Joan dipped her chin. Should she tell him that was unnecessary? Was he hoping she would? “Thank you, Mac. You’re very considerate.” As always. But what if that day never comes?
“Are you happy here?”
“Yes. The boys have adjusted better than I hoped.”
“I’m glad, Joan, but… what about you?” He turned toward her with his back to the post, and the way he rested his elbows on his sturdy knees made her insides heat. What about her? Harris had never asked after her like that, and she’d always been so focused on doing all she could for him and the boys that she suddenly realized she’d been neglecting herself in the process. There was always work, never enough to eat, and not a moment to fret idly over her own well-being.
“I… well, yes… I like it very much, Mac. Living has never been so easy.”
He nodded slowly. “There’s something I’d like you to do.”
“Okay.”
“I remember when you and Harris were married. You had a light to your eyes back then, a light that has gone missing. It’s awful sad to think that my own brother was responsible for snuffing it, but anyone with eyes can see that he has. I want you to work on getting it back - and I’ll do all I can to help you.”
Joan pressed her quivering lips together, unable to speak past her constricted throat. She crouched beside him and, before she lost the courage, rested a palm on one of his wide shoulders. He covered it with his own rough hand, giving it a squeeze.
In that moment she committed to trying, for she was beginning to realize that he wasn’t the type to abandon her.
Six
T he horses’ nickering at the first hint of dawn roused Mac from a fitful sleep. Sitting up in his cot, he rubbed a hand over his face, memories of the night before spilling from his mind like water boiling over a pot.
Joan had let her beautiful long almond hair down, the ends twisting in wild curls. When she’d stepped onto his front porch, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. His wife. Shaking his head, Mac repeated the title as if convincing himself their shotgun wedding had truly transpired. His fool of a brother didn’t realize what he’d had in Joan and the boys, and Mac was willing to spend the rest of his life undoing the damage of years of neglect. He didn’t know the first thing about being a husband and father but figured it couldn’t be much different than training and caring for animals. If you treated horses right and exercised a good balance between gentleness and discipline, they’d almost always turn out to be dependable, well-mannered animals. Little Chunhua was an additional prize, and he’d treasure her company for as long as they were fortunate enough to have it.
Helping Joan with the mine wasn’t the only reason Mac had offered to marry her. If he were honest, it was a thought that had crossed his mind a time or two in the week she’d been living in his home. A man could do worse than tying himself to Joan; she worked hard, never complained, and could cook and keep a home as well as his own mother. It didn’t happen often, but when she smiled it lit up her whole face. Yes sir, he wanted to see more of it, which was why he decided he’d take Joan to supper at The Slippery Spoon that night.
Mac fed and watered the horses, mules, and burros, and worked his newest colt, Ringo, in the round pen before Michael arrived.
“Did you hear about the family in Jordan Creek that was slaughtered? Sheriff Dalton thinks the Grisham Gang might be responsible,” the young man gushed as he pulled on his leather gloves and reached for the pitchfork leaning against the wall of the barn. He was dependable, worked hard, and had a good head on his shoulders. Mac paid him well and counted him among his friends.
“Couldn’t be,” Patrick Byrne chimed in. His pa ran a dairy just south of Silver City along Sinker Creek but Patrick made all the milk deliveries in town. The lad’s fiery red hair and large ears made him look younger than his eighteen years. “I talked to Deputy Chalice about it this morning and he said the Grisham Gang never wanders that far north. He thinks it was the Indians.”
Listening to the boys, Mac supposed it was possible. There had been increased Indian assaults recently from the Bannock and Paiute; they’d plagued lone riders and stagecoaches traveling through the gulches in addition to the more remote mines peppered through the Owyhee Mountains, though Silver City had been left alone. Still, it was more area than Sheriff Dalton could patrol, so he’d recently requested troops be sent from Fort Boise. Because of the eight years he’d lived in Silver City, Mac knew there’d been problems with the Bannock, especially through the fifties, and that was mostly with the farmers and ranchers further down river. Lately, though, Mr. Hill at The Avalanche reported weekly that there were so many Indian assaults it was impossible to list them all.
