“It wasn’t funny,” Tessa informed him.
David sat down on the bench and laughed until his ribs ached. “Oh, contessa, I can just see Margaret Jeffers’s face when you told her the Satin Slipper had a better class of customers.”
A smile broke through the stern set of Tessa’s lips. She glanced at David, saw the humor mirrored in his dark eyes and the lines of mirth bracketing his mouth, and started to laugh with him.
David laughed until he couldn’t laugh any longer. Then he sat watching Tessa. He was angry at the women in town and ashamed of the way they’d treated her, but he was proud of Tessa. Proud of the way she’d behaved. David knew how it felt to be ostracized. He knew how much it hurt. Reaching out, he took Tessa’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “My mother always says it’s better to laugh at your woes than to cry,” David explained. “I hope she’s right.”
Tessa smiled up at him, liking the feel of his strong hand holding hers. “I feel better now.”
“Tessa, I’m sorry you had to go through that ordeal,” David murmured. “I sent you to the mercantile because I knew Lorna would be there. I thought she’d take care of you. I don’t know why she stood by and let Margaret Jeffers throw you out of the store.” David let go of Tessa’s hand, stood up, and began to pace, his frustration evident in every step.
“It wasn’t her fault,” Tessa said, feeling a little sad now that David had let go of her hand. “She tried, but Mrs. Jeffers—”
“Come on.” David reached down and grabbed Tessa’s elbow.
“Where are we going?” Tessa asked, though she was pretty sure she knew.
“Back to the mercantile.”
“Not me.” Tessa held back. “I said my piece. I’ve had enough.”
David paid no attention. “We’re going back to Jeffers’s and buy those supplies you wanted.”
“No.” Tessa pulled against him. She knew she was being cowardly, but she was tired of confrontation. She knew she should march back in there at David Alexander’s side and demand that she be treated like any other paying customer, but not today. Not this time. “Please. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” David said, but he stopped tugging on Tessa’s arm and looked at her face. She’d laughed, but she was laughing through tears. And right now she looked tired, tired of fighting. David recognized the feeling. He’d been there himself once or twice. She needed time to herself. Time to regroup. David abruptly let go of her arm. “Come on,” he urged, his voice soft, gentle. “I’ll walk you home.”
“Thanks,” Tessa said as she walked between them, Coalie on one side, David Alexander on the other.
“Don’t thank me,” David warned. “I’ve got to get to the undertaker’s in a few minutes, but as soon as I finish there I’m going to Jeffers’s Mercantile and have a talk with Margaret Jeffers myself.”
“Take your time at the undertaker’s. Mrs. Jeffers’ll probably need some time to recover before she talks to you.” Looking up at David, Tessa giggled. “She was in shock when we left,” she warned him. “But, you know, it was almost worth it just to see the look on her face when I compared her store to the Satin Slipper.”
Chapter Eight
The crowd at Jeffers’s Mercantile was even thicker than before. Word of Margaret Jeffers’s confrontation with the murdering little saloon girl had traveled like wildfire. Nearly half the people in town jammed into the store to listen to the details while they waite
d for David Alexander’s arrival. Everyone knew he was coming. It was simply a matter of time.
Down the street, Lee Kincaid lounged by the entrance of the funeral parlor, his hat pulled low over his eyes, concealing his face. He’d gone on the pretense of paying his respects to Arnie Mason, but he was lying in wait for David. Lee intended to waylay him before David had the chance to make a fool of himself in front of the townspeople, twelve of whom would be jurors at Tessa’s trial.
Lee heard about the incident at the store almost as soon as it happened. He’d gone in to pick up a few personal items minutes after Tessa left and heard six or seven versions of the encounter from at least that many women. Women who gossiped in the ladies’ corner. Lee knew they’d drawn the right conclusion. It wouldn’t be long before David Alexander showed up to defend Tessa’s honor. David was nothing if not straightforward.
Lee waited patiently. He heard the brisk steps of Doc Turner as they passed him and headed toward the buggy parked in front of the undertaker’s. Lee raised the brim of his hat a fraction, then peeked through the window. David was coming down the stairs. Lee waited until the front door opened.
“What the hell?” David blurted out as someone grabbed hold of his arm.
“Shut up,” Lee muttered, pulling David away from the doorway to the side of the building, away from prying eyes. “You took long enough,” Lee told him. “I’ve been waiting nearly half an hour.” He let go of David’s coat sleeve and, turning to face him, pushed his hat back away from his face.
“Lee.” David released a breath. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Can it wait? I’m on my way—”
“To Jeffers’s Mercantile.” Lee smiled at the look of surprise in David’s dark eyes. “I know. So does the rest of the town. Half of ’em are waiting for you at the store.”
“What?”