Heart of Stone Read Free Page B

great cost. She had everything she could want. Yet every pretty andexpensive thing she owned was like her—lovely on the outside, incapable of feeling on the inside.
    She’d loved once. She loved her Da and Ma, her sisters. But now…
    Now it was easier to feel nothing.
    Laura had been up for six hours before breakfast was over and the dining room was finally cleared. Two visiting families had departed to return to their hometowns and it was time to prepare for the next.
    She was lucky to have a steady stream of guests. Hers was the only boardinghouse in a town quickly spreading in all directions—thanks to its founder’s descendants and their offer to sell homesteaders two tracts of land for the price of one. With more settlers came more business, and the threat of renegade Comanche attacks diminished. The stage lines were doubling their schedules, and with luck a railroad spur might one day cut through Glory.
    The scents of cinnamon and bacon still lingered in the kitchen as Laura went over the dinner menu with Rodrigo while Anna worked upstairs changing linens. Though she normally trusted Rodrigo to do the daily marketing—he’d taught her how long various cuts of meat should hang in order to reach their peak tenderness, which fruits and vegetables were just ripe enough, how to bargain for a fair price—today she wanted to escape before the walls closed in on her.
    In her room, she tried to tame her curly hair into a chignon before choosing a ruffled gray bonnet and a beaded reticule. She made sure the silver derringer she never went without was safely within the purse, then slipped the silk cords over her wrist and collected her parasol from the hall tree near the front door. Armed with her list and a basket for carrying her purchases, she was soon on her way.
    The Texas sun was already brutal. She used the parasol to protect her complexion as she headed to the mercantile. As she strolled along, her footsteps sure and confident, she gazed at the familiarlandmarks, the neat rows of false-fronted stores on either side of the street, the boardwalk that kept passersby out of the dusty road.
    Glory was a fine town, far enough from New Orleans that she felt somewhat safe from recognition, yet small enough to have room to grow her business.
    Laura smiled and made it a point to stop and chat with all the merchants she’d come to know: Patrick O’Toole, the butcher, always saved the finest cuts of meat for her. Big Mick Robinson, the smith, made certain her horse was properly shod and her carriage wheels well greased. Harrison Barker, who along with his mother owned the mercantile, was always willing to please.
    They all knew her as Mrs. Laura Foster. The respectable, wealthy widow Foster.
    She hoped to keep it that way.
    She’d nearly reached the mercantile when a cowboy caught her eye as he sauntered across the street and started down the sidewalk toward her. When he tipped his hat, she gave him a quick, cool nod and then angled her parasol so that her face was hidden from his view. She picked up her pace a bit—not noticeably, just enough to put distance between them.
    Tempted to glance over her shoulder, she forced herself to keep her eyes on the walk ahead of her and tried to convince herself she was being foolish. What were the chances that even one of the countless men she’d known in New Orleans would show up here? Let alone recognize her now? The odds were a million to one.
    When she finally reached the mercantile, she experienced a wave of relief. She folded her parasol and paused on the threshold for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the light inside. Across the room, Harrison was busy helping a woman select canning jars. A cowpuncher in a filthy shirt with tattered cuffs, well-worn denim pants, and sweat-stained ten-gallon hat waited for service. He had piled a small stack of goods—a pound bag of dry beans, a few tins of sardines, and a half dozen potatoes—on the counter.
    A child stood alongside him, a