Wanted: Barkeep (Silverpines Series Book 13)

by Lynn Donovan

  The man tossed her wrist away from him as if he were throwing down a piece of garbage. Flora’s eyes met Diamond’s. She ticked her head toward the back door and Diamond scurried away from him. Flora watched her slip through the back and turned to the man. “I don’t allow my girls to be mistreated. You may have your reason for being here, but know that I have standards and if you don’t follow them, you won’t be welcome here mister…?”

  He eyed her with loathing disdain. “Name’s Goodnight. Tommy Goodnight, and this here’s a saloon. Mishandling the whores is a service a saloon provides.” He threw his head back and laughed.

  Flora smiled, reached down to her knee, hiked up her many skirts, and drew out a derringer from her garter. She cocked the gun and shoved it into Goodnight’s forehead.

  His eyes flew open and he abruptly stopped laughing.

  “Not in my saloon, they aren’t,” Flora growled through gritted teeth.

  Just then Marshal Alexzander Sewell escorted Diamond through the bat-wing doors and looked around for Flora. “Miss Flora?”

  “Oh, hello, Marshal. I was wondering when you’d make it in tonight.”

  Marshal Sewell released Diamond’s hand from his elbow, unlatched his trigger strap with his thumb, and let his palm hover over his pistol. “You causing trouble in here, mister?”

  Goodnight’s eyes crossed to see the derringer pressed into his forehead, then darted to the marshal’s gunfighter’s stance. “No, Marshal. We were just funning around. Seems this here barkeep lady don’t appreciate my sense of humor.”

  Alexzander nodded. “I see. Well, this here barkeep lady is the owner of the Lucky Lady Saloon. So if she told you something, you can take it to the bank it’s what you ought to be doing.”

  Goodnight nodded the slightest movement he could without causing Flora to shoot him. “Oh. I didn’t realize she was the boss, Marshal.”

  “Yeah, it’s an honest mistake, I’m certain. But now you know, so I suggest you apologize to Miss Flora and either sit down and behave, or go somewhere else for the night.”

  “I-I’d like to apologize, Miss Flora. I was completely in the wrong to talk about your girl like that. May I sit down and continue to play cards, ma’am.”

  Flora’s mouth twitched with a slight smile. “You may sit down as long as you behave and show some respect for my girls.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Goodnight’s face was moist with sweat.

  Flora lowered her derringer, tucked it back into her garter, and sashayed over to the marshal. “Drinks on me, Alexzander.”

  “Thanks, Miss Flora. I’ll have a sarsaparilla.”

  She frowned. “You sure?”

  The marshal chuckled. “Aw now, Miss Flora. You trying to get me into trouble with Betsy?”

  Flora smiled.

  “No, Marshal. I don’t want to cause you no problems with your sweet Betsy.” She poured a tall mug of sarsaparilla, leaving a nice two inch head of foam. “Tell me, Marshal. How you suppose I could get me a new barkeep in here? There aren’t any decent men around these parts for miles.”

  She let her eyes flit toward Goodnight and back to the marshal.

  Alexzander sipped his dark drink and licked the tan foam from his upper lip. “Well, you know, Miss Flora, my wife has been talking to the women about sending for husbands. She’s given them the name of our marriage broker’s publication, the Groom’s Gazette. I don’t see why you couldn’t do the same for a good man to run your bar. Wouldn’t have to be nothing more than a job offer, you know, a good man like Gus to come work for you.”

  Flora squinted her eyes and glared at him through veiled eyelashes. “I don’t need no husband! I just need a respectable man to tend my bar, help keep an eye on the girls. Someone I can trust.”

  The marshal raised his eyebrows. “I know.” He downed the last of his cool drink. “It’s just a thought.”

  Flora sat in her home at her parlor desk, pen freshly dipped in ink and poised to write. But the correct words wouldn’t come to her mind. How should she word this ad for a good man to tend her bar, but make it clear as a bell she wasn’t wanting a husband? It should be written like a job opening.

  She wrote—

  “Wanted - Barkeep.”

