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  Hearts in Hot Springs

  Seven Brides of South Dakota: Book Six

  Kari Trumbo

  Hearts in Hot Springs

  © 2017 Kari Trumbo

  Published by Kari Trumbo, All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, without the prior written consent of the author. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible

  Author’s note: This is a work of fiction. All locations, characters, names, and actions are a product of the author’s overactive imagination. Any resemblance, however subtle, to living persons or actual places and events are coincidental.

  Cover Design by Erin Cameron-Hill of EDH Professionals

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Historical Elements

  Other Books by Kari Trumbo:

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Hot Springs, South Dakota

  May, 1907

  The paunchy real estate lawyer gave Nora a quelling look as he stuck the old key in the lock.

  He hated talking to her, she could feel it in every look he cast her way. He’d be glad when she’d finally found somewhere to buy or moved on. Preferably moved on since he didn’t seem to like strangers much. Unfortunately for him, the urge to speak and rankle him was too great.

  “I don’t know how you manage to remember which key goes to which business.” She smiled what she hoped was an over-sweet smile. He turned his glance to her for a moment and narrowed his eyes, giving her an uncalled-for scowl.

  “I … have my ways of keeping track. You just never mind, girl.”

  She was no fool. The one master key would fit in any door. It was the same one he’d used at the last three businesses he’d shown her, and probably more. Though he called her girl, she wasn’t even close. He was angry at having to business with a woman. He counted on her being oblivious. Very few people paid attention to such things, but her art, her very life, was in the details.

  This storefront with its rich wood floors and walls had once belonged to a prominent purveyor of cigars and, Neader, the lawyer, had let it be known he wasn’t pleased she wanted to see this particular site. Well dash it all, she’d looked at every other available storefront and none of them would work. At least, not for the small amount of space she’d need. She’d peeked in the windows earlier and insisted Mr. Neader show it to her.

  A milliner didn’t require much room to show off though storage was important. She wouldn’t keep many hats available for show as her strength was in her ability to make custom creations. The only requirement was that the store be comfortable, and it required space to keep her notions. There had to be good light, a place to create her art, and a space to live, because she couldn’t afford both a store and a home.

  Her customers would buy her hats and be pleased with her details. The booming little town of Hot Springs was the perfect location for her to start her business. After studying under a prominent milliner in Pierre, Mrs. Tillman, she was ready to have an area all her own, showcase her ideas. Breathe without having a man control her.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to forget Roger Paisley. If she hadn’t left Pierre, he’d still be trying to tell her where to go and how to live her life. Neader cleared his throat. “Miss Arnsby?” He tapped his foot on the boardwalk and she took a deep breath, ready to put that part of her life far behind her. No one was here to control her. She could have her business and her home just as she liked.

  Mr. Neader shoved the door open and held it as he motioned impatiently for her to go inside. After seeing so many imperfect options, her hopes were not high. As she strode through the door, with large glass front windows on either side, the first thing to hit her was the smell. Tobacco. Not a surprise, but it would have to be taken care of before she brought in any fabric that would drink in the smell. Her gaze scuttled across the floor, dark with some sort of sticky residue. Her boots stuck to the floor as she held her pink hems away from the unpleasantness.

  “Is there any hope of getting it fully … clean?” She held one finger under her nose. None of her family smoked, and the smell was so pungent it made her eyes water. Even her boots made a strange noise as she crossed the floor. This was not at all what she’d had in mind for a relaxing place to fit hats.

  “If this building doesn’t please you, my dear, I’m afraid you’ll have to look at renting space in a corner of the mercantile. As I’ve said, that has been an option from the beginning.”

  Nora did her best to suppress the anger building inside her. This man, with his insistence he was always right, had shoved her patience to the very edge of a precipice and he had no idea what was waiting for him at the bottom. She’d had to hold her tongue in Pierre, but she wouldn’t be trod upon by someone who would willingly take her money.

  “And as I’ve told you, that isn’t an option. I do not have ready-made merchandise. Everything I sell is hand-made, tailored to the wishes of the person who orders it. A corner of the mercantile would do no good. Not to mention, I’ve already been in there and they have very little in the way of conveniences. It wouldn’t be a good place to put luxury items.” And she needed a place to live. She couldn’t sleep in a corner of the mercantile.

  Nora strode to the center of the building to avoid saying anything to anger him further. There was only so far he’d let her push him before he found other things he needed to be doing. She couldn’t afford to scare him off another day. Her purse was shrinking the longer she had to stay in the room she rented at the hotel.