Michael shrugged, a little disappointed. “You never know. Say, what are you doing here anyway, Patrick?”
“Tillie’s been limping and pa sent me to fetch May here to pull the cart.” He turned to Mac, who was just leading one of their livery horses, May, out of her corral to be rented until Tillie was moving better.
“Do you have time to come by the dairy and check her, sir?”
“Have you checked her hooves?” Mac asked.
“Yes, sir. Couldn’t find anything wrong.”
“And her legs? No hot or tender spots?”
“Nope – checked them myself.”
“She hasn’t fallen or been through rough terrain?”
“No.”
Mac nodded. “I can look at her. If I can’t figure out what’s wrong, you can always try Ivan.” The most experienced of the town’s blacksmiths had been working over his forge long before Mac had grown his first chest hair, and Mac had conferred with the fellow a few times when one of his animals had gotten ill or injured.
“Thank you. What time shall I tell pa?”
“Give me an hour.”
Leaving Michael to muck stalls, Mac tromped to the Idaho Hotel to find Florence Yates, the establishment’s proprietor. She embraced him as soon as she saw him standing in the crowded lobby.
“Mac, we missed you last week. Come to see George, have you?” Several silver hairs around her flushed face had escaped the bun at the nape of her neck, but her apron was clean and starched, as usual.
Eyeing her carefully, he folded his arms across his chest in disapproval. “Florence, have you been working too hard again?”
“It’s always busy around here, you know, and especially since Clara cut back to three days a week.”
“She having the baby soon?”
“Not for several months yet. But we’ll get by, as always.”
“I’ll keep an ear out for a maid. Do you have a minute to talk, Florence? I know you’re occupied…”
“You’ve come at a good time; I’ve been meaning to bring a tray of tea up to George. Would you like to join us?”
“Sure, but I won’t stay long.”
The Yates’ living quarters were on the second floor, and Mac followed Florence to their dark, cool bedroom where George sat upon the bed. He smiled weakly when Mac came to the bedside. “We missed you last week,” he echoed, and Mac grasped his outstretched hand. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve had quite the week. But first, how are you feeling?”
Florence poured a cup of hot tea and held it to her husband’s lips. A jolt of sympathy washed through Mac as he watched the waning man who had once welcomed travelers to the well-appointed Idaho Hotel. “Same as always, my boy. Now tell us, what has happened?”
Taking a deep breath, Mac told of Joan’s surprise arrival, of Jesse, Noah, and Chunhua, the situation with the Crescent and the solution he’d implemented.
He was expecting Florence’s pursed lips. “It’s quite a story Mac, but… oh, it will be hard on Eliza when she finds out.”
Mac winced, wishing things had turned out better between himself and the hotel cook. There was a time Eliza had filled his dreams and it had taken many months for Mac to get over the lovely blonde woman when their relationship soured. With the passing years only the Yates and the hotel linked the
m, and he rarely saw her outside of the hotel kitchen where she created her famous apple pies. Yes, news of his marriage might be difficult for Eliza, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that now.
“I was wondering, Florence, if you’d mind tending to the children this evening. I’d like to take Joan out for supper – she never gets a break.”
Glancing meaningfully at her husband, Florence reluctantly agreed.
“But only after we’ve served supper here at the hotel. Is eight o’clock too late?”
“That’ll be fine. Thank you, Florence.”
With quick feet, Mac rushed home for the noon meal, excited to tell Joan not to worry about cooking a large supper, before heading off to Sinker Creek.
~~~~~
The Slippery Spoon was quiet, a fact Mac couldn’t be happier about. In her new floral dress Joan looked appealing – she’d spent extra time styling her curly hair, and her large brown eyes flicked from the papered walls to the tables, taking in every detail. Set in her lean face, her eyes almost reminded him of a hesitant doe, nervous and flighty. He reminded himself to move slowly, to let her come to him.
