The Dreammaker

“If it were any more simple, a dog with thumbs could run the place.”

Tripp glared at her, then flipped to the next page. “I’ve done some figuring on expenses—repairs, buying the inventory, things like that. We need to decide on a budget.”

Kaitlin shrugged. “We’ll spend what money we have, and that should be enough to get things going.”

“What the hell kind of idea is that?” Tripp reared back.

“What more can I tell you, Mr. Callihan? I’m putting every dime I have in the world into this place. Aren’t you?”

“All the more reason for us to make a plan.”

She bit down on her lip. “We have a plan.”

“We need to decide on the extent of the repairs, how much we can spend on them, what kind of inventory to buy.” Tripp tapped his finger on the tablet. “We have a lot of decisions to make.”

Kaitlin pressed her lips together, holding in her rising temper. “Are you this methodical about everything you do, Mr. Callihan?”

Their gazes collided, and the implication of what everything might entail sprang up between them as if it were a living thing. Kaitlin blushed and looked away. Tripp cleared his throat and shifted on the crate.

“Well, uh, maybe this can wait a while,” Tripp said.

“Good idea.” Kaitlin hopped off the crate and hurried across the room.

“As long as we’re straight on this deal.”

She whirled around. “You’ve made your position perfectly clear, Mr. Callihan. And the fact that I want to get to work while you want to discuss things should prove my position. Now, can we please get your wagon unloaded?”

Tripp just looked at her, all puffed up with emotion. His belly began to ache.

“All right, let’s get to work.” He headed across the room. “Are you hungry?”

“Hungry?” Kaitlin shook her head and hurried out the door. “Good grief.”

Tripp opened the tailgate of the wagon and unloaded some of the lighter items onto the boardwalk, crates, cane-back chairs, a trunk, a small table. Charlie scooted over.

“Can I help, Papa?”

Tripp handed him a small box. “Take it inside. And be careful.”

“I figured you’d use the room upstairs,” Kaitlin said as she picked up a chair. “We’ll need all the space downstairs for the stock.”

Tripp lifted one of the heavier crates. “Let’s have a look.”

Inside the kitchen, Charlie waited at the door to Kaitlin’s bedroom.

“That room’s mine, Charlie,” Kaitlin said. “You and your papa will be upstairs.”

They placed the items they carried on the other side of the kitchen, and Kaitlin led the way up the narrow staircase. The room was dirty like the rest of the place, with two windows along the back wall.

Tripp walked around studying the floor, ceiling and corners while Charlie ran to the window and looked out.

“Are we gonna have this room, Papa?”

Kaitlin stood in the center of the room watching Tripp circle around her. “It’s plenty big enough for you both.”

“I like it, Papa.” Charlie bounced on his toes.

“If you don’t want it, you can look at the room downstairs.” Kaitlin pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Gracious, this man took forever to decide anything. She felt her patience slipping away. “Mr. Callihan, do you like the room, or not?”

Tripp continued to pace. How could a room this dirty, closed up for this long, smell so sweet? His gaze landed on Kaitlin. She was how, of course.

The room that appeared so large only a second ago seemed to shrink around him. Tripp headed for the staircase. “The room’s fine. I’ll get the wagon unloaded.”

“Good idea,” Kaitlin muttered as she followed him down the steps. “I wish I’d thought of that.”

Tripp was already lifting items from the wagon when she reached the back boardwalk. He held up his hand.

“You go inside. I’ll take care of this.”

She reached for another chair. “It will go faster if we work together.”

“No, you might hurt yourself.”

Tripp reached for the chair and his hands brushed hers. He jumped back. God, she was soft.

Kaitlin moved away, carrying the chair. “I’ll be fine.”

But she wasn’t really fine. Kaitlin hurried into the store, her stomach in jitters. What was wrong with her?

She put the chair in the corner and drew in a deep breath. Something about Tripp Callihan put her on edge. At first she’d thought it was only that he was helping her reach her long sought after dream, but now…

Kaitlin squared her shoulders. This wasn’t the time for such thoughts. Too much needed doing.

Outside, standing in the wagon, Tripp focused all his energy and thoughts on his work. But it was so damn hard. Time after time Kaitlin appeared, bending over, stretching, lifting. It just wasn’t right that a woman could smell so sweet and look so pretty while working. How was he supposed to concentrate?

“Hello, neighbor!”