  The shop was narrow, perhaps only thirty feet wide in total, and about fifteen feet from back to front, with a door that led to storage with additional square footage in the back. The rich dark wood paneling that had given the cigar shop a masculine feel—and that she’d fallen in love with when she’d looked from outside—would make her shop seem more luxurious. If she could afford it. The newspaper said this property was in foreclosure, but that didn’t mean it would come cheaply. It would depend on how badly the bank wanted to relieve themselves of the liability.

  A portly man poked his head in the front door and grumbled. “What’s going on? There been an offer on this place?”

  His gaze raked over her, and she turned from him to focus on the store. It wasn’t as if he would ever be a customer of hers, and she’d have to decide quickly if she could take on all the work. Neader wouldn’t give her much time.

  “Not yet, Longson. I’m sure we’ll get just the right person in here.” The two shared a quiet laugh that had her wanting to yell at both of them. They’d already underestimated her, just like all the people she’d known in Pierre. She would show them all that she could be successful.

  The front door clicked shut and she sighed. Now, to see if the back fit her needs. With or without Mr. Neader. The front would take work but was the
perfect size. If the back could be sectioned into a small living space and a place she could set up a work table, then it would fit her needs.

  She tested the knob and it was locked. So much for going on her own. “Open the door to the back for me. Would you please?” She motioned to the door and the lawyer sighed heavily as he strode over to it. Every stiff movement he made said, without uttering a word, that he didn’t want to be there, she was wasting his precious time.

  She’d show him. She’d show them all. Arnsby women didn’t make decisions lightly. Not a one of them. She would show them she could run a fine business all on her own.

  He opened the door and again held it for her. She brushed past him into the cavernous dark storage space. Neader held the door to allow light to spill in. It had a large, walled-in area that she assumed had been where the cigars were stored at one time. She would find a use for it, or not, the room was big enough without it. She could make the wide-open area into her living space, if she had to, and the small storage room could be her sleeping quarters. It wasn’t perfect. The smell alone would take hard work to remove, and the wood would need to be scrubbed of all the sticky dark smoke clogging its beauty. But once she did, it was the perfect size for her little shop and close to the center of town. Nora stood and brushed a blonde curl from her forehead. The longer she stood there, the more sure she was this was the place.

  “Let’s go back to your office and discuss the particulars, Mr. Neader. I think I’ve found my home.”

  “Home?” he squeaked, then cleared his throat. “I must object. You can’t just live here, Miss Arnsby. It wouldn’t be safe for a young woman. Alone.”

  Nora smiled and tipped her head demurely as she was expected to do. Would men never tire of telling her what they expected of her, what she couldn’t do? Wouldn’t they ever learn she never did what they expected? Just once she’d like to hear that she should try harder and go for what she desired.

  Nora ignored the lawyer’s sputtering objections about her safety. He wouldn’t know about the Smith and Wesson in her garter holster on her right leg. No one did. But a lady didn’t just throw herself out to the world without something to even the odds.

  “I’m not concerned about making this my home. Shall we?” She ignored him, once again, and headed for the door, the smell as good a reason as any to leave. That would have to be the first task, a good hearty scrub.

  His face paled as she swept past him and out the door, back toward his office.

  Mathias Horton watched as the young blonde woman across the street from his mercantile moved huge crates from a freight wagon, her brow furrowed under the strain. He’d watched her come and go the last few days and could only assume she’d purchased the old cigar shop. The men in town would be very displeased, as this new owner did not look like the sort of woman who would be opening a place for men to relax. On the contrary, despite the strength of her tiny frame, she looked rather ladylike. Her dress was certainly well made, and fit her perfectly, so she wasn’t a catalog shopper. Or if she was, she knew the secret of having them tailored once they arrived.

  Over the last few days, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the woman whenever she came out. Today—as she fought against the weight of the boxes—he had to wonder, where were the men of the town to assist a poor woman who obviously needed it?

  If he hadn’t been the only one in his store, he would’ve gone out to offer his assistance. A few of the crates seemed to be about half her size and she struggled with not only their bulk, but the heft weighted down her shoulders. She’d heaved and almost dropped them. The lawyer from a few doors down walked past her twice and didn’t offer so much as a hand with the door, but what could he say … Neader was a lawyer. The tension coiled within him just thinking about Neader and his kind.

  She slipped as she tried to lift a large crate from the back, and he’d had enough. Mathias locked up his store and strode across the dusty street, furious with his friendly town for just sitting back and letting a woman do for herself when she shouldn’t need to.