“Have you been out to eat at a restaurant before?”
She lowered her lashes self-consciously. “Once, many years ago. Thank you for bringing me.”
Forgetting his admonition of moments before, he boldly covered her hand with his own. “My pleasure. Heaven knows you deserve it.”
Her small smile faltered and Mac inwardly kicked himself. This was not how he envisioned the evening. When the waitress, Lola, set two steaming plates in front of them, they ate quietly. The roast beef was so tender and savory it nearly melted in his mouth.
“Have you known the Yates very long?”
“About near everyone in Silver City knows the Yates. I met them when I moved to town in sixty-eight, and they made me feel like family. I helped them add several rooms to the hotel – this is before the livery got so busy and I needed extra work - and they fed me breakfast and supper in exchange.” A grin stretched his lips as he remembered those days. “But then… some things happened between me and… well, that doesn’t matter. George’s health began to decline, and now Florence pretty much runs the hotel alone while taking care of her husband. Doctor Henderson said nothing can be done to help him.”
“I’m sorry,” Joan whispered. “They sound like wonderful people.”
A tall, willowy fellow approached their table. “Hullo, Mac.”
“Mr. Tanzin. How goes things?”
“Just fine. I wanted to thank you again for the paste you made for Jewel. I’ve never seen a wound heal so quickly.”
“Glad to hear it. Phillip, meet my wife, Joan. Joan, this is Phillip Tanzin. Been mining up this way for what, two years?” A thrill zipped up his spine at being able to introduce a woman as pretty as Joan as his wife.
“Very near, yes. I didn’t know you were married, Mac.” To Joan, Phillip said, “Your husband here sold me a burro that is the gentlest animal I ever did own, and I used to raise rabbits so that’s really saying something.”
Mac grinned, clasping Phillip’s hand. “Jewel is very aptly named. You take care now and let me know if you need anything.”
“I will. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“You too,” Joan offered with a brief smile. Was Mac imagining it, or had that warmth always been there in her gaze? The corners of her mouth turned up slightly before she took another bite of her meal.
“Did you stop by the Chinese Laundry to ask about Chunhua?”
“Nobody there recognized her. Lin asked her some questions but Chunhua didn’t have much to tell; just shook her little head when asked about her family. It about near broke my heart.”
“Well, she can stay as long as it takes. He would never admit it, but I can see Jesse loves having an older playmate. And she’ll sit and play with Noah, too.”
Joan nodded. “She’s a good fit.”
“I can take her for a walk around the Chinese district tomorrow, see if she can point me to anyone familiar. There must be someone around here who knows who she is. I’m glad you found her, Joan, she couldn’t have wandered to anyone with a bigger heart.”
Lowering those lovely eyes to her plate, she asked, “Have you seen Pete Tracy around since, you know… the wedding?” Back to business. He recognized the tactic Joan used when he was getting a little too close for her comfort.
“No, but we can arrange a meeting with him any time if you like.”
Her eyebrows rose. “We?”
“Well, yes. It’s your mine, after all.”
She let the idea settle, then met his gaze with intensity. “Mac…why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
She gestured in the air with a hand. “The restaurant, the new clothing, the mine, the wedding: everything. I don’t expect it, you know. You’ve done more than enough for me, Jesse, and Noah. We’re indebted to you.”
He couldn’t resist the way her left brow pinched when she was puzzled and the way she set her jaw. Didn’t she know how wonderful she was? Cupping her narrow chin in his large hand, he looked directly into her eyes to make sure she understood.
“I married you for many reasons, Joan, and saving the mine was not the main one. You and those precious little boys are not an imposition and I treasure every minute I have been privileged to share my home with you. You don’t owe me anything.” His thumb traced her lower lip. “What will it take to help you see that I am sincere?”