  She needed a description of expectations, where to apply, and who to see once he arrived in Silverpines. She envisioned what her expectations were for this position. She needed a trustworthy gentleman… No, probably shouldn’t use the word, “Gentleman.” But what would imply a man who could be trusted to protect the girls and not take advantage of them. Let alone the fact that he had to be willing to work for a woman. It was hard enough in a man’s world, without some sleaze coming in thinking he could run her establishment for his own pleasures.

  No. She stamped down the anger. She needed someone like… Gus Gavin. The thought gave her pause. How could she describe Gus? Strong, intimidating to those who want to cause trouble, yet kind to the girls. A fatherly type, who would protect her girls. The late Pastor Edmundson popped into her mind.

  No! Not that kind of fatherly. Maybe a brotherly type who would protect the girls like his little sisters.

  She re-dipped her pen, ready to write.

  “An established saloon is in need of an experienced barkeep to work for…”

  Should she let them know upfront she was a woman? Would that just provoke some ridiculous plan to take over her place? Silverpines was already overrun with con men everywhere. She decided to keep her gender disguised. “F. L. Adams Holdings—”

  Yes. The name she used for her shareholdings would work perfectly.

  “—in Silverpines, Oregon.” She dipped her pen.

  “Law abiding and trustworthy—”

  No! She marked through that line. She’d have to start over. But first, she’d get this figured out and then re-write the whole thing. She took a deep breath and visualized the perfect man for the job.

  His face filled her thoughts.

  “Mac,” she breathed his name. A white flash filled her mind as memories of herself fifteen years ago, serving as a saloon girl and falling in love with the handsome man behind the bar. His wax-tipped mustache, neatly trimmed beard, the sweet, nutty smell of his ever-lit pipe which saturated his clothes with a deep whiskey-pecan and vanilla-musk she dearly loved. He was destined for great things, at least according to his dreams. He planned to own multiple saloons, franchises he called them, like this one they worked in and he wanted her by his side while he built his empire of Mac’s House Saloons. It was a brilliant idea, really. He’d name his place after himself as if it were his home so that when his customers had problems with the misses questioning where they had been, they could reply, “I’ve been at Mac’s House.”

  After all this time, why wouldn’t his memory fad? She turned her gaze toward the window. Her carriage boy worked with the pitchfork to pull a pile of muck out through the stall doors and shoved it into a compost pile for the gardens next year. She knew why.

  She licked her lips and put her pen to the paper.

  “Security and protection experience a must. Levelheaded morals required. Write to F. L. Adams Holdings, Silverpines, Oregon, to apply.”

  Could she find a man to work for her with as good a business mind as Mac, as gentle with the girls as Gus, and strong enough to control the ruffians without being either of those two men? She swallowed hard. Her grief for Gus tightened her throat. He had been gone little more than a month and she missed his good nature. He had been a good friend.

  A different type of grief cinched her heart for Mac. Theirs had been a wrong time, right place sort of affair. She had been too young, too headstrong… and it had been a different time altogether for either of them. She hadn’t heard from him since that awful day she packed everything she owned and told him she had to leave. She’d said she didn’t love him and he had to leave her alone, for good. Why was she surprised she hadn’t heard a single word?

  He was doing exactly what she had demanded he do. A small part of her wishe
d he hadn’t.

  She watched Boston fade away to the east on that west-bound train and got off where the line stopped at that time, to settle in with a caravan of gypsies. They didn’t care what her past had been or what her future involved. As long as she helped where needed and wasn’t any more of a burden than a woman in her situation could be, they let her stay. She even sang from their wagons to help entice the townsmen to lay their money down. Men paid generously when they heard her sing, too. She became a valuable asset to the caravan family.

  When they stopped in Silverpines, Oregon, she left the caravan and took Diamond Star and Jackson with her. Diamond had become like a younger sister, and Jacks, well she let everyone believe he was an orphan who worked for her, even though he was only six years old and favored her in appearance.

