His Small-Town Girl. Arlene James
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“I’m pretty sure he’s one of the Aldrich grocery store family.”
Holt lifted an eyebrow. “What gives you that idea?”
“Just a hunch.”
She liked to shop at an Aldrich store and had often driven as far as fifty miles to do so. More than once she’d seen the large photograph of an older man identified as Comstock Aldrich affixed to a wall over the motto, From Our Family To Yours. She couldn’t remember enough about that man’s face to say whether or not Tyler resembled him in any way, but she’d seen the way Tyler had reacted when she’d plopped that loaf of bread on the table.
Normally, with a guest in attendance, she made hot bread or at least served the sliced variety stacked on a pretty saucer. Tonight she’d left that bread in its wrapper just to see what he would do. He’d stared as if he’d thought the thing might pop up, point a floury finger and identify him.
“Supposing he is who you think he is, what’s he doing here?” Holt asked, going to the refrigerator to take out the plate of leftovers she’d stowed there earlier. “You reckon he’s going to open a store hereabouts? That’d be cool.”
Charlotte frowned. She hadn’t thought of that possibility. After all, he’d said he was stranded, and she had no reason to doubt him. Except that just then he drove by in that flashy car of his. Apparently he had some gas. She turned to look at her brother, who carried the food to the microwave and set the timer.
“An Aldrich store might be very welcome,” she said, “unless you’re Stu Booker.”
Stu had taken over the local grocery from his father, Teddy, who sat at the domino table in the front room with Hap at that very moment.
Holt turned to lean against the counter. “I see what you mean. Another grocery would put Booker’s out of business.” The microwave dinged, and Holt reached inside to remove the plate, asking, “Still got that carrot cake, I see.”
“Yes,” Charlotte muttered, “but you’ll have to eat it in here. Grover’s playing dominoes tonight.”
Nodding, Holt took a fork from the drawer and strolled into the other room and toward the lobby, his big boots clumping on the bare floor. “I’ll be back, then. Thanks, sis.”
“Welcome,” she answered automatically, her mind on other matters.
Should Aldrich Grocery put in a store here, the Bookers would undoubtedly suffer. It was, she decided, a matter for prayer. And perhaps a bit of subtle investigation.
Chapter Three
Charlotte glanced at her watch, more than a little miffed.
On weekdays, she started cleaning the rooms as soon as the oil-field workers left in the mornings and by this time usually could be sitting down to lunch with her grandfather. On Saturdays, she got a later start because the workmen liked to sleep in a bit before heading home to their families. Lunch, therefore, came later on Saturdays, but not normally this late.
It was already past twelve, and she still had one room left to do before she could begin preparing the midday meal, thanks to Tyler Aldrich. On a few occasions she’d had to put off the cleaning until the afternoon, but that pushed her workday well into the night as she had a weekly chore scheduled for each afternoon.
Saturday afternoons were reserved for washing and re-hanging drapes. If she didn’t do at least three sets of drapes each week, she’d either be a week behind or have to do it on Monday, the day she shampooed carpets. Tuesday afternoons were dedicated to outside windows, Wednesdays to replacing shower curtains, Thursdays to cleaning oil stains off the pavement and policing the grounds. Fridays she cleaned the lobby top to bottom and did the shopping.
In this fashion, she not only cleaned every occupied room each day, she completely freshened every room once a month, while maintaining the lobby and grounds on a weekly basis and keeping their storeroom stocked. Hap did his part by handling the registration desk and banking, balancing the books, ordering supplies and helping out with the daily laundry.
She did not appreciate having her carefully balanced schedule upset. Obviously, the man had no idea what it took to keep an operation like this running smoothly. Then again, few folks did. Deciding that she was being unfair, she left the service cart on the walkway in front of number eight and rapped her knuckles on the door. She began slowly counting to ten, intending to walk away if he hadn’t answered by then. She’d reached seven before the door wrenched open.
Tyler Aldrich stood there in his bare feet, rumpled slacks and a half-buttoned shirt, looking harried and irritated, his dark hair ruffled. A day’s growth of chocolate beard shadowed his face. If she’d had to guess, she’d have said he hadn’t slept very well.
He wrinkled his face at the glare of the sun and demanded, “What is that noise?”
“Noise?” She glanced around in puzzlement.
He put a hand to his head. “Ka-shunk, ka-shunk. All night long.”
“Oh, that noise. There’s a pump jack out back.”
He sighed. “Of course. Oil pumps. Should’ve figured that one.”
“I’m so used to the sound, I don’t even notice it anymore,” she admitted, “but we don’t get many complaints about it.” They hadn’t actually had any complaints about it until now.
“I don’t suppose it would bother me if it wasn’t so quiet around here,” he grumbled.
Well, which is it, she wondered, saying nothing, too quiet or too noisy?
He put a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to sleep, especially after those two fellows showed up about midnight.”
“What two fellows?”
He waved a hand at that. “Roadside service sent them. I called before I stopped in here. Then after I decided to stay, I forgot to call back and tell them not to bother bringing me gas.”
“They came at that time of night just to bring you gas?” she asked in disbelief.
“A few gallons,” he muttered. “I still have to fill up.”
She shook her head. The rich really did live differently than everyone else. “I hate to be an inconvenience, but I need to clean this room before I feed Granddad.”
Nodding, he hid a yawn behind one hand. “Yeah, okay, just give me a few minutes to get out of your way.”
“I’ll be right here when you’re ready,” she told him politely, linking her hands behind her back. No way was she going away again. Experience had taught her that a guest would just head straight back to bed and she’d have this exercise to repeat.
Tyler gave her a lopsided grin. “Swell. Uh, listen, can I get breakfast at that café downtown?”
“Sure,” she answered, and then for some reason she couldn’t begin to fathom she went on. “But if you’re willing to settle for lunch, you can eat with us again.”
He stopped rubbing his eyes long enough to stare at her, his brow beetled. “Lunch?”
Wondering why she’d issued the invitation, she hastily backtracked as far as good manners would allow. “Just sandwiches, I’m afraid. I don’t have time for anything else.”
“What time is it, anyway?”
She didn’t even have to look. “About ten minutes past noon.”
Tyler goggled his eyes. “Noon? You’re sure?” She held up her wrist, just in case he wanted to check for himself. His sky-blue eyes closed as he turned away. “I must’ve slept a lot better than I thought.”
“You mean you’re not used to sleeping till noon?” She clapped a hand over her mouth, shocked at herself. She never made unwarranted assumptions about people. Well, hardly ever. Fortunately he had not noticed.