irritated that the shopkeeper had addressed him first when Claire had entered before him. “I think that lady could use some assistance, however.”

The clerk’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Lady?” He looked in the direction Pieter had indicated. “Ah.” His features cleared. “I didn’t realize . . . She must have come in while I was fetching Mrs. Gordon’s order from the back room.” He bowed his head slightly to Pieter. “If you’ll excuse me?”

Pieter nodded in answer. The shopkeeper was a little oily for his liking, but he seemed attentive to his customers. He should get Claire what she needed in quick order. Then they could leave this place and whatever odd hold it had on her. And maybe they could finally have the discussion Pieter had traveled halfway across the country to instigate.

“How may I be of serv—you!” The clerk’s strident tone brought Pieter’s head up. The man’s face darkened as he yanked the bolt of white cotton away from Claire and threw it back on the table. “Get out of my store,” he gritted through a clenched jaw. “You’re not welcome here.”

Pieter dropped the fishing hooks and strode across the store.

Claire’s chin came up. Pieter expected to see fire sparking from her blue eyes, but she barely lifted her lashes. “Mr. Fischer, I’ll just be needin’ a few yards of diaper cloth, then I’ll be on me way. Believe me, my desire to be gone from here is as strong as yours to be rid of me.”

“Diaper . . . ?” Fischer’s gaze finally seemed to register the babe Claire held. “Ah. Of course. Now everything becomes clear.” Some of the anger faded from his face, but the scorn that replaced it did nothing to alleviate Pieter’s growing agitation. “So that’s the way of it, is it? I should have known. Hussy,” he spat. “Found yourself with child and tried to foist it off on the first decent man to offer for you, didn’t you? Guess I should be glad I had the good sense to send you away nine months ago. Otherwise I’d be stuck raising another man’s brat.”

Searing rage burned through Pieter’s brain. This was the man she had pledged to marry? This foul-minded prig who cast aspersions on a lady’s good name based on unfounded assumptions and personal prejudice?

Pieter closed the remaining distance between himself and the shopkeeper in three steps and pushed his face close to Fischer’s. “Apologize to the lady.”

Fischer leapt backward, his face paling until he realized Pieter wasn’t about to strike him.

Not that Pieter didn’t want to. Never had he wanted to hit a man more. But his faith demanded turning the other cheek and loving his enemy, and while the last thing he felt at the moment was love toward the potbellied skunk in front of him, he wouldn’t forfeit his self-discipline for temporary physical satisfaction. His fists remained lowered, though clenched, at his side.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that, sir. This”—he raised a brow at Claire—“person was just leaving.”

Pieter nearly forgot his morals altogether at Fischer’s pointed refusal to acknowledge Claire as a lady, but he held his temper—and his fists—in check. Barely.

“There’s no reason for you to get involved,” Fischer continued in that irritating tone that scraped like fingernails on a slate against Pieter’s already taut nerves. “I’ll just escort Miss Nevin out, and then we can put this unpleasantness behind us.”

Fischer reached for Claire’s arm, and without thought, Pieter’s hand shot out and clasped the other man’s wrist. “Don’t touch her.”

He stole a glance at Claire to make sure she was all right. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. Humiliation stained her cheeks, yet she held her head high with dignity and stubborn Irish pride.

“I’ll see meself out, gentlemen.” Then, in a move that had Pieter inwardly cheering, she dropped Polly’s bag at Pieter’s feet, grabbed up the entire bolt of diaper cloth, and marched up to the counter.

“Hey! You can’t take that.” Fischer struggled against Pieter’s hold to no avail. He wouldn’t be getting anywhere near Claire. “I’ll bring you up on charges of thievery!”

Claire ignored his bluster, plopped the fabric bolt on top of the counter, and with one hand unwound about three yards. She shifted Liam to her left arm, then took up a pair of shears that had been left on the counter near the butcher paper and roll of string used for wrapping parcels. With an embroiderer’s precision, she snipped off the length she wanted, cut off a smaller piece for immediate use, then pulled out a handful of coins and laid them on the counter with a gentleness that echoed through the store with all the power of a shotgun blast.

After a quick fold of the cloth, she collected her reticule and swept out of the store.

Now that was a woman.

Fischer’s renewed struggles brought Pieter’s attention back to the weasel stuck in his grip. “Unhand me, sir. I have to make sure she left sufficient funds. Otherwise I’m going to fetch the sheriff.”

Pieter only tightened his hold. “The money’s all there, and if it’s not, I’ll pay whatever she lacks.”