Twenty-SevenCaroline Studebaker wasn’t pleased. “Corporal Quincey, I thought you could do better than this. I really did.” Her full red lips turned down at the corners as she calculated her cards with glinting eyes. His temples throbbed with a burst of anger at the thrust-out, petulant bottom lip. For the first time since he’d been romancing Caroline Studebaker he noticed how her jawline sagged over her expensive pearls in puffy, froggy pouches. Funny it wasn’t so evident the other night, when she was into the merry-making.
It was fast becoming obvious why Caroline was reckoned to be the richest merchant on I Street. It wasn’t just because of her deceased husband’s craftiness, although that no doubt had helped: she was a match for any man when it came to bluffing, bargaining and bullying.
