The Cowboy and the New Year's Baby by Sherryl Woods Page B

tailor shop,” Trish said, studying it intently. “Can we park here? I’d like a closer look. I see a light inside. Maybe we can get in so I can look around.”
    Hardy had a feeling Willetta was counting on it. She’d probably been asked to linger after hours in anticipation of just such an impromptu visit. Resigned, he pulled into a parking space out front. Trish was out of the car before he could turn off the engine.
    “Are you coming?” she called back impatiently.
    “I didn’t realize it was urgent,” he muttered.
    “I heard that.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the door. “Shall I try it or knock?” she wondered aloud, then settled the matter, by doing both simultaneously. “Hello. Is anyone here?”
    Willetta came in from the back, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. She gave Hardy a sour look. “Oh, it’s you.”
    “Hey, Willetta,” he said, ignoring her brusque manner. He’d brought his mending by a time or two and they’d always gotten along well enough. She was just naturally cranky.
    She turned to Trish and looked her up and down. Apparently the survey didn’t satisfy her curiosity. “Who are you?” she demanded. “I don’t recall seeing you around town before.”
    “Willetta, this is Trish Delacourt,” Hardy explained. “She’s interested in renting this space.”
    “Somebody told me about that,” she said distractedly, moving to a desk and searching through the pile of papers scattered over it. “I wrote it down.” She finally picked up a scrap of yellow paper. “Here it is. Trish Delacourt. Yes, that’s what it says, all right.”
    Trish appeared startled. “Who told you I might be by?”
    “Harlan, who else? The old coot’s anxious to get a new tenant in here before the last one’s even out the door. For all of his money, he’s still a greedy old man.”
    “Harlan?” Trish echoed. “Harlan Adams?”
    “Isn’t that what I said? Are you deaf, girl?”
    “No, I’m just surprised, that’s all. I had no idea he was even involved.”
    “Owns the place,” Hardy informed her, enjoying her startled reaction.
    “I see.”
    “I doubt it,” Hardy said grimly.
    “Well, are you going to look around or waste time gabbing?” Willetta demanded. “I don’t have all night. I’ve got to get home and get my dinner or I’ll be up all night with indigestion.”
    Clearly taken aback by her abrupt demeanor, Trish hesitated. Hardy could have encouraged a quick departure right then, but he figured she’d only insist on coming back at a more convenient time. He tucked a hand under Trish’s elbow.
    “We’ll look around,” he told Willetta. “Won’t take but a minute.”
    “Yes, thank you,” Trish said. “I really appreciate you letting us interrupt your evening.”
    As near as Hardy could tell, there wasn’t much to see. The tailor shop was one long, narrow room with a fireplace on one wall that looked as if it might still work, though it was doubtful it had been used in years. Halfway back, Willetta had hung a drape across a rod to close off a room where she kept material, took measurements and did her sewing. In front a few old mannequins displayed out-of-date dresses she had apparently designed. He tried to envision it with the clutter gone, the fireplace blazing and books lining the walls. His imagination didn’t stretch that far.
    Apparently, however, Trish’s did. Her eyes were alight with excitement as she spun in a slow circle. “It’s wonderful,” she declared. “Could I see in the back?”
    “Don’t see why not,” Willetta said. “Everybody else in town traipses back there.”
    Hardy followed as Trish opened the curtain and stepped into the back room. Only then did he realize just how deep the shop was. There was at least twice as much room in the back as in the front, plenty of room for a small bookstore.
    “There’s a storeroom that goes with it,” Willetta grudgingly told them. “Runs behind the office next door.” She