Mortimer smiled, liking her despite his desire not to. “How was your journey?”
She shrugged. “It was long. Very long. I made you a gift, though. I almost forgot!” She jumped up from the table and ran from the room, digging through her satchel for the socks she’d knitted him to keep herself busy on the train. “I thought a man who had been widowed for a while would need some socks.” She handed them to him, watching his face as he took them.
He looked down at the socks in his hands and turned them over. “Thank you. You’re really determined to be a good wife to me, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “Of course I am. I’ve never done anything halfway in my entire life. If I’m going to sweep out the backroom, you won’t find a speck of dust on the floor when I’m done. If I’m going to balance the books, you won’t find a penny that doesn’t add up properly. If I’m going to be a wife, then I’m going to make sure that I’m the best wife any man has ever seen.” Suddenly she felt as if her words put her in direct competition with his late wife. That wasn’t what she wanted at all.
Mortimer nodded. “I approve your attitude. I’ve always been the same myself. I was a miner for a while, and I was determined to be the best darn miner that had ever lived. When I realized that my lungs were incapable of being underground that long, I took the meager amount of silver I’d found and I opened a mercantile. I waited until I felt like I could support her before I sent back east for Grace, who had been waiting for my letter that it was time for her to join me.”
“Were you already married?”
He nodded. “We married right before I left to seek my fortune in the mines. She stayed with her parents until I sent for her, and then she was on the next train out here. We were apart for two years at the beginning of our marriage.”
“I’m sure that was very hard.”
“In some ways,” he said, his eyes dancing with mischief. “In the end I was glad of our time apart, because her mother used it to teach her how to cook without poisoning me. She never did learn to bake.”
Toria felt an odd sense of pride that she could do something the perfect Grace hadn’t mastered. “Speaking of baking, I made dessert.” She stood up and got the cake from where she’d had a towel draped over it. She carefully cut two slices and got two fresh forks, carrying them to the table. “I hope you like sweets.”
Mortimer grinned. “There’s very little in this world I like more than sweets, if you want me to be honest with you. If I could get away with it, I’d eat sweets for every single meal.”
“Are you telling me that it doesn’t matter what sweets I make as long as I make something? That’s going to make my life so much easier!”
He laughed. “That’s about right.” He studied her for a minute. “I’m really sorry that I judged you as being unworthy as soon as you got off that train. I can see that I sorely misjudged you.”
Toria shrugged. “We’ll start over.”
“What do you mean by that?” Mortimer frowned at her, trying to figure out what his wife was trying to say to him.
“Hi, I’m Toria Miller. I’ve just moved here from Beckham, Massachusetts. I’m thirty-two years old, I like to cook and bake, and I’ve never been married.”
He smiled, understanding. “I’m Mortimer Jackson, and I’m something of a goose. I’m a widower, the father of the orneriest nineteen-year-old boy in existence, and I’m planning to make you the best husband you’ve ever dreamed of having.”
She grinned. “Sounds good to me.” She ate the last bite of her cake and stood to start clearing the table. “I love the kitchen. It’s very easy to work in. I’m going to need some more supplies, though, especially if you want me to help make baked goods for the store.” She immediately switched to business mode. “I do think we could make a significant profit if there were enough of the baked goods. Is there anyone else in town who could be hired to help bake?”
He shrugged. “Most of the women are too busy with other pursuits. There are a few of the women who were kidnapped who are still trying to find the right things to do here in town, though.”
“Well, we’ll make do for now. I’ll try to make at least four dozen cookies and two cakes every day. But that means I’m going to need a list of supplies. If I give it to you, could you have it up here for me by the end of the day tomorrow? I can start contributing to the sweet teeth of the men in Creede on Friday.”
He nodded, admiring her way of thinking about the bottom line. “Can you really balance the books?”
“Of course, I can. I wouldn’t offer if I was worried I might not be able to.”
“Then I’d like you to come down and look at them tomorrow. I have a hard time remembering exactly how much I owe Beatrice, because she bakes her cookies on consignment.”
“Why do you do it that way? Why not just pay her a flat fee? How much do you charge for her cookies?”
“A dime a dozen.”
“So pay her eight cents per dozen. She’s the one who’s paying for supplies, so you can make two cents profit off of her work. If you don’t sell it the day you get it, you know you can sell it the next. Make it easier on both of you by just paying her as soon as she brings her baked goods in.”
Mortimer frowned. “I didn’t think of that.”
“In the beginning it made sense to do consignment, but now you know you’re going to sell everything daily. The old arrangement isn’t necessary any longer.”
“What exactly did you do in that store back in Beckham?”
She laughed. “I was officially a sales clerk, but I did absolutely everything. Sebastian did very little, and I kept the whole store going. His wife—God rest her soul—was usually dealing with children or she would work the cash register. I ran the store, and everyone in town knew it.”
“Well, then…I’m going to need to listen to your ideas about how I can make my store better, aren’t I?” He was surprised to find that he liked the idea of having a wife who was an active partner in his store. Grace had done little more than watch the counter if he was ill. Toria was competent enough that she could run the store without him, from the sound of it.
“I’m happy to give any opinions. I’d like to have a couple of days to settle in first, if you don’t mind.” She poured the water she’d set on the stove before they sat down to eat into the basin. “Do you like to play cards?”
“I have been known to enjoy a game or two.”
“Maybe after supper, we could play a game of cards. Or chess, if you have it.”
Mortimer looked at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You play chess?”