Page 2 of A Groom for Heather
He wanted to go back to the hotel, but he had a few pieces of business to tend to. Walking to the telegraph office he sent a note to his mother back home in Ohio and then headed towards the mercantile. When he caught a glance at his reflection he grimaced. He looked more like a mountain man than a man from the Ohio Valley.
Entering the mercantile he walked straight to the display with men’s linen shirts and wool pants.
“Can I help you?” a haughty voice asked.
Dalton turned and looked at a woman who was no higher than a grasshopper staring back at him. Her graying hair was in such a tight topknot that it looked as though her eyes were trying to touch the corners of her head. She peered at him over the rim of her spectacles, distrust evident on her face.
“I’m just looking,” he responded.
“Don’t touch the merchandise,” she said, adjusting the shirt on the tailor’s dummy next to the table. She peered at him once more. “And we don’t extend credit.”
Dalton smiled. “Yes ma’am.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out several bills. “I’ll be paying cash. I just need a clean shirt, pants, and some boots.”
The woman squinted her eyes. Reaching out, she snatched the bills in Dalton’s hands, and with a flick of her thumb, started counting them. “That will be more than enough to get you outfitted.”
“Yes, ma’am. I also need to know where the bathhouse is.”
The woman stopped and handed the bills back to Dalton. “You can get a bath at the saloon.”
Dalton flinched. He had no desire to go back to a saloon. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them once more. “Thank you,” he said. He wondered how much it would cost for a bath at the hotel. It was probably three times the price.
The woman took a shirt from the stack on the table. “This should fit you,” she said. Shaking out a pair of woolen pants, she held them up to Dalton before putting them back on the table and taking another. “These will do.” She picked up both the shirt and pants and carried them to the front counter. “You said you needed shoes?”
“Boots.”
“What kind do you want?”
Dalton shrugged. “Preferably ones without holes.”
The woman pulled out a pair of black Congress Gaiters and held them out. “All the way from New York City. You won’t find a more comfortable pair of boots anywhere.”
Dalton took one out of the woman’s hand and looked at it. The boot was crafted of black leather with a small heel and a decorative trim over the front. Laces threaded through eyelets to secure the boot to a person’s foot. The leather rose to just above the ankle. “How much are they?”
“Ten dollars.”
“Ten dollars?” Dalton nearly dropped the boot. He handed it back to the woman. “I just want a pair of plain stovetop-style boots. Those look like dandy boots.”
The woman frowned and put the boots back on the shelf. Given that there were several pairs gathering dust, Dalton surmised that they weren’t one of the mercantile’s best sellers. He reached over and picked up a pair of boots he had seen the stockmen wear in town. They were crafted of dark brown leather with square toes and stacked heels. The stovepipe leather was several shades lighter than the bottom with a hand-stitched design of swirls and lines. He had never seen anything so beautiful.
“They are made in Mexico,” the shopkeeper said, interrupting his thoughts. “All the charros wear them.”
“Charros?”
“Mexican horsemen. They bring horses up here to sell.”
“How much are these?”
“Eighteen dollars.” The woman waited for a reaction.
Dalton let out a low whistle. “So, the boots that came all the way from New York are ten, but these,” he said lifting the pair of tall leather boots, “are eight dollars more?” The woman nodded her head. “I tell you what. I’m going to take three shirts, one pair of pants, a new union suit and both pairs of boots, and a box of cartridges for my rifle. I’ll give you thirty dollars for the lot.”
The woman opened and shut her mouth a few times as if deciding what to say. Finally, she nodded slightly. “Told you we don’t give credit.”
Dalton pulled thirty dollars from his other pocket and handed it to her. “I’ll pay you in cold hard cash. You just get those wrapped up.”
He watched as the woman scurried to the counter and put the money in the register. “Do you want these sent to wherever you are staying?”
“I’ll take the union suit, a shirt and a pair of pants and those Charro boots. Everything else can be sent over to the Ranchero.” The Ranchero was the finest hotel in town, which wasn’t saying much since the town was in major need of rebuilding.
