Courting Trouble by Deeanne Gist Page B

slightly.
    Both women simpered. The cowboy winked at the older woman, then looked the younger up and down.
    ‘‘How-deeeeee-do,’’ he said, slow and lazy.
    Miss Sadie’s cheeks filled with color and Mrs. Tyner hustled her back to the dry goods section, where Mrs. Lockhart examined a bolt of cotton.
    The man strolled through the store, bowing, smiling, and ‘‘howdy-do’’ing every woman regardless of age, shape, or size. His spurs jangled with each step and scraped Hamilton’s carefully polished floor.
    The cowboy paused at the stove and introduced himself to Vandervoort and his cronies. The whole shop grew quiet, the patrons craning to overhear the conversation. The ladies pretended to fiddle with various sundries as they marked every move the cowboy made and whispered furiously to one another.
    He set his hat down and unhooked a tin cup from the wall, then poured himself a cup of coffee. After taking a sip, he wandered over to where Essie was holding court. Hamilton drew satisfaction in advance for what he knew Essie’s reaction would be to the philanderer. She was not one to have her head turned by a pretty face and charming manners. No, she’d set him in his place, all right.
    The cowboy stood like a captain on the quarterdeck, his feet spread wide. He took another sip of coffee. Essie glanced up, her lips parting as she gaped at the wrangler.
    The snake, forgotten in her hands, slithered up her arm, across her shoulder, behind her neck, and back around, draping itself across her like a winter scarf. It glided down her chest, calling attention to her womanly features as it lifted its head into the air.
    The man tracked the reptile’s progress, and the corners of his mouth crooked up. ‘‘My name’s Adam. Adam Currington. And if your name’s Eve, I do believe I’m in a whole passel of trouble.’’
    ‘‘Her name ain’t Eve, mister,’’ young Harley North said. ‘‘It’s Miss Essie.’’
    His smile widened, forming large brackets on both sides of his face. ‘‘Eve. Essie. That’s mighty close, if I do say so myself.’’
    ‘‘You cain’t call her that lessen she gives ya permission. ’Til then, you’d best be calling her Miss Spreckelmeyer.’’
    His eyebrows lifted. ‘‘Spreckelmeyer? The judge’s daughter?’’
    She nodded, still in a daze.
    He set his coffee on a barrel and stepped through the circle of boys. Lifting his palm like a beggar, he let the snake pass from her chest to his hand, then up the length of his arm where it crinkled his blue shirt and coiled around muscles that were clearly accustomed to heavy work.
    ‘‘I do believe this is the prettiest catch I’ve seen in a long, long while,’’ he drawled.
    Hamilton scowled. The cowboy wasn’t looking at the snake. He was looking at Essie. What the blazes was wrong with her? Couldn’t she see he was all talk? A man with looks like that could want only one thing from a spinster woman.
    Hamilton came out from around the counter, but Mrs. Lockhart intercepted him.
    ‘‘I’ve been suffering from a most troublesome headache, Mr. Crook. Might you have something for me?’’ she asked.
    He hesitated, glanced at Essie in frustration, then changed directions and headed to the medicinals.
    The cowboy from Essie’s childhood dreams had materialized before her very eyes. And, oh my, but he was even more beautiful in the flesh.
    The prairie king ventured from the man’s arm on up to his neck. Its head disappeared momentarily while it circled around only to return again to the front.
    The tail end of the three-and-a-half-foot snake still clung to her neck, effectively tying her to Mr. Adam Currington. The king lifted its head, testing the air with its forked tongue. She reached out and the pet glided across to her hand. Currington moved closer, letting the snake encircle them.
    ‘‘What’s its name?’’ he whispered.
    ‘‘He doesn’t have one yet. We’re in the middle of a naming contest, actually. Would you like