Printer in Petticoats by Lynna Banning

about a punch straight into his gut. Oh, shoot, he didn’t want to remember.
    â€œMr. Sanders?”
    â€œWell, um...”
    â€œAnd don’t tell me you just know . That’s what Ma always says, but I think she says that cuz she doesn’t really know.”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t your mother know? She married your father, didn’t she?”
    â€œYeah, but... But I think she did it just cuz Pa kept askin’ her. Not cuz she was in love. And that’s what Pa thinks, too.”
    â€œNoralee, usually when people get married they care about each other. It might not be all flutters and blushes, but it’s real all the same.”
    â€œHow do you know, Mr. Sanders? You ever loved anybody?”
    Cole shut his eyes. God yes, he’d loved somebody. And his heart had pounded and his head had gone fuzzy and all the rest. It had been the most earth-shaking thing that had ever happened to him, and he knew right down to the bottom of his boots that he would never, ever forget it.
    Or her. He swallowed over a sharp rock lodged in his throat and opened his eyes.
    â€œWell,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Well, I think that, um, you should be sure to take your pulse every morning to check your heartbeat and see if you can remember your multiplication tables to check your brain.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œYou any good at math?”
    â€œWell, yes, but...”
    â€œOkay, figure me this—how many articles can you typeset in an hour?”
    â€œDepends on how long the articles are.”
    â€œRight. Now, about—”
    â€œYou gonna answer my question, Mr. Sanders?” She poked out her lower lip and swung her heel against the stool rung.
    â€œLook, Noralee, I’m not going to lie to you. When you fall in love you’ll feel it in every single part of you, your head, your heart, right down to your big toe. You won’t be able to miss it.”
    Her brown eyes widened. “Really? Really and truly?”
    â€œReally and truly.”
    â€œDoes it ever go away?”
    â€œNo, honey, it doesn’t ever go away. So be careful who you fall in love with, you hear?”
    He had to clear his throat again, but it didn’t help. He could see Maryann in that blue gingham dress he loved, coming through the apple orchard as she always did when he worked late on the newspaper, and a sharp ache knifed into his belly.
    He wondered if he’d ever be able to think of her without feeling as if he’d been hit over the head with a spiked shovel. Two spiked shovels.
    Probably not. But Noralee didn’t need to know that love hurt like hell and you never got over it. Noralee was only what, eleven years old? Plenty of time to get her young heart trampled to bits.
    â€œYou fancy a sarsaparilla?” he asked.
    â€œSure, Mr. Sanders.”
    â€œI’ll bring one from the Golden Partridge.”
    He bolted for the door and the shot of whiskey waiting to ease that damn pain in his gut.

Chapter Eight
    â€œW hat about it, Sanders?” Conway Arbuckle pounded his fist on Cole’s desk, right on top of Jessamine’s latest editorial. “You gonna let that stuck-up Sentinel woman get away with that tripe she wrote about me?”
    Cole stood up and turned his head to one side to avoid the man’s beery breath. “Nothing libelous about her words, Arbuckle. Just pointed.” He exhaled. “And blunt.”
    â€œBlunt! She’s like a poker banging into my hide. What are you gonna do about it?”
    â€œNothing, yet. The Lark doesn’t come out until Friday.”
    â€œNothing! Either you cut that she-witch down to size or I’ll...”
    Cole raised one eyebrow. “Don’t threaten me, Arbuckle.”
    The man snapped his mouth shut, pivoted and stomped out the door. Behind him, Noralee coughed politely.
    â€œThat man’s still got really bad breath.”
    Cole laughed. “You don’t like Arbuckle