  The gypsy family had given them some gold and silver as a gift for their fresh start. Flora bought a large tent and started the Timber Town Saloon. It served as her new start for a while. Before long, she bought the saloon in town and named it The Lucky Lady. It was just that and soon she moved into a nice large home and invested in the two main businesses in Silverpines—the silver mine and the logging company.

  Jackson worked hard and grew tall. Today, as a fourteen year old young man, he worked with a strong back and a willing spirit. He could handle most anything a man could, save a blacksmith or someone who handled extra heavy items on a regular basis. He lacked for nothing and neither did she.

  Her life here in Silverpines had been a good life, until the devastating earthquakes. Now things were hard, but she’d gotten through hard times before, she certainly could do it again. As long as Jackson was alright, she’d be alright, too.

  Diamond would never betray her secrets. So as soon as she hired a new barkeep, everything would return to a normality they could settle into. A new normal.

  “There.” She read over her scribbled out ad. That should be adequate. Now to re-write it and get it sent to the Groom’s Gazette. She considered another idea. Perhaps she should mention there are young widows available should this gentleman be interested in a wife. After all, why else would he be looking in the Groom’s Gazette? Flora needed to make him aware there were opportunities for a marriage, so long as he understood she was not the intended. Well, using her holdings company name, rather than her given name, took care of any misleading thoughts. She dipped her pen and added—

  “Note: Recent events have left Silverpines in need of men who might seek an opportunity to meet a young, newly widowed woman for potential marriage. These arrangements will be solely up to the applicant.”

  Her eyes ran back over the ad. That’s what she’d send. She re-wrote it, ran the ink blotter over it to dry the ink, and folded it. She addressed the envelope with the Groom’s Gazette address that Betsy Sewell had shared with all the women in town. She’d take it to the post office as soon as she had time.

  Sitting back, she sighed with satisfaction.

  But then an uncomfortable sensation ached in her chest. Thoughts of Mac consumed her mind. He had such big dreams back then. As did she. Had he achieved them all? Did he own a multitude of Mac’s Houses all across the country, like he’d hoped. Was he married? Was he happy? Had he ever forgiven her?

  She pushed away from her desk. Enough of that! She rose and went to her kitchen. A nice hot meal would hit the spot for her and Jackson. He’d been working hard all week helping the widows with the various chores their husbands would have normally done. He deserved a good meal as a reward for his big-boy work. She chuckled. He hated it when she called it that.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Mac?” Jim O’Donald’s voice echoed around the empty saloon. “Mac, where are you?”

  “Down here, Jim.” Theodore H. McMillan lay on the hardwood floor behind the bar, trying to endure the spasm in his back. He pulled one knee to his chest, then the other. “Owww!”

  “Your back go out on you again, boss?”

  “See those crates of whiskey at the end of the bar?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, now I’m here.”

  “Boss, you really ought to see the doc about that back o’ yours.”

  “I’m not going to get strung out on laudanum or some other crazy drug. I need my wits about me.”

  Jim peeked over the bar with one eyebrow high on his forehead. “Okay, boss. Whatever you think’s best.”

  Mac rolled over on his side and slowly crawled to his hands and knees, then ever so gingerly, he stood with his hands pressed into his back and leaned back, stretching his muscles. “Uhhh. I been doing some thinking about all that, Jim. You got a minute?”

  “Sure, boss. What you need me ta do?”

  Mac closed his eyes and moved one foot in front of the other, then took in a deep breath. The spasm melted from his back like wax off a candle. He came around to Jim’s side of the bar and hiked one hip onto a stool. “You know, Jim, I’ve accomplished ‘bout everythin’ I set out in life to do.”

  Jim cocked his head back. “You’re not gonna ask me to marry you, are you, Boss?”

  Mac laughed. “No. Now listen. I’m serious. I’ve made some mistakes in my life, Jim. I gave up on something, well, someone a long time ago so that I could build this empire of Mac’s House Saloons. I thought, back then, this was the most important thing in the world. And I suppose it was mighty important, but now I’ve got all this” —he stretched out his arms and gestured to the whole interior of his establishment— “But to be honest, all I got to show for it is you.”

