Cachet Read Free Page B

porch.
    "Good God! Why don't you watch what you're doing?"
    An attractive and furious blonde woman shook off her brocade skirts. Rachel propped the broom against the wall. "I beg your pardon! Mr. Atkinson told me you'd be over today, Miss James, but I didn't expect you this early."
    "I'm not Chrissandra. My name's Pamela Prine. I'm a close personal friend of the owner, Morgan Tremayne. He's away, so I thought I'd greet the new tenants. I'd like a word with your master or mistress, please."
    Rachel extended her right hand. "I'm Rachel Cordell, Mr. Tremayne's new tenant. I'd ask you in, but I haven't a thing in the house to offer as refreshment."
    "You're the tenant? Well, I hope your husband doesn't find our village too provincial, Mistress Cordell."
    "My husband's in a grave back in America." Rachel gestured meaningfully at her own dark skirts.
    "A widow? And a Colonial?"
    "American, yes."
    "Boyd is known to take pity on charity cases...which explains why he would rent to the likes of you. But I warn you, widow, the rest of us don't accept strangers so easily."
    "So I see," Rachel observed dryly. "I'm also Mr. Atkinson's new clerk, so I'll be meeting other villagers soon."
    "A woman can get only so far on pity, widow woman. Don't expect to turn other men's heads just because Boyd feels sorry for you."
    Rachel's eyes narrowed. "Is Mr. Tremayne terribly handsome?" she asked. The flash of anger in the cold blue eyes told Rachel she'd guessed correctly. "I know he's young and has dark hair. He must be something, indeed. And I wonder which you favor most—his looks or his money?"
    "Morgan's looks are of no concern to you, hireling."
    "My, a handsome landlord. I can hardly wait to meet him."
    "And I can hardly wait until you fall flat on your face! Which you will. A woman clerking," Pamela scoffed. "Preposterous."
    "Excuse me," Rachel reached past her unwelcome visitor for the broom. "I'm not used to your English accent. Could you spell that last word for me?"
    "What?" Pamela sputtered in outrage.
    "I didn't think so." Rachel stepped back inside and slammed the door.
    When a knock sounded later, Rachel was more cautious in greeting her visitor. This girl's hair fell in a gleaming platinum cloud around her shoulders. She had dramatic blue-green eyes that sparkled as she greeted Rachel. "I'm Boyd's fiancee, Chrissandra James. I've come to take you shopping."
    Rachel explained her wariness had been in reaction to her first visitor. Chrissandra scowled. "That Pamela! She's the worst snob in town. My only reservation about Boyd hiring a woman as his clerk was the difficulty Pamela's bound to stir up. She's a vicious gossip and can't bear other womenfolk within a mile of Morgan. She won't make your tasks any easier."
    "I get the impression Mr. Tremayne's the favorite son around here."
    Chrissandra led her toward the square. "I've been in love with Boyd ever since I can remember. He and Morgan are best friends. Morgan's almost like a brother to me. He's gorgeous, and unlike most of the local men, yet he gets on with all of them. Well, you'll see."
    They made a day of shopping and filling Rachel's larder. When the flour and sugar sacks were tucked inside the pantry, Rachel thanked Chrissy for her help.
    "You're a refreshing change, Rachel. We've never had an American here for any length of time. A few have passed through, but you're the first to stay. Don't be put off by Pamela. For all the show, she's just another farmer's daughter. You'll make a wonderful clerk."
* * *
    Rachel succeeded well enough at her new post, until it came time to audit the inn. Boyd had introduced her to Thomas and Emily Poole, the middle-aged couple who managed the place for Morgan. Boyd patiently explained how they were to complete the new tally sheet. Rachel would go by on Thursdays to collect the sheet and post the information into Morgan's ledger. But Rachel arrived to find the sheet blank.
    "There were no sales last week?" she asked Thomas. "No purchases? No