Wanted: Barkeep (Silverpines Series Book 13)

by Lynn Donovan

  Wanted: Barkeep

  Silverpines Series

  Book 13

  © Lynn Donovan 2018

  Cover Copyright JBGraphics

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  LYNN DONOVAN’S NEWSLETTER

  I’d like you to be the first to know about a new book release by me or other authors that I can recommend. E-mail me at authorlynndonovan@gmail.com and tell me you’d like to subscribe to my Newsletter. I promise, I’ll NEVER spam you or give your information out for any reason!

  As a reward, I will send you a free book called “Stories for the Porch.” A collection of short stories written by me just for you and will be published NO WHERE else.

  Book Blurb

  Wanted: Barkeep

  Flora Adams is an independent sort of woman who will go to any length to remain her own boss. The owner of two saloons in Silverpines, Oregon, she has to face her worst fears when devastating earthquakes and a landslide wipes out nearly every man in town, including her barkeep. With only one saloon and two of her girls, she does what she has to to stay in business. But when the only man she ever gave her heart to shows up to apply for the bartender position, she has a lot to explain.

  Theadore H. McMillan, known as Mac, is looking for a more relaxed life than running fifty saloons spread out across the state of Massachusetts. Intrigued by an ad for Barkeep in Oregon, he pursues the opportunity with his usual headstrong, feet-first mentality and arrives along with his letter of application. Little does he know the want ad was sent by the only woman he ever loved, but lost fifteen years before.

  Can Flora and Mac come to terms with their past mistakes? After all this time, can he win her trust? How can he convince her he’s her wanted barkeep?

  Dedication

  To Nisa

  Appreciation

  Thank you to everybody in my life who has contributed in one way or another to the writing of this book. My husband, my children, my children-in-law, and my grandchildren. You all are my unconditional fans. My BETA readers and grammar guru who make me look gooder than I am. [Bad grammar intended.] My fellow author friends who chat with me daily to exchange ideas, encourage, maintain sanity, and keep me from being a total recluse/hermit.

  Mostly I thank God for the talent he has given me. I hope to hear you say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” when I cross the Jordan and run into your arms—Many, many years from now. :).

  Prologue

  April 15, 1899

  “Girls!” Flora Adams screamed as loud as she could to be heard over the increasing resonant rumble. “Get down here, NOW!”

  The day had begun as a typical morning, including the heavy rain. The saloon workers slept late into the daylight hours. Flora was up and could handle what few customers came in before the after-work rush, besides her body thrived on as little as three hours sleep. Gus Givens, her barkeep, slept until mid-morning. His shift ended around three when the last customer either headed home or upstairs with one of the girls. Gus was generally up by the noon hour, but this storm had him up long before that.

  The rain was torrential and worrisome, but when the ground began to shake more violently than the rain fell, Flora’s concern heightened. The girls had been sleeping when the earthquake began. Small vibrations at first, nothing unusual, especially with this torrential downpour. Flora had thought very little of it at first. But the trembles grew into violent quakes that shook her entire saloon. Whiskey bottles fell from their place on the mirrored wall and shattered on the wood-planked floor. The various sized crystal glasses slid from the counter, mingling crystal slivers with bottle shards.

  “Girls!” Flora shrieked. “Barkeep! Help me get the girls!”

  Gus’s face had drained of color and he looked hesitant to move, but he nodded and tore up the stairs, two at a time. Flora ran a few steps behind him. They each hammered on two girls’ rooms and soon had all four out on the landing, wrapped in quilts, running down the stairs, and hovering under the header beam that supported the staircase. It was the safest spot in the Lucky Lady Saloon while the earth was trying to break in half.

  A loud noise reverberated far off, toward the mine, as if dynamite had set off, and the sound of panic in the streets tightened Flora’s stomach.

  Jackson! She needed to get herself home and see if he was alright… and Hazel, her housekeeper, too.

  Three of the girls cried softly, burying their faces into their quilts. Lacy Lou Moore just watched the swinging chandeliers as if mesmerized by the motion. Furniture vibrated across the floor, and what bottles still remained on shelves rattled against the mirror. Flora and Gus rushed to save them by quickly grabbing them down and laying them on their sides under the counter, while the girls huddled under the stairs.

  Flora observed her girls, confirming they were all right, and considered if she could slip out to go check on Jackson… and Hazel, of course. Lacy Lou was her usually stoic self. That girl must have been through a lot of heartache in her lifetime. Flora had never seen her react emotionally to much of anything. Her heart felt such remorse for whatever history that girl had lived through to make her so brave, or dispassionate. Sadie Jones and Della Smythe hadn’t had what one would refer to as an easy life, but right now, they bawled like babies, clinging to one another and screaming every time a new tremor shook the saloon. Diamond Star, a native to Oregon and the Chinook tribe, had tears, but, like Lacy Lou, she wasn’t hysterical.