Rafe and Julia Beaumont stepped out the rear entrance of their millinery shop next door, waving.

“Could you use some help?” Rafe asked.

“Sure could.” Tripp leaned against, the bedsprings. “Things slow down at the livery?”

Rafe inclined his head toward the west. “I was down looking at the widow Smith’s mare when I saw -you drive by. Figured you could use some help.”

“That’s a fact.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen him so early in the day in a month of Sundays.” Julia smiled sweetly at her husband and rubbed her palm up his arm.

Rafe blushed and eased away from her. “Let’s get these things unloaded.”

“Papa! Papa!”

Charlie ran out the back door, then slid to a stop when he saw Julia and Rafe.

“What’s wrong, son?”

“Miss Kaitlin has cookies. Can I have one?”

Kaitlin stepped out of the store and smiled at Rafe and Julia. “Thanks for coming by.”

“Please, Papa? Please?” Charlie hopped up and down.

A big smile spread over Julia’s face and she went to Charlie. “Oh, he’s adorable. Look, Rafe, isn’t he sweet? Oh, I can’t wait until we have one of our own.”

Rafe blushed and jumped up into the wagon. “We’ve got work to do.”

Tripp pulled off his hat and wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve. “What kind of cookies are they?”

Kaitlin ground her lips together then replied, “Oatmeal.”

He thought for a moment. “Okay, Charlie, you can have a cookie. But just one. Don’t spoil your supper.”

“I’d like you three to eat with us tonight,” Julia said. “I’ve got chicken in the oven.”

Kaitlin nodded. “Thanks. I think Mr. Callihan is hungry already.”

She gave him a smile and went inside the store. Julia followed her in and looked the place over. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Kaitlin nodded in agreement The kitchen needed a thorough cleaning from top to bottom before anything could be unpacked or a single meal, cooked.

“Let’s get started,” Julia said; picking up a broom.

“But don’t you have work to do in your shop?”

She shrugged. “Nothing that can’t wait.”

Kaitlin smiled. “Thanks.”

“So,” Julia asked as she swept, “you and Tripp are partners?”

Kaitlin pumped water into a wooden bucket. She’d known questions of this nature would come up. “Business partners. Strictly business.”

“That’s right.” Tripp’s voice sounded from the doorway.

He walked into the kitchen carrying another crate. Rafe followed him inside.

“We’re just running the store together,” Tripp said. “That’s all.”

“Papa?” Charlie pulled on Tripp’s trouser leg. “How come ladies’ underwear has bows on it?”

A stunned silence fell. All eyes riveted Tripp.

He gulped. “What?”

“See?” Charlie pointed into the bedroom. “Miss Kaitlin’s underwear has pink bows. How come?”

Without wanting to, Tripp gazed into her room at the white garments piled in the middle of the bed. Soft, delicate, womanly things.

“Uh, well, uh…” Tripp pulled at his shirt collar. “We’ll talk about that later.”

Tripp took Charlie’s hand and hurried out the door, Rafe on his heels.

Over the next several hours they unloaded the wagon, cleaned the upstairs bedroom and moved the furniture in, a bureau and washstand, a small bed in one corner, a double across the room. The kitchen was half done when hunger overcame everyone and they went next door to Julia’s to eat.

The back room was small but cozy, with a lace tablecloth, fresh flowers, and the delicious smell of roasted chicken in the air. They settled around the table.

“When do you think you’ll open the store?” Julia asked as she passed the biscuits.

“Don’t know, exactly.” Tripp spooned peas onto Charlie’s plate, then took some for himself. “I have to do some figuring on that.”

“Well, it can’t be soon enough to suit me,” Julia said. “I’m so glad you’re here. Porter needs another store—and a lot of other things.”

Rafe shook his head. “I don’t know. Some townsfolk were glad when the railroad changed its mind and didn’t come through here. Didn’t like the notion of all those new people coming in. You never know what kind of folks you’ll get.”

“I think it would have been good for Porter,” Julia said. “It certainly would have helped my business.”

Rafe chuckled. “I guess if the railroad had come through town, you two wouldn’t have ended up with old man Finch’s store.”

Kaitlin and Tripp glanced at each other across the table.

“I wonder if he sold his other property here in town?” Rafe asked. “He owned a lot of land.”

“Good riddance to him, I say. A grumpier, more hateful old man I’ve never met.” Julia nodded. “Mr. Finch hasn’t been back to Porter in months. I hope he’s gone forever.”

