Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5) by Caroline Fyffe

Canterbury, he needed to make sure she knew the book was for him, and not a gift. Thorp had been a stickler for the truth. Misleading others was tantamount to lying to their face. Hunter had only to suffer once the long, disappointed stare from his adoptive father to know no truer words had ever been spoken. “A man’s good word is his most vital possession, Hunter. Don’t ever forget it.”
    Hunter might not have much, but he’d not trade his integrity for anything. Even if he were just a wagon-trail boss, saddle tramp, or hired gun.
    Not so true anymore. You’re the half owner of a saloon.
    He arrived at Storybook Lodge as the door opened and Miss Canterbury stepped outside lugging a tall, blue-and-yellow sign. The board declared the place open for business. Once her surprise at seeing him faded, she smiled, bringing a gentle lightness to her eyes and a splash of color to her cheeks. He gently extracted the cumbersome object from her hands.
    “Thank you, Mr. Wade. That thing is weighty.”
    “Good morning.” Hunter glanced around the boardwalk, the sounds of the stream running beside the building making him raise his voice. “Where would you like this?”
    She pointed, and then fluffed the folds of her brown skirt. “Right there, thank you so kindly. I wish I’d had the forethought to have my carpenter make that albatross half the size it is now. Every morning and evening, I begrudgingly think that very same thing.” She laughed, glancing up the street and then back at him. “Although, I do suppose moving it around is good for the constitution.”
    “True enough. Once we reach our age, seems the more we move, the better. I know that’s true for me.”
    Her eyes widened, and he hoped he hadn’t offended her.
    He patted his stomach, thinking he’d better watch himself, or living in town would turn him soft like most of the merchants he’d come across over the years. But it certainly wasn’t true looking at Miss Canterbury. She had the willowy stature of a girl, even though she must be in her late twenties.
    She stepped into her shop, waving for him to follow. He removed his hat and gazed around, warm air from a fire in her stove welcoming him.
    She clasped her hands in front of her skirt. “You’re an early bird.”
    Several freestanding shelves in the middle of the room held an array of books, as did more shelves built on the walls. “I’ve never been one to waste my working hours. Besides, it’s not early. Half the day is almost over.”
    “At ten in the morning?”
    “It is when I awaken at four. Rain or shine.”
    She gaped at him, and then laughed. “Four! I can’t even imagine. But if that is the case, you’re correct about the time. I have a habit of reading late into the evening. If a novel catches my interest, I won’t be able to put it down for hours. Sometimes I’ll read until three, which makes rising at seven a challenge. I guess I’m just falling asleep when you’re getting up.”
    He pulled a volume from a shelf and turned it over in his hands. He didn’t understand someone reading that much. “Spending that much time with a book seems a waste. I’d rather live my life than whittle it away in a story.”
    This time her lips flattened out to a firm line. She brushed at an invisible something on her sleeve. “What is it you do for a living, Mr. Wade?” she asked, her tone not quite that of the cheerful bird of a moment ago. He wondered if he’d said something to displease her. “What gets you up so early before the sunrise?”
    He meandered over to the wall of books, wondering what he should say. He glanced at the spines. Kendall Martin was his next stop. He shouldn’t mention anything about the Bright Nugget until all had been settled—especially since she didn’t seem too fond of the saloon. Judging by her expression now, and her comment last night about what type of men enjoy wine, women, and song, it wasn’t difficult to believe she was a bit uptight.
    “For most