Melody McCully rapped on the window and waved as she passed by. Since Lisa’s hands were full of tacks and a man’s Western shirt, she gave Melody a wink and a smile that earned her a gesture that would have been unbecoming on anybody else. Lisa’s smile hovered around the edges of her mouth for a long time after she’d turned back to her task.
Mel McCully is nothing like her brother.
She jerked, as much from the thought of Wyatt as from the pain in the tip of the finger that had gotten in the way of one of her strategically placed tacks. Popping her finger into her mouth, she glanced out the window just in time to see Opal Graham and Isabell Pruitt avert their beady eyes and raise their self-righteous little chins.
Lisa recognized the open censure on their faces. For the life of her, she didn’t know what she’d done to deserve it. They hadn’t so much as spoken to her, so how could they possibly dislike her? Surely her hopes and dreams weren’t so much different than theirs had been when they were her age. At thirty, all Lisa wanted was a home, a family, a way to make ends meet and a man to love. When it came to a home, she wasn’t fussy. Any four walls would do. After all, she’d lived in enough places to know that it wasn’t the structure that brought security. She knew exactly what she was looking for in a man. Glancing at the racks and shelves containing everything from men’s work clothes to women’s skirts to children’s play clothes, she knew she could make her store a success, too. She just had to be patient.
The bell over the front door jingled. There, see? The customers are starting to come already. She had a smile ready before she could turn around.
Louetta Graham mumbled a shy greeting then quickly averted her eyes. Glancing at her watch, Lisa toned down the brightness of her smile a little and said, “Goodness, Louetta, I had no idea it was eleven-thirty already. Your arrival is just like clockwork.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.”
Lisa did everything in her power to soften her smile even more. Honestly, she’d never come across anyone more shy than Opal Graham’s daughter. Every time she saw Louetta, Lisa thought of a stray cat. Maybe it was her drab brown hair; or maybe it was the way she skirted the edges of a room to keep from coming face-to-face with anyone.
“Well. Um. I guess I’ll be going,” she whispered, her eyes on the old brown floorboards at her feet.
“You don’t have to go,” Lisa murmured. “You’re more than welcome to browse. Business has been kind of slow lately, and I look forward to your visits to my store.”
“You do?”
Lisa nodded.
“I’m glad, because coming here is the highlight of my day.”
Louetta flushed, and Lisa hid a smile to herself. Those were the most words she’d heard Louetta string together since she’d started coming here at exactly eleven-thirty a.m. five days ago.
According to Melody, Louetta was thirty-three years old. She looked older and acted younger. She was a little taller than Lisa, which would probably make her about the same height as Jillian, who was five-seven. Although it was difficult to tell underneath those long, baggy skirts and loose-fitting, high-collared blouses, Louetta probably had an ample bosom and long legs. The woman was as plain as plain could be, but she really was sweet.
“Is there anything I could help you find?” Lisa asked.
“Oh, no,” Louetta said hurriedly. “I’m just looking.”
“You just go right ahead and look to your heart’s content.”
Fifteen minutes later, Lisa had finished straightening the display of men’s jeans and Louetta was working her way toward the front of the store. Reaching for a hanger, Lisa said, “One day soon I’ll be getting in my new merchandise. I’d planned to pick it up today, but it looks like I’m going to have to make other arrangements.”
“Yes,” Louetta said, nodding for all she was worth. “I heard about your car. I feel really bad, too. Now Mother and Isabell are going to be able to tell everyone ‘I told you so.’”
Louetta’s hazel eyes grew round seconds before a blush climbed up her face. Covering her cheeks with her hands, she said, “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Thrusting her hands to her hips, Lisa said, “Now Louetta, you haven’t told me anything I didn’t already know. I was sitting right there when old Isabell stood up at the town meeting last night.” Doing her best impression of a person with nasal problems, Lisa raised one finger and spouted, “‘Ill will come of that advertisement luring women to our peaceful town. Harlots and women of ill repute, that’s what that ad will draw. Mark my words.’”
Louetta’s eyes grew large. “Doesn’t that hurt your feelings?”
Dropping her hands to her sides, Lisa shrugged. “You know what they say about sticks and stones breaking bones.”
Lisa followed Louetta’s gaze to the toes of her sensible shoes. “I think that that saying is all wrong. I think names really can hurt. Well,” she added in a voice that was so quiet Lisa had to strain to hear, “I have to get back to the library.”
The bell over the door jingled when Louetta left, but Lisa stayed where she was, lost in thought. People had a way of amazing her. They always had. She remembered one educational summer she’d spent waitressing in an elite restaurant in Chicago. She’d made more in tips in one night than she made in an entire week anywhere else. The men who dined there wore suits a person simply didn’t find at the mall, and the women wore gowns, not dresses. They had everything: education, sophistication and money. At first sight they were the most beautiful people Lisa had ever seen. But by dessert their true colors usually reared, and it wasn’t a pretty picture. The contrast between those men and women and Louetta Graham was truly amazing. What was even more amazing was the fact that someone who was as plain as day could say something so profound that her true beauty began to emerge.
I think names really can hurt.
Louetta was right. Names were words, and words wielded incredible power. They could nurture, they could heal, and they could destroy. They were so important they even had a constitutional amendment to protect them. It was too bad folks didn’t have the same kind of protection from the people who used words in a harmful, hurtful way.
Glancing at her quiet store with all its racks of blue jeans and Western shirts, Lisa wondered if she’d hurt Wyatt’s feelings when she’d so blatantly told him he wasn’t her type. She hadn’t said it to hurt him. She’d only wanted to set him straight where she was concerned. Unfortunately, the fact that she’d had good intentions didn’t make it right. Wyatt McCully hadn’t said or done anything to warrant her curt attitude. He hadn’t really even said or done anything to lead her to believe he was interested in her in more than a friendly way. It wasn’t his fault her hormones went on red alert every time she looked at him. So he’d asked her to dinner. There was no law against that. Thirteen other bachelors had done the same thing, and she hadn’t gotten all bristly with them.
Wyatt was an honorable, steadfast man, which was exactly why he wasn’t her type. Still, if she had it to do over again, she would handle the situation in a way that wouldn’t hurt such a nice, kind, patient man’s feelings.
A horn blared out on the street. Lisa peeked around her new display just in time to see a patrol car pull up to the curb. Behind the wheel that nice, kind, patient man she had just been thinking about was laying on the horn.
She was out of the store in an instant. Leaning down in order to peer through the open window on the passenger side of the car, she said, “Wyatt, what