“He’ll be mighty surprised if he comes back and sees how well our store is doing.” Kaitlin nodded confidently.

“We’ll have to see how things go.” Tripp looked down at Charlie beside him. “Eat your vegetables, son.”

“Things will go well,” Kaitlin said. “I just know it.”

“Well,” Tripp said, “we’ll have to see.”

They finished supper, and while Kaitlin and Julia cleaned the kitchen, Tripp and Rafe went outside to check on the horses.

“Come on, Charlie,” Tripp called from the door.

The boy rubbed his eyes and slid down from the kitchen chair.

“Charlie can stay with us,” Kaitlin said.

Tripp shook his head. “No. Charlie stays with me. Come on, son.”

Julia followed the boy to the door and closed her hand over Rafe’s arm. “You won’t be out late, will you?”

He eased her fingers away. “I’ll be back in a while.”

The men went outside, with Charlie running ahead of them. It was dark now, with only lanterns from the back windows of the shops to light the way.

Rafe stopped a short distance down the boardwalk. “I ought to apologize for Julia.”

“Apologize for what? She seems like a nice woman, a good wife.”

Rafe shook his head. “She’s pretty headstrong, if you get my meaning.”

He’d never known a woman more headstrong than Kaitlin Jeffers, but didn’t think that was exactly what Rafe meant.

“Damn…” Rafe hesitated to speak, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Julia just won’t keep her hands off of me. You know what I’m saying?”

Tripp’s gut tightened. “What?”

“Every time I turn around, there she is. Every morning. Every evening. Every time I get near her, she’s wanting to—Well, you know.” The man blushed.

Tripp’s mouth went dry. “Every time?”

“Every time.” Rafe sighed heavily. “But I’ve got a business to run. I’m at the livery before dawn, and most times I work straight through until after dark. You know what I’m saying, don’t you? I mean, seeing that you’ve got little Charlie, you must have been married once. Did you have this problem?”

Hell no, he hadn’t had this problem. In fact, he didn’t even understand why Rafe considered it a problem.

“So you don’t like making love to your wife?” Tripp asked.

“No, it’s not that.” Rafe shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe what that woman does to get me into bed with her. Why, just this morning I was trying to shave and here she came. Took my shaving soap, and before I knew what was happening, she had her top off and the lather all over her.”

Tripp gulped. “Shaving soap?”

“I told her I had to go to work.” Rafe grunted. “She needs to realize I haven’t got time for that stuff.”

Tripp’s jaw sagged. “You mean you didn’t…?”

“That’s the last thing I need, coming in to work late. Shoot, my brothers give me hell about Julia as it is.” Rafe nodded solemnly. “Lucky you’ve got a business partner and not a wife. You don’t have those problems.”

Heat pulsed through Tripp. He dragged his hand across his forehead. Oh yeah, he felt like the luckiest man on earth, all right.

Chapter Five

At the big oval mirror in the corner of her room Kaitlin studied herself from head to toe, turned in a quick circle, and headed for the door. With all the work she had planned for today, she looked good enough.

Stepping into the kitchen, she saw Tripp at the stove tending a pan of frying bacon. She wasn’t sure which -was more disconcerting—seeing him first thing in the morning, or seeing him cooking.

“Looks like I got the best end of this partnership.”

Tripp jumped, then ran his hand over his chest. “How’s that?”

“I won’t have to do all the cooking.” Kaitlin smiled and walked over to the stove.

He turned his back to her. “I cook for Charlie and me.”

Kaitlin peered around him. “What happened to your chin?”

Tripp touched his finger to his face, and turned away again. “I cut myself shaving this morning, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Kaitlin gestured to the rolled-out biscuits and the bowl of eggs on the sideboard. “What can I do to earn my share of this meal?”

Tripp glanced back over his shoulder at her. “You can—” He sucked in a quick breath. She wasn’t wearing a bustle.

The fabric of her simple blue dress hung in loose folds from her waist, draping her hips with clarity. He groaned softly as an all too familiar stirring coiled inside him.

Bad enough that he’d lain awake most of the night smelling her sweet scent all the way in his room, and that he’d cut his chin just looking at his shaving soap a while ago, but did Kaitlin have to be running around this morning dressed—or hardly dressed—like that?

“Well?” Kaitlin stepped closer, her eyebrows raised. “What can I do to help?”

