Lucky Penny Read Online Free PDF Page A

slipped in enough money to provide her with a half dozen school dresses, a pair of decent shoes, any other necessities, and food for several months as well. He refrained from writing a note to accompany it. He wasn’t the child’s father, and he didn’t want to kindle hope within her that her papa was undergoing a change of heart.
    It was the best that he could do. And, hey, it was quite a lot in the general scheme of things. Many men would send nothing to a child not their own.
    A few minutes later, while en route to the post office, which lay at the south end of town between the Chandler couple’s combination chimney sweep/candle shop and the livery, David was haunted by Daphne’s last letter. He’d lost his pa at a tender age and knew firsthand about hardships. But eating food from garbage drums? He shuddered at the thought. And it tore him up to imagine a little girl wearing patched, undersize dresses and worn-out shoes that pinched her toes. From the sound of it, Brianna Paxton turned her hand to every kind of work available and still wasn’t able to keep the wolves from her door. What kind of man abandoned his family and left them to fend for themselves? Notany kind of man, and it made David ashamed to think anyone of that ilk bore his name.
    Incensed, David shoved open the post office door with a little more force than necessary, startling Baxter Piff, the postmaster, a stocky fellow of about fifty with a shock of unruly red hair, a bushy gray beard, and sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. Sam preceded his master to the window. When David slapped the envelope down on the counter, the other man glanced at it and said, “Didn’t know you had any other kin here in Colorado, only a sister out in California.”
    “Oregon,” David corrected, dimly aware of Sam settling at his feet. “And this person isn’t kin,” he added gruffly. “Only a friend with the same last name.”
    “Hmm.” Baxter weighed the envelope and quoted David an amount for postage. “Strange, that. Never met no other Paxtons so far as I recall.”
    The headache that had been bedeviling David throbbed with increased intensity, pounding like a fist in his temples. “I’ve never met anybody else named Piff, either. That doesn’t mean I won’t someday.”
    Baxter nodded. “Maybe, but I doubt it. My grandpappy changed our name. Originally it was something French, and nobody could say it right. Ain’t likely that anybody else came up with the same idea unless they’re related to us.”
    “Well, Paxton isn’t French, it’s easy enough to pronounce, and it’s the last name of lots of folks.”
    “How do you know it’s not French? Ain’t like you’ve traveled the world and seen faraway places, meeting folks with different names along the way.”
    “I’ve traveled enough—all the way from Virginia to California and then back here.” David’s neck went hot. Paxton wasn’t that common, but at the moment, he would guzzle kerosene rather than admit it. “You’d argue with a fence post, Baxter. This job doesn’t keep you busy enough, and your boredom’s showing.” He fished in his pocket for coins and plopped them on the other man’s outstretched palm. “How long before that letter reaches its destination?”
    The postmaster licked his finger and leafed through athick tome. “Glory Ridge,” he muttered. “Hmph. Three days, best guess. It’ll go by train partway. Then it’ll be switched to a stagecoach for delivery. No main railway anywhere close, and the town’s probably too small for a connecting branch like we got.”
    Until this morning, David had been only vaguely aware that Glory Ridge existed. Now he had reason to hope he never heard tell of it again. He just wanted Daphne to get the money as soon as possible, and then he’d return to his office, discard those letters, and wash his hands of this whole damned mess.
    As he left the building and turned north, he saw his brother Ace braking his wagon near the