  The mayhem in the street gave Flora pause. Maybe she really should wait until things settled down. She closed her eyes and asked God to hear this one prayer: keep Jackson safe… and Hazel too, of course. Suddenly, the saloon doors busted open as if the hand of God has ripped them off the hinges, the door frame twisted and the window glass shattered as if a stick of dynamite had been thrown. All five occupants ducked to keep from being riveted by flying debris. John Gillham, the gunsmith across the tracks, stepped up to the door.

  “You all okay?” he shouted.

  “The Lucky Lady seems to be holding together, Gilly.” Flora hollered.

  “Something’s happened in the mine, most everybody in town is going up there to see what’s the damage.”

  “Are the miners alright?” Flora heard the terror in her own voice.

  “Won’t know ‘til I get over there, Flora! Could you spare Gus for a while? If the mine gave way with this earthquake, we’re gonna need every man available to help!”

  Flora looked over at her barkeep. He nodded.

  She turned back to Gilly. “Of course!”

  Gus ran out of the saloon with Gilly. Flora slipped out a side door. With everybody hurrying to the mine, surely she wouldn’t be noticed. She hitched her skirt just enough for her to run the seven blocks quickly.

  Jackson was huddled in a horse stall, terror registered in his stark white expression, and he trembled from head to toe. “Oh my goodness.” She gathered him into her arms. “I’m so glad you’re unharmed.”

  With Jackson safely enveloped in her arms, she lifted her gaze toward the mine, although it was too far away to see, and she wondered what had happened. Men and women were hurrying that direction. Even the spinster sisters waddled toward it. Flora couldn’t imagine what help they could be other than to wail and pray. She considered them, at least the silly old women could do that. Her girls had good sense for survival, they’d be alright. It was Jackson who needed her now.

  Weeks later, Flora leaned against the highly
polished bar in the Lucky Lady Saloon, recalling those horrible two days. She had learned that the earthquake caused a collapse and all the miners were killed. Her other saloon in Timber Town was destroyed along with every worker for the timber company. In fact, every resident of Timber Town had been swept away into the Columbia River by an enormous landslide. Her in-town saloon made it through the earthquake with minor damage, but she never saw her dear friend, Gus, alive again.

  Who would have ever thought the Lucky Lady Saloon would be used for anything other than a saloon. But Mother Nature had wreaked havoc on her thriving town of Silverpines, Oregon by turning everything upside down, wrong side out, and shaken out of place. Nothing was as it had been, especially this saloon.

  CHAPTER ONE

  April 22, 1899

  Flora Adams poised herself with a practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her troubled eyes. The macabre scene that filled her saloon was almost more than she could bear, gracefully. It wasn’t the blood or the constant moaning, but the stench of foul-smelling wounds mixed with a whiskey antiseptic that caused her discomposure.

  She chuckled to herself. “If Mac could see me now.”

  Miss Flora, as the townsfolk called her, had stood here many an evening before the accidents, overseeing that her customers’ needs were met, her barkeep, Gus Gavin, and her girls were adequately meeting those needs without being mistreated, card games were being played without anyone getting out of hand or trying to settle a score with a firearm. Generally, she had been the cornerstone of this establishment.

  Tonight she stood here with completely different set of responsibilities.

  Her saloon was one of the only buildings suitable with large, open space and adequate heating… that, and it still had four walls and a roof. Besides, with nearly every man in town lost to the mine collapses or the mudslide, she had zero customers. Not a one of the males who were still alive frequented the Lucky Lady before the disasters; they certainly were not coming as patrons now, not to wet their whistle anyway.

  Even the outskirt ranchers had come into town to help when the earthquakes struck, but they were killed or severely injured in the attempt to help rescue the workers.

  There was only one thing Flora could do, and it was the right thing for her town: turn the saloon into an infirmary.

  She certainly had enough booze for medicinal uses.

  The tables and chairs had been stacked out of the way so that rows and rows of make-shift beds could be set up for the wounded. Of all those who remained alive, the marshal and a few elders of the church, or boys, like Jackson, were the only ones who were all right, but the others were severely wounded and stretched out in a cot rather than sitting at a card table.

  Flora was no longer in charge of her place.

  Instead, it was Miss Hattie Richards who oversaw the activities in the Lucky Lady Saloon. She had worked with Doc Hamilton before he was killed by a scoundrel outlaw named Charles Little. Women volunteers who had any inclination toward medicinal care came and went. Family members, wives and daughters, sat beside their beloved and helped take care of their more private needs. Her own girls were no longer serving drinks, but attending to the wounded.

  But it was Miss Hattie who treated their wounds, set broken bones, controlled their pain as best she could, and generally conducted herself as a bona fide doctor would. She had knowledge of healing like none Flora had ever seen in one who didn’t call themselves a doc. Flora stood at her corner of the bar and observed Miss Hattie fret and worry over fevers, clean bandages, and poultices. She worked day and night, relentlessly.

  It was Flora who took up concern over Miss Hattie’s well-being, reminding her to get rest and making sure she ate. Flora’s girls had little else to do, so they took up with Miss Hattie, following her instructions, and serving well as nursing assistants.