Putting on some decent undergarments would sure as hell help. Tripp turned back to the stove. “Nothing. I’ll take care of it.”

“But that’s not right. We’re partners. I should do my share. I’ll put the biscuits in the oven.”

“No!” Tripp whirled around and pulled the pan from her hand. No, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t bend over right there next to him at the stove.

Kaitlin shrank back and eyed him up and down. “I’ll just set the table.”

“Good. That’s good. You do that.” Tripp shoved the biscuits into the oven and slammed the door. He reached over the pump and pushed the window all the way open. Damn, it was hot in here.

“Do you remember where the plates are?” Kaitlin asked.

Tripp turned to find her bending down, rummaging through the crates that lined the wall, her round bottom bouncing up and down, and up and down as she searched box after box. He sagged against the sideboard and mopped his brow with his sleeve.

What was wrong with him? Tripp watched her, savoring every move, every rustle of her skirt. He hadn’t been so randy since—well, he couldn’t even remember the last time.

Maybe it was just the things Rafe had talked to him about last night. Of course, Rafe and Julia had been the furthest thing from his mind when he’d stared at his shaving cup this morning, and nicked his own chin. And it hadn’t been the two of them who had crept into his thoughts as he lay staring at the ceiling during the night.

Tripp licked his dry lips as Kaitlin lifted a stack of plates from the packing crate and carried them to the table. Maybe it was just the natural order of things, he thought. He’d not had much interest in such things since—

He spun back to the stove and scooped bacon from the pan, trying to push away the memories. Emily. His wife, Emily. Even after all this time the images still came back with such force. All the old feelings, the pain. He’d put it behind him for the most part, but sometimes without warning it all rushed into his thoughts again. And God, how he hated these moments.

“Coffee?”

Kaitlin peered around him, her brown eyes bigger and wider than usual this morning.

“Sure. Coffee’s fine.” He cracked eggs in the skillet and wiped his hands on a linen towel.

“I’m anxious to get started on the store today,” Kaitlin said as she poured two cups of coffee.

“We need to talk about that.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?” She passed him one of the white mugs. “Where’s Charlie?”

“Upstairs.”

Kaitlin sipped her coffee. “Did Charlie have trouble sleeping last night? Being in a new place does that.”

“Charlie’s used to it.” Tripp turned the scrambled eggs into a bowl, then pulled the biscuits from the oven and piled them on a platter. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”

She set her cup down. “I’ll get Charlie.”

“No. I’ll get him.” Tripp went to the foot of the staircase. “Charlie! Come on, son!”

Kaitlin put the food on the table. “It was nice of Julia to give us enough to fix our meals with today. I’ll pay her back as soon as I get some shopping done.”

Footsteps clattered on the stairs and Charlie came into the kitchen pulling up his suspenders. Kaitlin ruffled his uncombed hair and smiled down at him. “Good morning, Charlie: Hungry?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He reached up for Tripp, who gave him a quick hug, then settled him into a chair at the table. “How come you don’t got no kids, Miss Kaitlin?”

She slipped into the chair across from him. “I’m not married, Charlie.”

“How come?”

Kaitlin glanced at Tripp as he sat down between them. “The time’s not right for me to marry yet.”

“Have you got a papa?”

“My papa died a long time ago, so did my mother.” Kaitlin smiled, warming at the memories. “She was a great stage actress. That’s how they met. She was with a touring company, and when he saw her on stage, it was instant love.”

“Well, how come—”

“Eat your breakfast, Charlie.” Tripp scooped eggs and bacon onto the boy’s plate, then passed the platter to Kailin. “You, too.”

“Yes, dear,” Kaitlin said, and gave him a sickly sweet smile. She took a bite. “You’re a good cook.”

“Papa makes the bestest cookies.” Charlie wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Papa can do anything.”

“Is that so?” Kaitlin smiled across the table at Tripp.

“Uh-huh. Papa builded this table, and that chair.” Charlie pointed to the rocker in the corner.

Kaitlin gave the table a little shake; much more sturdy than the rickety thing left behind by Mr. Finch. “So that’s your trade? You’re a carpenter?”

“No, I just build things when they need building,” Tripp said. “I’m a farmer.”

“You abandoned your farm to come here?”

Tripp shifted in his chair. “Not exactly.”

“We lived with a whole bunch of people,” Charlie said around a mouthful of biscuit. “They had lots of kids.”

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