Second Chance Hero

Verity gave her friend an exasperated look. “Not all of us are as comfortable with flamboyant airs and drama as you are.”

This shop was proof of that. Color and furbelows were everywhere. Besides the dress forms that displayed examples of her work, there were bolts of fabrics in every shade imaginable, from pastels to deep jewel tones, both solids and prints, spools of lace and cord and ribbons, trimmings such as feathers and beads and medallions, fashion plates displayed artfully around the store—and all arranged in a manner to catch the eye and entice one to come close to admire and touch and perhaps purchase.

Verity loved it here, loved how it made her feel, as if she was inside a fantastical daydream where nothing harsh could intrude.

But she was just a visitor here—it wasn’t her world.

“Which is a shame.”

For a startled moment Verity thought her friend had read her thoughts. Then she realized Hazel was merely responding to her last statement.

Hazel’s grin had an I-know-best twist to it. “I think a little flamboyancy and drama in your life is just what you need.”

Verity relaxed and returned her grin. “That’s what I have you in my life for. And why I create these hats.” One of the things she’d missed most about Turnabout when she’d married Arthur and moved so far away was her friendship with Hazel. They’d kept in touch with the occasional letter, but being able to spend time together was so much better.

When Verity had moved back to Turnabout after Arthur’s death last year, she and Hazel had picked up where they’d left off.

Joy’s giggles drew her attention and she glanced in that direction. The girl was jiggling her bit of yarn in front of Buttons. Hazel’s cat was trying to bat at it with one of her front paws, much to Joy’s delight.

Verity turned back to see Hazel rotating the hat this way and that, trying to view it from all angles. Wetting her lips and affecting a casual expression, Verity gave in to the urge to do a little probing. “Have you met your new neighbor yet?”

“You mean Mr. Cooper?” Hazel glanced out the door, as if she could see around the corner to his shop. “Just casually. He seems rather mysterious, don’t you think, just showing up here out of the blue?” Her eyes sparkled with saucy speculation. “I know he’s a friend of Adam Barr’s, but still, one can’t help but wonder what his story is. Especially when he looks right at you with those striking eyes.”

Verity popped her hand on her hip in mock outrage. “Hazel Theresa Andrews, I thought you were sweet on the sheriff. Has another man finally caught your fancy?”

Hazel tossed her head. “I’m getting tired of waiting for Ward Gleason to take notice of me. It certainly won’t hurt anything to let him know I have options.” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask? Do you have your eye on Mr. Cooper?”

Seeing the speculation in her friend’s expression, Verity tilted her chin up defensively. “Don’t be silly. I don’t even know the man.”

“He didn’t happen to be outside his store when you walked by just now, did he?”

Hazel was too perceptive by half. “He was. And yes, we chatted for a moment. But only because Joy wanted to pet his dog. You know she can’t pass by an animal without wanting to play with it.”

“So you did meet him.”

“Not exactly.” She waved a hand. “I mean, no introductions were exchanged. But saying hello was the neighborly thing to do.” Verity mentally cringed when she heard the defensive note creep into her voice.

And of course Hazel pounced right on it. “Well, now, isn’t this an interesting turn of events. Our meek-as-a-lamb, practical-as-prunes Verity is interested in the very rugged and far-from-meek-looking Mr. Cooper.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, drawing herself up even straighter. “I have no interest in the man beyond a natural curiosity.”

“Of course you don’t.” But from the knowing smile on Hazel’s lips, Verity could tell her friend didn’t believe her protests. It was time to steer this conversation in a different direction.

“Thanks for letting Joy play with Buttons,” she said. “She looks forward to it whenever I tell her I’m headed over here.”

To Verity’s relief, Hazel accepted the change of subject as she carried the hat to the nearby cheval glass. “Buttons enjoys it, too,” her friend said absently as she placed the hat on her head at a sassy angle. Then she preened, turning and tilting her head different ways to admire the effect. “Oh, I love it, especially the flirty way the brim is folded. If it wasn’t yellow I’d consider keeping it for myself.” She glanced over her shoulder at Verity. “Yellow never was my color.”

Verity disagreed. With Hazel’s vivacious red-gold hair and sparkling green eyes, there was very little that didn’t look good on her. But she kept her opinion to herself.