  Flora stood there, overseeing all that went on in her saloon-turned-infirmary with such pride for how well her girls adapted to the situation and learned from Miss Hattie. They were a big help, Flora could tell Miss Hattie appreciated all they did for the victims. Who knew, maybe after this was all over, they’d leave the whiskey serving business and go work in a clinic. Some might, but not all would. Flora knew her girls too well.

  The death toll in Silverpines was beyond belief. Even though Hattie did her best, it continued to rise. From the silver mine workers, the rescuers who were trying to free them from the collapse, to the loggers and Timber Town residents who were wiped out by the land slide. There was an overwhelming need for grave diggers. The stronger women had resorted to digging for those who couldn’t. It was amazing how every abled body pitched in, no matter the gender or age. Even her fourteen-year-old Jackson had dug graves from sunup to sundown for several days.

  Flora had lost people, too. Good people. Her second saloon in Timber Town was taken out by the avalanche of mud and trees. There wasn’t a bottle of whiskey or a sliver of wood or a strip of canvas left where it had once stood. Her barkeep and the two girls who worked exclusively down there were swept down the Columbia River along with the debris. There would be no graves dug for any of them. No markers to stand at and mourn their loss. The best they could do was gather flowers and lay them near the banks.

  Their little community of Silverpines had changed into something unrecognizable overnight, well, over two nights. Between the torrential rain storm, and the two earthquakes, one right after the other, it was an event that would not soon be forgotten.

  This particular evening, the only problem Flora saw in Hattie’s skilled healing was a lack of confidence in herself. Flora understood a woman with a lack of confidence. It was how this world was set up and women were expected to be humble and demure. Intelligence and a strong will was not necessarily an asset for women, according to the men who decided how things should be. The irony of all that was that Flora’s line of work was the only career where a woman could actually earn a decent salary and support herself quite nicely. Her lifestyle was looked down on by the community, but she really didn’t care. Her house was one of the bigger and better homes in her neighborhood. She had a housekeeper and a carriage house boy. She owned property, her own transportation carriage, a wagon, three horses, a mule, four shares of the silver mine, six shares of the logging company, and this saloon.

  Women who took the traditional role of wife and mother would never have what Flora or her girls had. They owned property and shares in the two major businesses of Silverpines, too. They worked for her because they wanted to, not because they had to. Flora ran a clean, healthy, wholesome saloon. Her girls were never abused… by anybody, and most of them attended church regularly.

  Of course there was nothing Flora could do about the prejudices of the townspeople. That was just a fact of life. While so many people might have a problem with the girls working in a saloon, Flora certainly did not. It required a thick skin, and her girls, along with Flora, seemed to have enough of that to carry on in spite of the whispers behind their backs.

  As she looked over the many cots, she questioned just how thick her skin really was. This devastation had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to deal with and caused her to spend every night in tears. She longed to be in the solitude of her home, to hold Jackson in her arms, knowing he was safe. He was getting too big for such cuddling, but for now, with death all around them, he was letting her tuck him into bed and kiss his forehead good night. Soon he would be a full grown man, setting out for a life of his own. But for now, he was still a boy, known only as her carriage boy by the other residents who had no idea he was her son.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As the days and weeks passed, the cots were folded up and put away. The earthquake’s victims either died or were well enough to go home. Two of Flora’s girls left the Lucky Lady Saloon to work where they were needed in town. Della Smythe had the knowledge for listening to a telegraph machine and writing down what all that noise meant. She replaced the late Clem Harris to keep that line of communication going. Lacy Lou Moore
enjoyed working with the patients and left to go help Miss Hattie at the apothecary, which was being expanded into a clinic.

  Diamond Star and Sadie Jones stayed at the Lucky Lady. They were all that were left from six, which was fine. Silverpines had shrunk from a town of five-thousand people to a few hundred overnight after the devastations. The only problem Flora had was the personality of her clientele had changed along with the town. Unfamiliar men began to frequent her bar and sit at the gambling tables. Con men, from the looks of them. Flora could spot a swindler a mile away and every single man walking into her place these days fit that very bill.

  She tipped her chin back, a sign to Diamond that Flora wanted her to come near. Diamond leaned over a card player’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. He nodded. Diamond sauntered over to the bar where Flora poured drinks, and asked for another whiskey.

  “I need you to let the marshal know he needs to happen by for a drink or something. You understand?”

  She nodded ever so slightly and took the glass of whiskey back to her customer.

  He lost his hand with an aggressive toss of his cards, and Diamond backed away from him. He turned and grabbed her wrist. “What’s wrong, you only interested on my company when I’m winning?”

  Flora approached the man. “Let go of my girl!”

  “This what you teach your whores? Stick with the winners and forget the losers? Well, I ain’t no loser! I’m building a business in this here town, and I’m gonna be one of the richest SOBs living here ‘fore long.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Flora said firmly. “But, if my girl wishes to walk away from you, you’re gonna let her do it. Now—let go of my girl!”