Page 68 of Fairest of Heart

The woman jumped slightly, her face lifting as the reins fell from her hands. “Oh . . . Oh dear. Please. I mean no harm.” Her high-pitched voice rasped slightly, as if it had been roughened by illness or old age. “Mrs. Williams from the mercantile in Glen Rose sent me. I have cider to sell, you see.” She twisted slightly, one gloved hand trembling as she gestured to the crates in the back of her wagon. “Mrs. Williams told me the men at the Diamond D didn’t get homemade goods very often. She thought you might enjoy some of my cider. It’s only three dollars a jug. A fair price for the quality, especially since you get to keep the jug.”

“We don’t want no cider,” Jeb groused. “You’ll have to pedal your juice elsewhere.”

“Hold up a minute, Jeb.” Angus strode forward, thumbs hooked in his suspenders. “You heard the lady. Miz Williams sent her. Least we can do is sample her wares. It’s been a coon’s age since I had me some cider.” He took a step closer to the buckboard. “It ain’t hard cider, is it, ma’am? Doc don’t abide no liquor on the ranch.”

“As well he shouldn’t. Liquor is the devil’s brew if you ask me. It’s what took my husband.” Her voice cracked. “My Rupert was a good man. Attended church with me every Sunday until some liquored-up cowboy decided to celebrate his poker winnings with a few wild shots into the night air. One of them shots hit more than air. It hit my Rupert.” She pulled a white handkerchief from her sleeve and slipped it beneath her veil to dab at her eyes.

Penelope’s heart ached for the woman. What a horrible way to lose a husband. So sudden and senseless. Yet the same could happen to Titus. He made his living tracking criminals. Bullets were aimed at him on purpose. His end could be just as sudden. However, the fear of losing him didn’t make her care any less. If anything, it made every moment she had with him more precious. Still, a shiver danced across her skin at the realization that she could be that widow one day.

The handkerchief reappeared and fluttered in front of the lady in black. “Forgive me. I’m not here to talk about Rupert, may God rest his soul.” She cleared her throat and straightened her spine. Well, lifted her chin at least. The bend in her spine remained. “We were talking about cider. And mine is lovely. Here, come sample some. See for yourself.”

She scooted to the edge of her seat and made to climb down. Angus hurried forward and offered a hand to steady her.

“Thank you, Mr. . . . ?”

“Angus, ma’am. Call me Angus.”

“Angus.” A smile sounded in her voice. “I’m Agatha Bower. Pleased to meet you.” She turned to Jeb and Ike and waved them forward. “Please have a taste. There’s no obligation to buy.”

Ike grinned and strutted forward, but Jeb hesitated.

“Come on, Jeb,” Ike urged. “A little refreshment won’t hurt you.”

Mrs. Bower started setting up a tasting station at the edge of the buckboard, opening a basket and pulling out several tin cups. “Is there anyone else around? Mrs. Williams told me there were seven of you.”

“Just us and Penny,” Angus said, already rubbing his hands in anticipation. “The rest are out on a . . . walk.” He darted a wary look at Jeb, having realized his slip.

“Penny?” Mrs. Bower turned her head toward the house. “There’s a lady at the Diamond D? Oh, I’d love to meet her and get her opinion on my recipe. No offense to you men, but ladies have much more discerning palates.”

Jeb growled Angus’s name and stalked forward, his limp pronounced. Ike moved to intervene, but Penelope knew it was too late. She needed to distract Jeb. Give him a new target.

“Jeb?” she called through the open window. “Has someone come to call?”

He halted and immediately shot a glare her direction. Good. Better her than Angus.

Penelope waved at the woman dressed in black. “I’ll be right out.”

Jeb met her at the base of the porch steps. “Get on back in the house. We don’t know this woman.”

Penelope patted his arm. “Well, we know she’s not Cecil Hunt, so I doubt she poses any real danger. Besides, the Good Book teaches that true religion is to care for widows and orphans. We can’t just send her away. Peddling cider is probably her only means of support.”

“Fine,” Jeb groused, “but no dawdlin’.” He looked down the road as if expecting Hunt to stroll down the lane. “I don’t like it.”

By the time Jeb and Penelope reached the wagon, Ike and Angus had already finished off their cups of cider.

“You make a fine cider, Mrs. Bower. I’ll be happy to purchase a jug,” Ike said.

Angus wasn’t about to be outdone. “Me too.” He shoved his hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a bunch of coins. He dropped them onto the wagon bed and started counting out the price.

“Oh, aren’t you gentlemen just the dearest?” Mrs. Bower tittered as she fetched a pair of jugs from her crate.

Penelope slowed her step. That flirtatious laugh. It seemed familiar. She looked harder at Mrs. Bower and listened to her voice, but nothing else about the woman struck a chord. Her high-pitched voice had a bit of a nasal quality to it, different from anyone of Penelope’s acquaintance. And her poor posture and the unfortunate small hump on her back denoted a woman who’d led a hard life. A woman who deserved pity and kindness.

“There she is.” Mrs. Bower clapped her hands together as she moved to greet Penelope. Her steps were slow and a bit uneven. “Miss Penny, is it? I’m Agatha Bower. What a pleasure to meet such a lovely young lady. Come, try some of my apple cider. Tell me what you think.”

It was a bit disconcerting to carry on a conversation with a veil between them, but it would be rude to stare, so Penelope smiled and focused on the cider instead.

“I’d love to try some.” She reached for the full cup that sat on the wagon bed, but Mrs. Bower brushed her hands away.