Hazel removed the hat and turned back around. “Now, you on the other hand, with that gorgeous mahogany-colored hair and your fair complexion, would look stunning in this.”

“Not particularly suitable mourning attire,” Verity said drily.

Hazel sighed dramatically. “I’ve already said my piece on that subject. But I can tell your mind is made up.” Then she shrugged. “Ah, well, it’ll look nice in the window next to that lavender dress with the scrumptious lace.”

Verity fidgeted with her sleeve. “I do wish you’d let me pay you something for displaying my hats in your shop.”

“Well, I won’t, so let’s hear no more about it.” Hazel patted a few stray hairs back in place before moving away from the mirror. “And don’t think it’s because I’m feeling altruistic. I’m getting something out of it, too. My sales have definitely gone up since your hats went on display next to my dresses.”

Verity had been thinking lately that she’d like to open a millinery shop of her own one day, and Hazel’s words gave her an added nudge in that direction. Despite Uncle Grover’s and Aunt Betty’s assertions that they liked having her and Joy stay with them, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—live on their charity forever. It had been fifteen months since that awful day Arthur was killed. It was time for her to move on with her life, to decide what kind of future she wanted for herself and Joy.

If she could start her own business and make a go of it, she might just be able to afford to have a home of her own again. But there was so much risk involved in such an undertaking, risks she wasn’t sure she could afford to take. It definitely wasn’t a step to take lightly. For one thing she’d have to save up more money before she could even get started. And what if she failed? Besides, the one time she’d mentioned it to Uncle Grover, he’d counseled her about all the pitfalls she could face and she’d gotten the impression he didn’t think it was something she should even attempt.

Still, every time she allowed herself to dream about the future she wanted for herself and Joy, the yearning to take more control of her life grew.

“Have you heard about the plans for the Founders’ Day celebration?”

Verity pushed away her daydreams and focused on Hazel’s question. “You mean there’s going to be more to it than the town picnic this year?”

“A lot more. Ever since Mayor Sanders realized this is the seventy-fifth anniversary of Turnabout’s founding, he’s wanted to do something special, which to him means something bigger and flashier.”

That was Mayor Sanders, all right. Some things about this town never changed.

“He’s talking about a grand festival,” Hazel continued, “sort of like a county fair, with games, contests, food, performances. He’s even talking about bringing in a traveling circus or an acting troupe.”

Verity listened with only half an ear as Hazel recounted the discussion from yesterday’s town council meeting. Instead, her thoughts drifted back to Mr. Cooper.

Hazel was wrong. She wasn’t taken with the man. Well, not exactly. She was merely curious about him. When she looked into his intense eyes, she still got the sense of something controlled but dangerous. Yet seeing him with that little lapdog had contradicted that impression. Showing kindness to a small animal and speaking of putting down roots seemed to indicate a man who was compassionate and responsible.

Which was the real man? Or was it possible he could be a combination of both?

The sound of a dog barking outside made her think again of the small dog itself. Beans—what a whimsical name for the animal.

Perhaps someday—there was that nebulous someday again—if she could find a similar lapdog, one that she knew was well behaved, she could get it for Joy.

Verity glanced over her shoulder to check on her daughter again, but neither the five-year-old nor the cat was in the same spot any longer. She turned fully around. “Joy?” Where had the girl gotten off to?

Hazel paused midsentence and glanced quickly around the shop. “She probably followed Buttons to one of his hiding places. Check behind the counter.”

“Joy!” Verity said the name louder this time, using her no-nonsense, answer-me-now voice. She knew it was probably an overreaction, but she couldn’t help herself. Her late husband’s violent death had given her a terrible lesson on how tragedy could strike in the blink of an eye. And she’d found herself wanting to hold tighter and tighter to her daughter ever since.

When there was still no response, Verity’s focus sharpened. If Joy was just behind the counter, why wasn’t she answering? “Joy, this isn’t a game. Come out this minute.”

Still no answer. Could she have gone upstairs? Verity had half turned in that direction when Hazel spoke up, halting her in her tracks.

“She’s out on the sidewalk.”

