Page 51 of In These Hills

Slowly lifting her gaze, she attempted as contrite a tone as she could muster. “As you advised me yesterday, Mr. Coburn, I checked the community board in the mercantile. And unless I wished to slop pigs, hire on at the mill, raise a barn, blacksmith, or assist Ol’ Miss Ruby with sewing while carefully avoiding her daughter-in-law—”

A flicker of humor touched his eyes.

“—then bookkeeping at a distillery proved to be the only position in Lynchburg for which I possess a useful skill. As a former schoolteacher, that was a most humbling discovery. But a true one. And with little money left to my name, I had no real choice. Pride notwithstanding.”

He seemed to weigh this then, to her surprise, took a seat.

She followed suit, settling into Mr. Daniel’s office chair.

“You have to admit, Mrs. Dunham. It’s quite a reversal. And in so short a time.”

“I cannot argue with that. But I trust you now understand the reasons behind my decision.”

He didn’t answer at first, his stare appraising. “I think I have a right fair understanding, yes, ma’am.”

His disappointment was undeniable, as was the doubt framing it. “Well . . . I need to get back to work. Mr. Daniel isn’t paying me to sit and converse.” She started to rise.

“Actually, ma’am, I came on business. I was hoping to see Uncle Jack, but I expect you can help me.”

“Uncle Jack?” She sat back down.

“No relation. I’ve known Jack Daniel all my life. I was born and raised here in Lynchburg and have worked for him for years. In fact, most people in town call him that.”

Priding herself on having guessed correctly about Mr. Coburn’s association with the distillery, she retrieved a pen and paper. “Are you here regarding another shipment of bottles?”

He frowned. “Bottles?”

“Yes. Aren’t you a supplier for the distillery?”

The frown creased further, until understanding swept it away. “Ah, you’re talking about the wagonload I had when you hitched a ride. No, ma’am, I work with the livestock. That wagon from Tullahoma was just a favor.”

“So you’re a farmhand then.”

A slow smile curved his mouth and its effect was downright disarming. Warmth swept through her, and she found it difficult to maintain his gaze—yet impossible to look away.

She swallowed. “S-so, Mr.—” Her mind went blank.

“Coburn,” he supplied softly.

“Yes! I know your name, Mr. Coburn.” She exhaled. “So what is it exactly that you require?”

He leaned forward. “I was doing some reading on Texas fever last night—”

“Texas fever?”

“The cattle on the distillery’s farm just uphill are failing, ma’am, and we believe it’s Texas fever. I think I’ve found something that’ll help and came by to tell Uncle Jack I’m sending a telegram to Tullahoma to request supplies.”

She penned a quick note for Mr. Daniel, pausing as she wrote. “And do you have authority for this expense without prior approval?”

Again, that patient smile. “Yes, ma’am. That won’t be a problem.”

“Very well then. I’ll make certain Mr. Daniel is aware.” She rose, hoping he would take the hint. She set the note atop a small floor safe near the desk. “Will there be anything else?”

“I think that’s it for now.” He stood, hat in hand, his attention moving to the stacks of paper and folders covering the desk. “Something tells me you’re going to whip this place into shape. And maybe even Uncle Jack along with it, if he stands still too long.”

Though his tone was pleasant enough, he didn’t smile when he said it.

“I was hired to pay the bills and keep the office running smoothly. That’s my intention, Mr. Coburn.” She crossed to the door and opened it, welcoming the cool breeze if not the sunshine on her face.