  “Ma’am, might I help you with those?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and he was hit with the softest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Bluer than the sky on a South Dakota spring morning. They took the breath right from his lungs just the same.

  “No.” She clutched it tighter and tried to lift the crate once again.

  He rested his hand atop the offending box and her slight huff almost made him laugh.

  “I can get this moved in for you.”

  She stepped away from the tongue of the wagon, wiping the dirt of the crate from her hands on a white smock apron she wore to protect her fancy dress. A dress much too well-made to be ruined by carrying crates. How such a smidgen of a woman had managed the three others that size, he didn’t know, but he found a new respect for her where he’d only admired her looks before. He heaved the crate, amazed that it was even heavier than it had appeared. She held open the door for him and he wedged himself and the heavy wooden box through to the spot where the others waited.

  “There’s only two more, and they’re smaller. You don’t have to stay any longer and help me.” The woman took a pencil and wrote down some numbers from the top of the box on a slip of paper and set it aside. She didn’t bother to thank him or even smile. He had the strangest urge to stick around until she did, just to have an excuse to stay.

  He wasn’t about to run right back to the store and leave her to fight with her door when he was more than willing to assist. The other two were much smaller and he didn’t bother to resist the urge to carry both at once. As a store owner, he was used to moving goods much heavier than those. She caught the door for him, and he set those down near the others.

  “Thank you, Mr.?” She held out her hand and her blue eyes flashed a warning.

  “Horton, Mathias Horton.” He slid his hand over hers and she surprised him by giving a firm shake. He’d hoped, in his old-fashioned way, that she would let him take her hand to his lips, but that token of respect seemed to be falling by the wayside.

  “Nora Arnsby. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m afraid that won’t be my last big shipment, but I do appreciate your insistence.” She drew a dainty rose colored handkerchief from a pocket and blotted at her forehead.

  He laughed to himself. His insistence wouldn’t be called assistance by this woman. He glanced at the assorted shipments about the floor, curious about what they were.

  “If you don’t mind me asking… What are you planning to sell with all these big boxes?” If she was going to sell furniture, she’d have a good business. He didn’t have room for such items in his own store and he’d be happy to send new people to town over to her.

  She tinged a little pink around the ears. A surprise because, so far, the woman seemed unflappable.

  “Those aren’t for my business, they’re for my home. I will have someone paint the new sign in a few days, then you’ll know what this store will be. Until then, I’m trying to keep it rather hush.”

  He didn’t want to press, but it seemed odd that she wouldn’t just come right out and say what it was she was planning to do. “You aren’t possibly in town to put the lawyer out of business, are you? That’s an idea I could stand for.”

  She laughed, a pretty, light sound that danced around in his ears and set him to thinking about how fast his heart was beating.

  “No, nothing like that. I’m sorry, Mr. Horton. As long as you don’t spread it about town, I’m just a milliner.”

  A women’s hat maker. And not just any hat maker, but a skilled one, if she could call herself by that fancy name. Only the best, highly trained under a professional, dared use the title “milliner”. If she truly was, she might not be in Hot Springs for long. There were only so many families wealthy enough to need such frippery.

  “Well, I wish you well. I’d better get back over and reopen my shop. I’m just across the way, the mercantile.” He pointed across the street, then drew his hand back and crosse
d his arms over his chest. A woman—cultured like she must be—to be of her profession would probably think him a rude buffoon to point.

  Her beautiful blonde head tipped slightly as she gazed across the street through the big front window, then she met his eyes once more. “Thank you again, and you’re welcome to stop by whenever you wish.” She laughed again, a sweet, welcoming, so very womanly sound. “I’m sure I can find more for you to do.”

  An invitation like that was better than a church potluck.

  Chapter 2

  After a week of watching for Miss Arnsby to make any appearance in front of her shop, Mathias was rewarded when a huge ox cart stopped in the street between them. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her soft smile and her laugh, nor her wit. Two massive men hopped down from the front and came around to the bed of the enormous wagon. They dragged a headboard and footboard to the back of the cart. Each took one then headed for the store. Miss Arnsby held the door for them then stayed out of the way as they maneuvered her mattress through the front entry. Strange that she didn’t use the back entrance as most businesses would want to keep their private things, private.

  “Katy, watch the store for a minute. I need to go check on something.”

  Katy was his thirty-five-year-old sister and a widow. She refused to take charity. So, he’d given her a job and she earned her way, paying him rent, though he didn’t want it. He trusted her more than anyone else. Katy barely raised her head from the accounting books as Mathias peeled off his white apron and made for the door.