Verity spun around and headed for the door. Why hadn’t she kept a closer eye on Joy?

A warning shout sounded just as she stepped outside, closely followed by a gasp from Hazel.

She watched in horror as her daughter, intent on chasing Buttons, darted in front of an oncoming wagon. Verity raced forward screaming Joy’s name. The child turned, then froze as she saw the horse bearing down on her.

Verity stumbled and realized with shattering clarity that she would never reach Joy in time.

Chapter Three

For an agonizing heartbeat, as the wagon bore down on her daughter, time froze. Verity felt every irregularity in the pebble that bit into her palm, could taste the tang of blood from where she’d bit the inside of her cheek when she fell to the ground, could see the dust motes hanging in the air before her.

Please, Jesus. Please, Jesus. Please, Jesus.

She wasn’t sure whether she was uttering the frantic prayer aloud or if it was just shrieking through her thoughts.

From somewhere a woman screamed, but all sounds, save for the wagon’s relentless rumbling progress, seemed to come from a great distance.

Verity spotted the moment the wagon driver spied Joy and tried to turn his horses.

And still Joy didn’t move.

Then, from out of nowhere, Mr. Cooper shot past her, and time sped up with a whoosh. He dived toward Joy, reaching her a heart-stopping split second before the horse’s hooves would have trampled the child, and pushing her out of the way.

Without remembering having moved, Verity was suddenly kneeling in the road with her weeping daughter clutched tightly against her. Her heart thudded painfully against her chest and her breath came in near gasps. She’d come so close to losing her precious baby. She could still feel the stab of keening desolation that pierced her the moment she’d realized she couldn’t get to Joy in time. This time the prayer she sent up was one of thanksgiving.

“Mama, you’re squeezing too tight.” Joy’s querulous complaint ended on a hiccup.

Verity had to fight down the hysterical bubble of laughter that wanted to leap from her throat. Instead she loosened her hold and pushed back just enough to examine her daughter, brushing aside a tendril of Joy’s hair with fingers that trembled uncontrollably. “Don’t you ever scare Mommy like that again.”

Joy shook her head, then hiccupped again as her tears stopped.

Verity was vaguely aware that Hazel stood at her elbow and that a crowd had gathered, but her attention remained focused on reassuring herself that Joy really was okay.

Fortunately, her daughter appeared more scared and confused than hurt. The stains and smears on her pinafore were dirt, not blood.

“I’m so sorry.”

Verity looked up into the pale, worried face of Nestor James, the wagon driver.

“Please tell me your little girl’s okay,” he continued as he crushed his hat in his hands. “I didn’t see her ’til I was practically on top of her.”

“It’s not your fault, Mr. James.” Though her voice was still shaky, now that Verity knew Joy was okay she could be reasonable. “I should have kept closer watch over her. And it appears Joy isn’t hurt—just shaken up. Thanks to Mr. Cooper.”

She looked around for the man who’d saved her daughter.

And only then realized he hadn’t fared as well as Joy.

He was sitting up, his movements slow and stiff. There was a darkening bruise on his forehead, he held his left arm stiffly and his sleeve was ripped and stained with blood and dirt.

Sheriff Gleason had bent down to lend him a hand up.

Verity immediately intervened. “Don’t get up yet, Mr. Cooper. Not until I’ve had a look at you.” There was no telling how badly he might be injured.

He gave her a startled look, which she ignored. Instead she turned to Sheriff Gleason. “Keep an eye on him, please.” Then she turned back to Joy. “Do you hurt anywhere, pumpkin?”

Joy bent her right arm and lifted it for inspection. “I hurted my elbow. And Lulu got smushed.”

Quickly noting that Joy’s elbow was merely scraped, Verity bent down and gave it a kiss. “There, is that better?”

Joy nodded, swiping at the dirt and tears on her face with her other sleeve. Then she handed the doll up to her mother. Verity obediently gave the doll a kiss, as well. “There. You should both feel better once you’ve washed up a bit.”

Then she gave her daughter a stern look. “Now, I want you to stay close to Miss Hazel while I check on Mr. Cooper.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Hazel took Joy’s hand and gave Verity a nod.

Inhaling a fortifying breath, Verity turned to check on the condition of the man to whom she owed so much.

