Small-Town Dreams and The Girl Next Door. Kate Welsh
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things for me. Make sure the ivory-and-lavender bedroom is all made up and sparkling. We’ve got a young lady coming to stay a few days. She’ll be needing some things from the shop, too.”
“Another lost soul?”
“Smarty,” she scolded with a smile in her voice. “She’s a paying guest, so, no, not lost in the usual way, but…”
Now Josh heard compassion enter Irma’s tone. Here it comes, he thought, and sighed. “But what?”
“Well, I guess that having enough money to pay your way isn’t everything in life. I’m not sure she’s real healthy, either, but I can see she’s not happy even when she smiles. You’ll see. She should be there in a while. I just gave her a bowl of soup and a cup of tea.”
Chuckling, Josh hung up the phone to once again help Irma give aid to a needy person. He wanted to tell her to worry about herself for a change. She worked too hard. Relaxed too little. But how could he try to curb her from bringing home her strays after all she’d done for him?
Of course, there wasn’t a thing amiss in the room Irma had asked him to see to, so after waking Henry, Joshua returned to the thrift shop to await the woman.
A few minutes later the bell above the door tinkled. Joshua looked up, not knowing what to expect. Then he just stared. He might not have known what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been anyone like the young woman who entered and approached the counter. Joshua stood automatically.
“Hello,” she said as she stalked toward him. “Irma from the diner sent me here. I’ll be renting a room for a few days. She said I might find a few things to tide me over till my car is finished. Can you direct me to the size eights?”
Joshua couldn’t seem to respond. Had Irma lost her mind? This was her lost soul? This take-charge woman in the two-thousand-dollar suit? He had no idea how he knew what her suit must have cost, but he often knew things without knowing how he knew them.
“Excuse me?” the young woman said, now standing directly in front of him.
Joshua realized he was staring straight ahead at her navy suit, and looked quickly up into the sweetest face he’d ever seen. It was heart-shaped, and her skin looked like translucent silk. Her bottom lip was full and the top a perfect bow. She had a nose that tipped up, giving her the look of a woodland sprite. The face did not match the attitude.
Then he looked a millimeter higher into the saddest eyes he’d ever seen. They were gray-blue and shadowed with unhappiness and even a hint of physical pain, as well. Yeah. Irma was right once again. The woman could certainly pay her way but she was just as certainly a lost soul.
“May I help you?” he asked, knowing she’d asked him a question yet unable to recall it.
“The size eights. I asked where you have the eights,” she said slowly as if he were deaf or too dull-witted to understand her.
Joshua felt his hackles rise. Then he looked again at the woman. Irma thought she needed help. He guessed he could show enough Christian charity to swallow his anger at being patronized.
“Everything for women is in the front of the shop. All jeans are in the middle. Men’s to the left. Women’s to the right. The men’s clothes are behind the jeans. Kids’ clothes are all the way to the rear.” He pointed to the signs hanging above each section. With the Lord’s help, he managed not to put voice to his anger.
Joshua watched her walk through the room as if she might catch something from clothes once worn by others, and his anger flared anew. “Ma washes everything before anything gets added to the stock,” he said through gritted teeth before he could stop himself.
She pivoted toward him and her cheeks flamed. “I’ve never had to—” She took a deep breath, shook her head slightly and tried again, “I’m sorry. I’ve just never been…”
“Down on your luck? Hard up enough to wear hand-me-downs?” Joshua sat back down on the stool behind the counter and leaned his back against the wall, his arms crossed.
He could actually see her temper slip its restraints. “Not having faced tough times financially isn’t a crime. I’m not used to shopping like this. So shoot me! I need some clothes and these are all that’s available. I can roll with the punches as good as the next guy.” Her hand came up to squeeze her forehead. “I’m sorry. Could we start over?” She returned to the counter and reached her hand out to him. “I’m Cassidy Jamison.”
Joshua felt his annoyance give way to compassion. She was as much a fish out of water in the small thrift shop he and Henry had put together to serve their small congregation as he would be in the city she probably came from. She couldn’t change the life she’d obviously been born into any more than he could change the circumstances of his life. His own clothes had once been as expensive as hers. A suit that reminded him of the past still hung, cleaned and pressed, in his closet. Besides, she really didn’t look well.
He smiled, hoping to put her at ease, and shook her hand. But it wasn’t like shaking Earl’s hand or any of his father’s parishioners. He frowned at the feeling that zinged through him. “Joshua Daniels,” he said, hearing a bewildered husky tone in his own voice.
“Irma Tallinger sent me to see her son.”
“That would be me,” he explained. “Suppose I play shopkeeper.” He shrugged. “That’s what I am today, after all.”
Her tentative return smile was surprisingly shy and sweet but still didn’t overshadow the sorrow in her eyes. “Tell me,” she asked, “what are stylishly dressed stranded motorists wearing in Mountain View this season?”
He pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt in her size eight, and a flannel shirt in a men’s small from the men’s section. “Here you go, pretty lady—the ultimate in hiking chic.”
She blinked, appearing to be surprised by something, then she looked away nervously. What had he said? Joshua wondered, concerned. But then she reached out and touched the jeans, and he forgot his worry. There was something akin to wonder in her eyes now.
Then she shook her head and looked down at her feet. “I don’t think that outfit would go very well with my shoes.”
Joshua followed her gaze and shook his head. “There’s only one thing high heels are going to get you in Mountain View—broken ankles. But if you prefer to walk around for the next few days on eggshells, over here we have a section of dresses, skirts and the like.”
She looked longingly at the things in his hand. “They do look comfortable.”
He could hear the disappointment and resignation in her voice and see it in her blue-eyed gaze as she continued to stare at the clothes he held. “Jeans and shirts would really be your best bet,” he added, hoping to encourage her. It was as if some invisible force held her back.
Then an idea struck. One that might give her the push she needed. He snapped his fingers. “What shoe size do you wear?”
When she told him her size, Joshua smiled and breathed a little sigh. He didn’t believe in coincidence. The Lord provides, and she really wanted those jeans. “You’re in luck. You’re the same shoe size as Ma. She has a brand-spanking-new pair of tennis shoes that I seriously doubt she’ll ever break down and wear.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.”
“The only reason they aren’t already out here in the shop is because I bought them for her. Knowing Ma, she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. You’d be doing her a favor if you took them off her hands.”
“They were a gift and—”
He grimaced. “What they were was a bad idea. It’s like I was buying them for someone else.” Not for the first time he wondered who. “House dresses and sensible shoes. That’s our Irma. Not tennis shoes. I must have lost my head as well as my sense in that store, but Mother’s Day loomed and I’d run out of ideas.”
She