  “What!” Jim’s eyes rounded.

  Mac laughed heartily. “What I mean is, you’re a good friend. You’ve worked hard right alongside me all these years and you’ve been as much a part of my success as anybody. But I think it’s time I do something… less grand.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, boss.”

  Mac smiled at Jim. “I mean, I’m seriously thinking about retiring. And I want you to take over.”

  “Take over?” Jim’s jaw went slack. “I don’t know anything about being a boss, Boss. I just do what you tell me to.”

  “Nah. There’s nothing to it, and I’ll make sure you know everything I know before I actually leave.”

  “Leave? Where you going?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m working on figurin’ that out, keeping my options open, and just waiting ’til the right thing makes itself known to me. Know what I mean?”

  Jim smiled nervously. “Not really.”

  Mac slapped Jim on the shoulder. “Well, my friend, I’m just trusting my gut to point me in the right direction and when that happens, that’s when and where I’ll be going. Until then, I’ll stay here and get you trained to do what I do.”

  Jim walked up to Mac, squinting hard into his eyes. “You’re serious aren’t you?”

  Mac smiled without saying a word and walked out the front of the saloon. He intended to get a haircut, and if Tilly was around, he’d get a manicure too. As he strolled down the busy walkway, he paused at the window of the ladies’ parlor. Tilly sat with a woman’s hand in hers, filing the woman’s nails. He tapped on the glass to get her attention. She glanced his way and smiled. Pointing over at the barber next door, Mac made it clear he wished for her to come over when she was finished. She nodded and turned her face back to her customer. Mac took seven more steps and entered Billy’s Barber Shop.”Hey, Billy.”

  The older man glanced up from shaving a gentlemen’s neck. “Well, hey there, Mac. Take a seat, I’ll be right with ya.”

  “Sure. Take your time.” Mac folded down in a chair and crossed his ankle over his knee, winced from a slight spasm in his back, then lowered his foot to the floor and sat up straighter. Glancing around, he saw a newspaper titled, “Groom’s Gazette.”

  Amused by the idea of a man searching for a bride, he picked up the paper and rifled through the pages. Something caught his eye and he read the ad.

  “An established saloon is in need of an experienced barkeep to work for F. L. Adams Holdings in
Silverpines, Oregon. Security and protection experience a must. Levelheaded morals required. Write to F. L. Adams Holdings, Silverpines, Oregon, to apply.

  “Note: Recent events have left Silverpines in need of men who might seek an opportunity to meet a young, newly widowed woman for potential marriage. These arrangements will be solely up to the applicant.”

  Mac folded the Gazette over and looked at the ad more closely.

  Silverpines, Oregon?

  F. L. Adams Holdings? You don’t suppose—what were the odds?

  He leaned back and stared at nothing. His mind wandered to so many years ago before he had the franchises or the wealth. When he worked with a gal named Flora Adams. She was the love of his life. So much more than just a saloon hall gal. He would have given her the world if she would have accepted it from him. She was smart and beautiful. He shared every crazy idea he had with her, and she understood all about how the business world worked, how multiplication of business worked, she understood everything about him, except how she could be a married woman and still be his business partner. He never understood why he couldn’t get it through to her how much he loved her and that he wouldn’t squash her dreams any more than she would ruin his.

  When she left Boston on that west-bound train for God knew where, she took his heart with her. Although she made it clear she hated him and didn’t ever want to be with him, somehow he knew there would come a day when they would meet again, and things would be right for them to be together. At least he had carried that hope in his heart these fifteen years.

  F. L. Adams Holdings. It had to be her. She’d never once written to let him know where she ended up, but the odds of her landing in Oregon were pretty high, considering all west-bound trains ended up in Oregon or California. Something told him Oregon was the place. And this ad was that gut notification he had been waiting for.

  “Mind if I keep this, Billy?” Mac tucked it under his arm.

  “Nah,” the barber didn’t even look up. “We get a new one every week.”