* * *

Nate Cooper watched the woman’s sudden transformation with fascination. A moment ago she’d been understandably shaky, emotional, on the verge of hysteria even, over what had nearly happened to her daughter.

He would have thought that the sight of his sorry state would have pushed her even further toward hysteria. Instead, she seemed composed and even decisive. Which was something of a relief. He’d rather deal with an oncoming wagon all over again than with an overly emotional woman.

But what had she meant by have a look at you? Did she fancy herself a doctor? He’d seen the kiss-it-and-make-it-better approach she’d used with her daughter and the doll—not exactly by-the-book medicine. Though, come to think on it, he wouldn’t be particularly averse if she wanted to try that method with him...

He quickly pushed that entirely inappropriate thought aside as the woman in question knelt down beside him.

“Before I do anything else,” she said softly, “I want to tell you how unbelievably brave what you just did was, and to let you know I’m so much more than grateful. You not only saved my daughter just now, but me, as well.”

The woman’s moss-green eyes glowed with a gratitude that verged on hero worship. That shook him much more than the accident with the wagon had. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of such a look since he’d lost his sister nearly a decade ago, and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. But hero worship was something he didn’t want.

Or deserve.

He’d just been at the right place at the right time—nothing more. He’d seen Beans bark at the cat and send it running across the road. He’d then seen the child follow the feline. It had been pure instinct to go after her—nothing heroic about it.

“I’ll be okay,” he said brusquely, waving the woman away with his right hand. “You should see to your daughter.”

The woman ignored his suggestion and began rolling up her sleeves. “Joy is fine, thanks to you. And that gash on your arm definitely needs some attention.”

Without waiting for a response from him, she glanced up at the crowd milling around them. “Someone get me a pail of water to clean this up. And I’ll need some clean rags, as well.”

To his surprise, several individuals from the crowd nodded and rushed off to do her bidding. Then she turned to Sheriff Gleason. “Do you have a pocketknife I can borrow?”

The lawman never hesitated. He pulled out his knife, opened it for her and handed it over.

Nate raised a hand. “Now, hold on.” These folks might trust the woman, but he wasn’t ready to let her cut on him. “What do you intend to do with that thing?”

Her brow went up and there was an amused twist to her lips. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to operate on you. Yet.” He was only partly reassured by her dry tone.

She took the knife and, with a quick movement, sliced his already ripped shirt all the way to the cuff.

He tried one more time to wrest control from the stubborn woman. “See, it’s just a cut. I’ll be okay. If it makes you feel better I’ll go see the doctor.” He tried to push himself up, but a sharp pain shot through his left ankle and he winced involuntarily.

“You are not okay.” She put a firm hand on his right shoulder. “Don’t move until I have a look at you.” Her expression softened slightly. “Don’t worry, I do have some medical training.”

That would explain her air of authority. But was she serious? “You’re a doctor?”

“Not exactly. But the town’s doctor is my uncle and my late husband was a physician, as well. So you see, I’ve worked with doctors most of my life. I know what to do.”

The “not exactly doctor” turned to the dressmaker, who still held the little girl’s hand. “Would you mind taking Joy back to your shop until I’ve finished here?”

“Of course.” Miss Andrews smiled down at the little girl. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you and Lulu cleaned up and then we’ll see if we can find a cookie to snack on.”

The woman’s gaze lingered on her daughter as the two walked away. But a moment later a young man set the requested pail of water at her feet and she turned to smile up at him. “Thank you, Calvin. Now would you mind running over to the clinic and letting my uncle know he’ll have a patient shortly?”

“Yes, ma’am.” And with that the young man was off again.

Finally she turned back to him. “Since I’m about to tend to your injuries,” she said with a caretaker’s smile, “I should probably introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Verity Leggett.”

Nate gave a short nod. “Mrs. Leggett. I’m Nate Cooper.”

“Now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way, let’s get this arm cleaned up, shall we, so we can see what we’re dealing with?”

He still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being examined by a female doctor, no matter how pretty or confident she was. It seemed vaguely ungentlemanly to put her through such unpleasantness. “There’s no need to trouble yourself, Mrs. Leggett. I can get myself over to the doctor—”

She didn’t let him finish. “I agree that my uncle should see you. And he will—just as soon as I make sure we have this cleaned up and the bleeding has stopped.”

