He obviously shared them, except . . . “You don’t have a book.”

He flashed a grin. “A muddy tent is no place for books. I do my reading here.”

Leah wrapped her fingers around the fraying strap of her schoolbag. “Maybe I’ll see you again. I work here. Today’s my first day.”

“Oh.” With rounded eyes, his gaze swept her up and down, but in a swift way as if he thought it rude. “Then I won’t keep you, Miss . . .”

Something about him made her want to tell the whole story of her name and why it wasn’t hers at all, but she merely extended her hand. “Leah Jones.”

“Private Clay Paxton.” He shook her hand with a grip both strong and gentle.

She said good-bye and climbed the steps. Darlene was mistaken about the men being wolves. She obviously hadn’t met Clay Paxton.

Once inside, the rich familiar scent enveloped her, of ink and ideas and imagination.

A brunette stood behind a desk to Leah’s right, setting books in a stack. She looked up and startled, then gave Leah a curious look. “May I help you, miss?”

“I’m Leah Jones. Are you Miss Mayhew?”

“You’re . . . Leah . . . Miss Jones?” Shock and pity and restraint battled for control of her pretty features.

Leah stretched to her full five feet. “Yes, ma’am. Miss Tilletson sent me. I have my papers here.” She poked her hand into her schoolbag.

“No, no. That isn’t necessary. Oh my. Miss Tilletson said you came from the orphanage, but I had . . . no idea.”

Shame and grief wound around Leah’s heart in equal measure.

Miss Mayhew wore a trim powder blue suit. She inched closer as if afraid Leah might smell or have lice, but the orphanage had stressed cleanliness as a great virtue.

“Do you . . .” She gave Leah a sympathetic frown. “Do you have something more professional to wear? And your hair . . . could you put it up, perhaps?”

Leah’s stomach curled up. “This is my best dress, ma’am. But when I get my first paycheck, I’ll buy outfits and get a haircut. I promise.”

Miss Mayhew’s cheeks reddened, and she returned behind the desk and opened a drawer. “You won’t be paid until the end of the week. That won’t do.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Her eyes stung, but years of practice kept them dry. “Miss Tilletson and the ladies from church in Des Moines gave me money for my high school graduation last week. They were very generous. Very. They meant for me to buy clothes, but after I paid for bus and train tickets and my first month’s room and board, I had nothing left.”

“You’re working the closing shifts.” Miss Mayhew strode to her and held out a ten-dollar bill. “Tomorrow morning, go downtown and buy an outfit or two.”

Leah edged back. “No, ma’am. I refuse to take charity ever again.”