“I’ve got to get on back to work,” he said.
“So soon?” She eased up next to him again. “Things are real quiet at the shop, Rafe, and I’m not expecting anybody in until this afternoon. Why don’t you—”
“I’ve got work to do.” Rafe said, fending off her wandering hands. “If you need anything, Tripp, let me know.”
“I’ll do that,” Tripp said, as Rafe went out the door.
Julia hurried out after him. “Rafe? Wait!”
The heat seemed to leave the room with them, causing Kaitlin to shiver. She wandered around the store. This certainly wasn’t what she expected, although with Harvey Stutz involved she should have known better.
Why couldn’t it have been a nice, clean, prosperous store? Just once, couldn’t things have gone well for her? Did everything always have to be so hard? She’d worked diligently and suffered so many setbacks already. Briefly, she wondered if her dream was meant to come true.
Kaitlin drew in her resolve and squared her shoulders, reminding herself that those sorts of thoughts would do her no good. She had to continue on, to keep going.
Kaitlin turned to Tripp, standing at the broken remains of the counter.
“Well, I guess we’d better get to work,” she said.
“Get to work? Are you loco?” His eyes widened. “This place is hopeless.”
“We have to clean it before we offer it for sale. Who would buy it looking like this?”
He waved away her comments with his big hand. “Forget it. We’ll never see a dime from this place. Didn’t you hear Rafe say that the last owner couldn’t get rid of it? We’d be better off signing it over to the town before they charge us for tearing it down.”
Kaitlin’s mouth flew open, but she didn’t say anything. She’d had her own doubts a moment ago. Surely Tripp was entitled to the same feelings.
“I understand why you feel that way, Mr. Callihan. Just think it over a while longer.”
“I’ve already done all the thinking I need to do,” Tripp said. “Getting rid of this place is the only sensible thing.”
He meant it. She saw the determination etched in the hard lines of his face. He really wanted to walk away.
Kaitlin advanced on him. “I have plans, Mr. Callihan, and those plans require money. This is the only chance I have to get back what Harvey Stutz stole from me, and I’m not walking out on it.”
He glared down at her. “I’ve got plans of my own, Miss Jeffers, but I’m not crazy enough to think I’ll get anywhere with this place.”
“I’m not about to give up my dream.”
He studied her for a moment. “Then what do you suggest we do?”
She pushed her chin higher. “We’ll fix it up and run it ourselves. It’s the only possible solution.”
“Look at this place.” Tripp waved his arms around the room. “It’s got to be scrubbed from top to bottom. The shelves have to be replaced, the counter rebuilt, the walls painted. Part of the floor’s rotted—probably because the roof leaks. And that’s only what’s wrong with this section of the building. God only knows what needs doing in the back room and upstairs.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy.”
He stalked away, then turned back to her. “Besides, I don’t know the first thing about a store. Do you?”
She slid her finger across her lips. “Of course.”
Tripp eyed her for a long moment, his brow furrowed, his gaze intent. Finally, he shook his head.
“Look, Miss Jeffers, if you want to get your money back, why don’t you just get a job somewhere? You can earn back what Stutz took from you.”
“And what sort of work would you suggest, Mr. Callihan? What job could a woman get to earn that kind of money?”
Tripp shrugged his wide shoulders. “Restaurants are always needing serving girls. And hotels need somebody to clean.”
“I’ve worked those types of jobs, Mr. Callihan, for pennies a day. Pennies,” Kaitlin said. “It took years for me to save up what Harvey Stutz stole in one night. I don’t want to wait that long again.”
Kaitlin pressed her lips together. “We both know there’s only one profession where a woman can earn good money.”
Tripp straightened, his expression grim. “Don’t talk like that. That’s no kind of life for a woman like you.”
The intensity of his words stunned her. She’d certainly never considered turning to prostitution, but did envy the whores their money.
Kaitlin shrugged. “You can see that my choices are limited. Running my own business is the only chance I have to earn the money I need. You have to agree with that.”
Tripp stepped away. Obviously, he wasn’t ready to coneede anything.
“Fine.” Kaitlin squared her shoulders. “Just sign over the deed to me and I’ll run it myself.”
His frown deepened. “You can’t fix up this place by yourself. It’s too much work. You’ll hurt yourself.”
She tilted her head. “Maybe you’re afraid I’ll succeed?”
Tripp glared down at her. “That wasn’t my first thought.”
“Maybe it should be.” Kaitlin pushed past him and strode to the middle of the room. “Look, all we have to do is run the store long enough to earn back the money Harvey Stutz stole from us. I saw only one store when we passed through town. This place is hungry for variety. And what about those ranches and miners near here, and those small settlements? We’ll pull in people from miles around.”
Tripp stared at her, unconvinced.
Kaitlin kept going. “Everybody will come. The novelty of a new store will draw them in. They’ll buy. We’ll be lucky to keep stock on the shelves, and we’ll make a big profit very quickly. Once we’ve done that, we can list the store for sale and go our separate ways. If it never sells—who cares? We’ll have our money.”
Tripp paced back and forth in front of the toppled stove, rubbing his chin. He stopped and looked at her again.
“I’m hungry.”
“Hungry?” Kaitlin threw her hands up. “Haven’t you been listening? How can you think of food at a time like—”
Tripp strode out the door without a look back.
Two blocks down the street he slowed enough to glance around. The town of Porter was much like other towns he’d seen. Good people. Churchgoers, businessmen who didn’t cheat their customers, families planting roots. As towns went, Porter didn’t seem so bad.
Tripp went inside the Red Rose Cafe on the corner, took a seat at a table near the front window, but didn’t look out. He needed to think.
Propping his elbows on the red-checkered table cloth, Tripp dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. No, he didn’t want to think. There was nothing to think about.
An older woman with an apron spanning her considerable girth stopped at his table. “We’ve got chicken or ham today. What will it be?”
“Both.”
Lately, all he wanted to do was eat. A craving had come over him and he couldn’t control it.
“Sure thing.” The woman disappeared into the kitchen.
Tripp