Frank entered the antique shop and once again admired how Dovie had artfully arranged five tables in the corner of her compact store. To his relief, the tea room was empty, and he hoped she’d take a few minutes to sit down and chat with him.

“Afternoon, Dovie,” he said, pulling out a chair at his favorite table. She’d done the shop up all fancy. Real elegant. The tea room, too. All the tablecloths and matching napkins were good linen, and tea was served on a china service with sterling silver.

Frank was impressed by Dovie’s creative style. She’d taken several bulky pieces of heavy antique furniture—dressers and wardrobes and the like—and used them to display her goods. She positioned things attractively: fringed silk scarves dangled from open drawers, as did long jet necklaces of 1920s vintage. Linens and lace doilies, and large hats with feather plumes and nets sat on shelves. Mismatched antique china, porcelain oil lamps, silver candelabra—she had knickknacks everywhere. Pricey ones, too. Dovie didn’t sell junk; she sold treasures. She made sure he understood that. Far be it from him to question such matters.

Frank had never seen a woman more in love with things. Every square inch of the shop was used for display. The ladies in town loved to browse there. Most men were afraid to move a foot inside for fear they’d knock something down and end up paying for it.

Dovie looked up from tallying her receipts to send Frank a welcoming smile. As always, it made his heart beat a little faster. He returned the smile and settled back to wait.

When she was finished, Dovie poured him a cup of coffee and brought it, with a slice of warm apple crisp, to the table. Actually he’d been looking forward to her bread pudding with brandy sauce, but since he never paid for these treats, he could hardly complain.

“You look like you’ve been busy,” he said.

“I have.” She took the chair across from him, removed her shoes and rubbed her tired feet. “Ellie Frasier was in and bought the Gibson-girl dress for the dance. My, she looked lovely. I know it was more than she wanted to spend, but once she tried it on, she was sold. I don’t think I appreciated what a pretty young woman she is,” Dovie said absently.

Frank sneaked a peek at Dovie’s ankle. She had a fine pair of legs. He’d always been taken with her trim ankles, and never had understood why she insisted on wearing long dresses. It was criminal the way she hid those shapely legs of hers.

One bite of the apple crisp and Frank closed his eyes, savoring the combination of tart and sweet flavors.

“Good?” she asked, even though Frank was sure she already knew it was.

“Excellent.”

He ate the rest of it in record time.

“You’ve got something on your mind, Frank,” Dovie said. “I can always tell. Are you going to say what it is?”

“Someone’s going around charging a lot of money with local merchants,” he told her reluctantly. “I’m not convinced he’s planning to pay off his debts.”

“Someone?” Dovie repeated. “You don’t need to say who. I can guess.”

He’d already said more than he should have, so he left it at that. He trusted Dovie. She wasn’t like some women who just couldn’t keep anything to themselves. He’d never known her to break confidences or spread rumors. It was one of the many things he valued about her.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know that I can do anything. He hasn’t broken any laws.”

“True,” she said, looking thoughtful. “But you might have a chat with him. Man-to-man—or rather, sheriff to miscreant. I recall you had plenty to say to Laredo Smith not long ago.”

Frank ignored the comment about his talk with Laredo, especially since he regretted having said a word. He’d made one mistake in judging character recently and didn’t want to make another. He couldn’t be one-hundred percent sure, after all, that Richard didn’t have money coming in.

“I don’t know what I could say to this guy.” Frank didn’t have any right to question Richard about his financial affairs.

“Frank, a lot of small businesses can’t afford to take losses. Some months it’s all we can do to pay the rent, let alone make a living wage. Let him know you’re onto him.”

“But he hasn’t done anything that warrants my speaking to him.”

“He doesn’t know that. Let him think you have plenty of reasons. Put the fear of God into him before he robs the entire community blind,” she urged. “Before he puts one of us out of business.”

Frank knew how close to the edge some businesses operated. Dovie herself wasn’t going to get rich with her antique shop, although it was one of the most popular stores in town.

“If nothing else,” Dovie added, “it might make him think twice before charging something again.”

“True.” Frank rubbed his chin. It wasn’t his place to tell shop owners who they should extend credit to and who they should avoid, but he hated the thought of Richard’s taking advantage of good honest folk.

Dovie drank a little more of her coffee, then carried the china cup to the small kitchen in the back room. Frank followed her with his empty cup and plate.

“You need someone to help you out here now you’ve got the tea room,” he said. It was clear to him she was working far too many hours, and while he’d encouraged her to add the Victorian Tea Room, he was concerned about the toll these extra hours took. The fatigue, the lack of private time.

“You’re right, I could use another pair of hands,” she said. “But I can’t afford to put anyone on the payroll just yet.”

Frank slipped his arms around her waist. “I guess you’ve picked out something special to wear to the dance,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “I’m going to be the envy of every man there.”

“You’ve been kissing the Blarney stone again, haven’t you?” Dovie teased.

“The only thing I’m interested in kissing is the widow Boyd.” Not giving her time to object, he turned her in his arms and brought her mouth to his. She was soft and warm and her gentle kisses fired his blood to life.

“Frank,” she whispered, breaking off the kiss. She looked flustered, her face red and her hands flying around her head checking that her hair was still tucked in place. “For the love of Ireland, it’s the middle of the afternoon! Anyone could walk in.”

“Let them.”

“You’re getting mighty bold, Mr. Sheriff.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you ready to take the leap yet?”

Marriage. She hadn’t mentioned it in nearly a year. Her question had the effect of a bucket of cold water dumped on his head. His discomfiture must have shown in his face, because Dovie giggled and quickly kissed his jaw.

“You’d better go now,” she said good-spiritedly.

“I’ve got to talk to a certain young man,” he said. But he stole another kiss on his way out the door.

***

The antique white cotton-lawn dress, lavishly trimmed in lace, was quite possibly the most beautiful dress Ellie had ever owned. She hadn’t intended to buy it. But every time she walked past the window of Dovie’s store, she’d stopped and admired it. On impulse she’d decided to examine it up close. It was fate, she told herself. Fate. First of all the dress was her size, and when she tried it on, it fit like a dream. The moment she saw her reflection in Dovie’s mirror, she knew she had to have it for the dance.

Perhaps she was putting too much stock in what Glen had said. He hadn’t formally asked her to the dance, but he’d told her he’d be there. He’d also let her know he’d be waiting for her to arrive.

It was almost a date. She and Glen. Every time she thought about it, a warm feeling came over her. She and Glen together. Dancing. Kissing. A couple.

Her stomach fluttered and she pressed her hand over it, closing her eyes. So much had happened in the past few weeks. For a while, after her father’s funeral and her mother’s move to Chicago, Ellie had felt alone. Abandoned and unloved. She didn’t feel that way now.