The Talk of the Town Read Online Free PDF Page A

crazy rhythm of her careening pulse. She told herself it wasn’t the taut caution of his catlike movements. She told herself it wasn’t the aura of strength, even danger, that emanated from him. She told herself it was the smell of his aftershave and hair oil that wasn’t doing its job. If she felt like an overwound clock, her heart ticking frantically and her nerves tightly coiled, she assured herself it had nothing whatsoever to do with the man beside her.
    She cast him a sidelong look. He unexpectedly met her glance with one of his own. Both quickly looked away.
    It must be guilt, she concluded, and promptly fell victim to self-recriminations. Sweet cracker sandwich, she’d hired him! How could she? Had she lost her mind? What would Mr. Stewart say to having an ex-convict working in his warehouse? Especially one who’d served time for armed robbery! Oh, why did the Stewarts have to be in St. Joseph to visit their daughter who was pregnant with their first grandchild this weekend? Why couldn’t Luke Bauer have waited to seek employment until Mr. Stewart got back?
    Roxie pulled herself up short. There was nothing to be gained from such thoughts. She’d done what she believed was right. If Layton Stewart disagreed with her decision, he could rectify it when he returned.
    Striving to regain her usual composure, she at least succeeded in maintaining the outward appearance of it as she began speaking in a breathy staccato. “Layton Stewart built Stewart’s Warehouse almost seven years ago.”
    “Right after I went to prison,” Luke interjected.
    It amazed her that he spoke so candidly about being incarcerated. Rather than dwell on that, she stayed on topic. “Mr. Stewart likes to say we have harmony of place, and that’s really not far from the truth. Being situated just a mile or so off Route 40 as well as on the rail line, Blue Ridge is perfectly located for what we do.”
    “Which is what, exactly?”
    “We warehouse products—work boots, socks, shirts and what-have-you—for various manufacturers who don’t have their own storage facilities, and then we distribute them throughout the Midwest.”
    “So you’re kind of a middleman?”
    His acumen impressed her. “And we ship by truck all over the state of Missouri and the western half of Kansas, and by rail beyond.”
    “Given the sorry state of the economy, I’m surprised to hear there’s any kind of successful business anywhere.”
    “We do seem to be lilting along almost in defiance of the depression, but people still need clothes and shoes and such.” She was relieved to realize that her voice had finally steadied.
    He tipped his head, mulling that over. “Just where do you get those clothes and shoes and such?”
    “Mainly from manufacturers in Kansas City, where warehouse space costs a lot more than it does here.”
    “And your orders—where do they come from?”
    “The bulk of them come from stores located in large cities. Kansas City, of course, but also St. Louis, Chicago, Omaha.” She smiled, lulled by his businesslike tone. “Lately, though, we’ve received several orders from stores in smaller towns as well.”
    As she finished her explanation, they arrived at a pair of double swinging doors, one of which had a Blue Eagle poster tacked to it. She crossed in front of him to peer through the dirt-streaked window. A second later she thrust the door open and ushered him forward.
    The floor of the warehouse was concrete, the ceiling a network of exposed electrical wiring and water pipes. Tiers of wooden shelves and open bins formed aisles that checkered the cavernous space. A lift truck rumbled in the distance, underscoring the hum of activity as several men shifted items from bins or shelves to boxes and from boxes to bins or shelves. Beneath the hum was a murmur that followed their progress, like a missed beat in the warehouse’s pulse. Roxie ignored it as she led Luke to where two men in short-sleeved shirts and denim pants stood in a