to enter?’’
‘‘You gonna be the judge?’’
‘‘One of them.’’
‘‘Is there a prize, too?’’
She nodded.
He stroked his finger along the snake’s back where it crossed her shoulder. ‘‘Yes, ma’am. I surely would like to play, then.’’
His hat had left an indention in his blond hair, bringing out a few streaks of brown that matched the brows framing his blue-green eyes. When he smiled, the coppery skin crinkled around their corners.
‘‘I’m afraid you’ll be well on your way by the time the winner is announced,’’ Hamilton said, startling Essie into taking a step back.
She gathered up the snake, which Mr. Currington released reluctantly, then squeezed through her audience of children to place it back in its crate.
The stranger stuck his hand out toward Hamilton. ‘‘I’m Adam Currington, one of the crew that’s been hired by the Commercial Club to dig a few water wells for y’all.’’
Disappointment surged through Essie. ‘‘You’re not a cowboy?’’ she asked, placing two rocks on top of the mesh lid.
He retrieved his coffee and rested his weight on one leg. ‘‘Well, I reckon I am, ma’am. But it gets mighty hot and lonely on the trail, so I decided a change might be nice.’’
‘‘You’re a drifter, then,’’ Hamilton said.
Essie frowned. ‘‘Mr. Currington, this is Hamilton Crook, proprietor of the Slap Out.’’
‘‘Howd—’’
‘‘Lookit here, Miss Spreckelmeyer,’’ Jeremy Gillespie hollered, charging into the store with six of his twelve siblings behind him, chattering in excitement. Withdrawing his hands from the large pockets of his jacket, he held two live mice suspended by their tails in one hand, three in the other.
Sadie Tyner screamed, startling everyone including Jeremy, who loosened his hold on the mice. Three of the five fell with a thump to the floor and scattered in all directions.
One of the furry critters scampered between Adam’s legs and he jumped back, sloshing coffee onto his sleeve. The judge’s daughter dove for the mouse, stretching out full length on the floor and knocking Adam’s feet right out from under him.
He pitched sideways to keep from landing on her, spraying coffee in the general direction of heaven. His shoulder clipped a barrel as he hit the floor, knocking over a box of ball bearings. The metal balls scattered onto the wooden floor, pinging with each bounce.
As he rolled out of their way, he found himself pressed cheek-by-jowl against Miss Essie. The gal had managed to trap one of the escapees in her outstretched hands, then, quicker than a flea, she hopped up and ran with it to the back, giving Adam no nevermind at all.
The youngsters had taken up the chase like hounds after a fox, barking and squealing and shouting. The scrawny little miss who’d started the ruckus with her scream hadn’t let up. She’d vaulted onto a table of ready-mades, knocking shoes, hats, long johns, and bonnets onto the floor. One of the old beans pushed the girl’s mother behind him, shielding her with his body—as if that was going to accomplish anything.
Adam sprang to his feet and raced through the store, grasping women by their waists and lifting them onto any available surface, whether it be table, counter, barrel, or chair. The one with a cane he was particularly gentle with, excusing himself even as he placed her on a countertop.
He heard her sigh like a schoolgirl just before he saw Essie storm out of the back room with a small cage and a black bowl that had a rod attached to it. She set the cage down in front of the teener who’d brought in the mice—and still had two dangling from his fingertips— then thrust the bowl contraption into the hands of a bowlegged old John standing wide-eyed by the checkerboard.
‘‘Here,’’ she shouted over the commotion. ‘‘Use this.’’
‘‘I see one!’’ one of the youngsters hollered. Essie pushed the man in that direction, then scanned the floor
‘‘You gonna be the judge?’’
‘‘One of them.’’
‘‘Is there a prize, too?’’
She nodded.
He stroked his finger along the snake’s back where it crossed her shoulder. ‘‘Yes, ma’am. I surely would like to play, then.’’
His hat had left an indention in his blond hair, bringing out a few streaks of brown that matched the brows framing his blue-green eyes. When he smiled, the coppery skin crinkled around their corners.
‘‘I’m afraid you’ll be well on your way by the time the winner is announced,’’ Hamilton said, startling Essie into taking a step back.
She gathered up the snake, which Mr. Currington released reluctantly, then squeezed through her audience of children to place it back in its crate.
The stranger stuck his hand out toward Hamilton. ‘‘I’m Adam Currington, one of the crew that’s been hired by the Commercial Club to dig a few water wells for y’all.’’
Disappointment surged through Essie. ‘‘You’re not a cowboy?’’ she asked, placing two rocks on top of the mesh lid.
He retrieved his coffee and rested his weight on one leg. ‘‘Well, I reckon I am, ma’am. But it gets mighty hot and lonely on the trail, so I decided a change might be nice.’’
‘‘You’re a drifter, then,’’ Hamilton said.
Essie frowned. ‘‘Mr. Currington, this is Hamilton Crook, proprietor of the Slap Out.’’
‘‘Howd—’’
‘‘Lookit here, Miss Spreckelmeyer,’’ Jeremy Gillespie hollered, charging into the store with six of his twelve siblings behind him, chattering in excitement. Withdrawing his hands from the large pockets of his jacket, he held two live mice suspended by their tails in one hand, three in the other.
Sadie Tyner screamed, startling everyone including Jeremy, who loosened his hold on the mice. Three of the five fell with a thump to the floor and scattered in all directions.
One of the furry critters scampered between Adam’s legs and he jumped back, sloshing coffee onto his sleeve. The judge’s daughter dove for the mouse, stretching out full length on the floor and knocking Adam’s feet right out from under him.
He pitched sideways to keep from landing on her, spraying coffee in the general direction of heaven. His shoulder clipped a barrel as he hit the floor, knocking over a box of ball bearings. The metal balls scattered onto the wooden floor, pinging with each bounce.
As he rolled out of their way, he found himself pressed cheek-by-jowl against Miss Essie. The gal had managed to trap one of the escapees in her outstretched hands, then, quicker than a flea, she hopped up and ran with it to the back, giving Adam no nevermind at all.
The youngsters had taken up the chase like hounds after a fox, barking and squealing and shouting. The scrawny little miss who’d started the ruckus with her scream hadn’t let up. She’d vaulted onto a table of ready-mades, knocking shoes, hats, long johns, and bonnets onto the floor. One of the old beans pushed the girl’s mother behind him, shielding her with his body—as if that was going to accomplish anything.
Adam sprang to his feet and raced through the store, grasping women by their waists and lifting them onto any available surface, whether it be table, counter, barrel, or chair. The one with a cane he was particularly gentle with, excusing himself even as he placed her on a countertop.
He heard her sigh like a schoolgirl just before he saw Essie storm out of the back room with a small cage and a black bowl that had a rod attached to it. She set the cage down in front of the teener who’d brought in the mice—and still had two dangling from his fingertips— then thrust the bowl contraption into the hands of a bowlegged old John standing wide-eyed by the checkerboard.
‘‘Here,’’ she shouted over the commotion. ‘‘Use this.’’
‘‘I see one!’’ one of the youngsters hollered. Essie pushed the man in that direction, then scanned the floor
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