She sat ramrod straight, eyes wide at his touch and his words. His pulse jumped a few paces, exulting that she wasn’t pushing him away.
Unfortunately, Lola picked that precise moment to return, interrupting their progress. “Is there anything else I can get you tonight?”
“No, that’ll be all Miss Fields. Everything tasted great, as always.”
“Thank you for coming in,” she beamed.
Pulling her chair out and holding the door, Mac offered Joan his arm, pleased when she laced her own through it.
Seven
M ac returned with Chunhua on his shoulders an hour after breakfast next morning; her clear, trilling laughter brought a smile to Joan’s lips.
“How did it go?”
He lifted Chunhua from her perch and set her down, ruffling her hair. “Unproductive – she didn’t seem friendly with anyone there, and the only Chinese who bothered to peek out of their tents were the ones not smoking their opium pipes.”
Joan turned to Chunhua and squeezed her shoulder. “I guess that means we get to keep you, little flower.”
The girl smiled, then skipped away to join the boys, who were playing outside near the outhouse.
Two hours later, Pete Tracy shuffled up to the house, muttering, “Sure I got the telegram, but I had ter come see for myself. Didn’t think you’d up and marry your brother-in-law…”
“It’s true all the same,” defended Joan. “Speaking of my brother-in-law, I’ll see if Mac is able to join us, Pete, and then you can update us on the mine’s productivity. Looks like we’re in business together.”
Calling to Jesse, Joan asked the boy to run over to the livery to fetch his uncle, then stepped to the kitchen to ready some refreshments. Mac entered a minute later, and with him, the definite stench of manure and sweaty horses.
Joan knew she should be listening to Pete, but his monotone rehearsal of the mine’s condition and progress was driving her to boredom. It was difficult to pay attention, especially because Mac was sitting, ankles crossed, in the chair beside her. That it held his hulking weight was a testament to the workmanship of the thing. She’d been astounded – and touched - that he’d allowed her to sit in on this meeting, expecting him to handle the details of running the mine himself. Harris always had.
It seemed Mac’s large shape wasn’t the only reason he’d begun to stick out to Joan, not since their evening out. Joan found that whenever he was in the room, her eyes were drawn to him, and when he was gone, she glanced out the w
indow searching for his familiar swinging gate more often than she cared to admit.
The children sat quietly on the rug playing with a set of wooden farm animal figures Mac had given them, the horse being Jesse’s favorite.
“In other words,” The pause in Pete’s monologue was what captured Joan’s attention, “We’re out of funds, out of resources, and very nearly out of work. It is my opinion the mine is played out.”
Joan muffled a huff, positive now that Pete was trying to finagle the mine from her and Mac so he wouldn’t have to split the profit with anyone.
Mac sat calmly with his arms folded across his broad chest. “I think I have a solution, Pete. Neither Joan nor I am well-acquainted with the workings of a mine. What we need is a professional, someone to assess the potential of the Crescent and advise on the best course of action. Now, I don’t want you to take this personal, Pete, because it’s not. I’d not be at peace resolving to abandon the place without a second opinion. Does that sound agreeable to you, Joan?”
She suppressed a smile at the way Pete’s face paled. “Very. Thank you for suggesting it.”
“Pete?”
The miner swallowed hard, nodding stiffly.
“I’ll make the arrangements and pay for his services, whomever we hire, so you don’t need to worry about that.”
When Pete let the front screen door bang shut behind him, Mac winked at her, and the tension in her neck and shoulders eased with her expelled breath.
“Mac, thank you again….”
He held up a hand, silencing her. “I’m happy to help. If this mine truly isn’t producing like Pete says, we’ll sell the supplies and claim to someone else. But I have a hunch he’s lying through his teeth.”
“Me, too,” Joan admitted. “Do you know any mining consultants?”
“No, but I’ll visit Phillip Tanzin or Hal Horner to see if they can recommend someone. These mountains are crawling with mining men; there’s bound to be somebody close by who can take a look at the Crescent for us.”
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