payment, then turn to help the next of the noisy, milling customers.
“Come on.” Taking her sister’s hand, Faith began to lead her between the piles of flour sacks, kegs of tar and barrels of pickles to wait their turn to order supplies.
They were quite near their goal by the time Faith paid full attention to the tall, broad-shouldered man at the counter ahead of them. He was as rustic as anyone present, yet different. Intriguing. For one thing, he didn’t smell as if he never bathed! While his back was turned, she took the opportunity to study him.
Long, sandy-colored hair hung beyond the spread of his shoulders. Worn buckskin covered him from head to toe. When he moved even slightly, he reminded Faith of the sleek, sinewy cougar she’d seen stalking a herd of antelope through the waving prairie grasses along the lower Platte.
Embarrassed to have been so bold, she lowered her focus. The man was speaking and his voice sent unexpected shivers up her spine. Her cheeks flamed as if touched by the summer sun. Surprised by the uncalled-for reaction, Faith nevertheless set aside her ideas of proper etiquette once again and peered up at him, listening shamelessly.
The storekeeper was looking at something cradled in the man’s outstretched palm. “Sorry, son. It’s been too long. I can’t say for certain. Maybe. Maybe not.”
Sighing, the man turned to go. With the Beal sisters directly in his path there was little room for polite maneuvering.
For a heart-stopping instant his troubled gaze met Faith’s. Held it. His eyes were the color of smoke, of a fog-shrouded mountain meadow at dawn. And his beard, almost the same hue as his buckskins, continued to remind her of a stalking mountain lion. Faith caught her breath.
The man nodded politely, pushing past them toward the door. Charity gave a little squeak of protest and fell back as he passed. Faith stood her ground. She had never felt so tiny in her entire life. Yet she experienced no fear, even though the plainsman was rough-hewn and dusty from the trail.
The gray-haired woman noted Faith’s watchful interest. “Feel kinda sorry for him, I do.”
Faith frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“That big fella. He’s lookin’ for his betrothed. Might as well be lookin’ for a will-o’-the-wisp. Got about as much chance a findin’ one.”
“Oh, dear. I’m so sorry.”
Faith saw him pause to show something small to several groups of people, then square his hat on his head and leave the trading post. Thinking of her own home and family, her heart broke for the poor man. She knew all too well what it was like to lose a loved one. As she absently laid her hand over the heart-shaped onyx pendant containing a lock of her mother’s hair, she vowed to add the stranger’s quest to her nightly prayers.
The shopkeeper shrugged. “Happens a lot out here. Folks windin’ up lost, I mean. Now, what can I do for you ladies?”
Focusing on the reason for their visit, Faith took a scrap of paper from her reticule and handed it over. “We’ll need these supplies. Do you have them all?”
“Coffee’ll cost you dear,” the woman said, licking the point of a pencil and beginning to check off items on the list. “The flour’s no problem, though. And the bacon. You’ll have to go across to the mercantile if you want a paper of pins.”
“All right.” Faith couldn’t help glancing toward the doorway where she’d last glimpsed the intriguing man. Sadly, he’d gone.
“Indians steal pins if I keep ’em here,” the shopkeeper went on. “Candy, too. Regular thieves, they are.”
Charity grasped her sister’s arm in alarm. “You see? I told you we shouldn’t have come.”
“Oh, nonsense. Surely you don’t think there were no thieves at home in Ohio.” Faith shook her off.
“You in a hurry?” the proprietress asked. “Otherwise we’ll have this packed up and ready to go in an hour or so. Have to send Will out to the smokehouse for another side of bacon. You put aside enough bran to pack it in a barrel real good like?”
“Yes. And there’s no hurry,” Faith assured her, ignoring Charity’s scowl. “Our friend Mr. Ledbetter is at the blacksmith’s getting a wagon wheel fixed. No telling when we’ll be ready to go back to the train.”
“I got lots o’ pretty Indian trinkets,” the woman urged. “Or you could do what most of the ladies do and go wonder at the dry goods in the mercantile. They got twenty…thirty new bolts o’ calico since winter.