She dipped a cloth in the water and then gently dabbed at the gash, cleaning away the dirt and blood with her right hand while she supported his arm with her left. Her touch was gentle but sure, and not at all unpleasant.

As Mrs. Leggett bent over him, he could smell the faint scent of honeysuckle on her, could see the glint of sunlight tease out touches of auburn in her mahogany hair. The feel of her hand supporting his arm as she gently cleaned the cut was warm and strong in a uniquely feminine kind of way.

As she bent closer to study her progress, that stray image of her kissing her daughter’s injury popped up in his mind again. Would she—

He abruptly pulled his thoughts back from that dangerous cliff. His reaction to her was a testament to how long it had been since he’d felt the gentle ministrations of a woman, nothing more. And he was certain she wouldn’t welcome any indications that he felt anything other than gratitude.

When Mrs. Leggett had the cut cleaned to her satisfaction, she leaned back and studied it. “You’re definitely going to need stitches, but I don’t believe you’ve cut anything vital.” She looked up then and met his gaze with a reassuring smile. “The bleeding has slowed, but I’m going to wrap it tight to make certain it doesn’t start flowing again before we get you to the clinic.”

When she had put action to words, she met his gaze again. “Now, your left leg seemed to be giving you problems when you tried to get up. Where does it hurt?”

So she’d picked up on that. “It’s my ankle, but I’m sure it’ll be fine in just a bit.”

She scooted over and took his booted foot in her hands, again disregarding the niceties of social behavior. Her gentle probing had him gritting his teeth, but he did his best to not show any outward signs of pain.

She gently set the foot back down. “It’s definitely swollen. I think we’ll leave the boot on until Uncle Grover is ready to examine it. But you shouldn’t be walking on it for now.” Then she met his eyes. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

His head pounded, his shoulder and ankle throbbed and he was starting to feel light-headed. Nothing a little rest wouldn’t cure. “No.”

Her raised eyebrow told him she wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t press. Instead she gave his good arm a light pat. “Don’t worry, we’re going to take very good care of you.”

Despite his reservations, he had to admit he liked the sound of that.

Mrs. Leggett made as if to stand and the sheriff was at her elbow, lending her a hand.

She smiled up at the lawman. “Thank you, Sheriff. Would you find some men to help carry Mr. Cooper over to the clinic? I’ll go on ahead to help my uncle get things ready.”

The sheriff tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

Carry him? “That won’t be necessary. I just need a little help getting up.”

She gave him a don’t-be-ridiculous look. “You won’t be doing any walking on that ankle, at least not until Uncle Grover takes a look at it.”

The woman wasn’t shy about giving orders. “Well, I certainly don’t intend to let myself be carried through town like a sack of flour. I’d rather hobble. If I could borrow a shoulder to use as support—”

“Your hurt ankle is on the same side as your hurt arm so it would be inadvisable to put any strain on it.”

She even talked like a doctor.

Before he could protest again, the man who’d been driving the wagon stepped forward. “I can take him to your uncle’s clinic in the back of my wagon, if you like?”

Nate clamped down an uncharitable stab of annoyance that the man’s words were directed at Mrs. Leggett rather than him.

But the doctor’s niece nodded, as if she, too, thought it was her decision to make. “Thank you, Mr. James, that will work nicely. I’ll leave this in your and Sheriff Gleason’s very capable hands.” And with another reassuring but rather condescending smile for him, Mrs. Leggett turned and walked into the dress shop. A moment later she stepped out again with her daughter held on her hip. With the little girl’s head snuggled against her shoulder, she marched down the sidewalk.

His eyes followed her progress until she turned a corner and disappeared from view. He still couldn’t quite get over her transformation into a coolheaded, would-be doctor. When she’d stopped in front of his store on her way to the dress shop, he’d gotten the impression that she was more diffident than decisive. But just now, she hadn’t had the least bit of hesitation about taking charge and issuing orders. And she also hadn’t been the least bit put off by either the blood, ugly gash or the fact that she’d had to kneel in the middle of the dusty street to minister to him.