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Wild Card
Wild Card

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“Can I help you with something?” He came over to where she was standing by the calico. He was tall and gawky in the way of boys before they fill out.

“Yes. I’d like a cake of lye soap and—” she scanned the shelves “—and, now that I’m looking, a few other things.”

Twenty minutes later the wooden counter was stacked with sugar, flour, salt, coffee, eggs, bacon, butter and dried apples. She added a broom to the order, another bucket and lye soap.

“Whew! I only came in for one thing.” She laughed.

“Well, that’s how it is sometimes, and we’re glad—that is, my pa will be glad. It’s his store. I’m Larry Nelson.” He offered his hand.

She accepted. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Clair...ah...Smith,” she added falteringly. No sense tempting fate.

Larry ran the tally on a notepad, his red brows drawn down in concentration. “Comes to $7.15.” He beamed. “You passing through or settling in?”

“Settling in,” she told him, liking the sound of it.

He put the pad down and reached for a ledger book. “You want me to start an account?”

“That would be nice. Thanks.”

“No trouble.” He flipped open the well-worn book. “Name...Clair Smith. Miss or Missus?”

“Miss.”

“Where are you living?”

“The Scarlet Lady.”

He stopped midmotion and looked up at her through his brows. “Really?”

“Yes.” She looked him square in the face.

“Scarlet Lady it is.” He marked the book again. “Seven dollars and fifteen cents is your total. We ask for half of your first purchase now and balance on the first of the month. After that you pay at least ten percent if you don’t pay it off.”

“Sounds fair enough.” Clair relaxed a bit and paid him four dollars.

Larry stacked her groceries in a wooden crate. “You want help?”

“If you don’t mind?”

“Glad to do it.” He didn’t bother with a coat, and as he hefted the box, he leaned in closer. “Any excuse to get out of here.” He punctuated his words with a wink. In a louder voice he called toward the back, “Ma, I’m helping a lady with her groceries. Back soon!”

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