Wanted: Barkeep (Silverpines Series Book 13)

by Lynn Donovan

  “We have a nice parlor downstairs, sir, with drinks served after noon to midnight.”

  “No, I mean, where is there a saloon?”

  “Oh, yes, across the tracks there is the Lucky Lady Saloon. It’s run by Miss Flora Adams. I understand it’s a fine establishment also, sir.”

  “Of course.” Mac grinned. He just bet this man had an understanding of the fine establishment. He’d bet he knew first hand just how ‘fine’ the place really was. “Uh, thank you.”

  Mac took the hot water bottle and sat back in a chair with it strategically placed where Miss Richards had suggested. He packed and lit his pipe, then lifted a Silverpines Times newspaper to read. After what seemed like fifteen minutes, he switched to the ice wrapped in two towels. After a bit, he poured out the tepid water from the bottle and refilled it with the bathing water which was boiling hot. He did this alternately for an hour, and then set out to find this clinic and Miss Richards.

  As he stepped out of the grand entrance of the Silverpines Inn, he glanced toward the depot where the tracks ran. Across the tracks, he could see part of the sign on the roof of a building that read, the Lucky Lady Saloon. How appropriate she would name her place that. He had always said she was the luckiest lady he knew. Good fortune always seemed to fall in her lap, no matter what. It looked like that bit of luck had held out for her here in Oregon, too. He smiled and turned the opposite direction toward a large park. Miss Richards had said the clinic was across from that park. And if he were going to do what he’d come here to do properly, he needed to get his back looked after and possibly even cured.

  He didn’t know this Miss Richards, but if she was even half as good with a full treatment as she had been on the train, she’d have him walking and working without pain in his back in no time. If for no other reason than to get his back fixed, he was glad he had come to Silverpines, Oregon.

  Just then, a boy ran past him, clipping Mac’s arm as he flew around him. “Whoa there, son.” Mac chuckled. “What’s the hurry?”

  “Sorry, Mister!” the boy hollered as he trotted backward to addressed Mac. “I’m late. Miss Woodson was expecting me half an hour ago, and she won’t give me the whole five dollars if I’m late.”

  “Miss Woodson?”

  “Yeah, the lumberyard owner. She’s got a job for me and will pay me five dollars. Sorry, I bumped ya. You alright? I gotta get.”

  Mac rubbed his elbow. “Yeah, I’m all right. What’s your name, anyway?”

  The boy stumbled a bit. “Name’s Jackson. If you ever need anything, just ask for Jackson. Everybody knows who I am.”

  “Well, Jackson, you better get along then. I wouldn’t want to be the reason you didn’t make your whole five dollars.” Mac chuckled. Something about that boy amused him. If he was one of the few young men in town available to do heavy jobs for the widows and orphans left in Silverpines, Mac considered having him come to the saloon and do the heavy lifting for him. No reason to aggravate his back more than it already was and especially if Miss Richards was able to get it to stop hurting. Besides, his gut told him that boy and he could be good friends, why not mentor him and teach him the business of running a saloon?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Flora sought the privacy of her office. She didn’t want anyone to come into the saloon and see her with the letter. Gingerly she sat in the chair behind her desk and slid a long polished nail under the seal. As she unfolded the parchment, her heart flooded with memories of Mac and the way she felt every time her eyes caught sight of him. So tall and handsome, standing behind the polished bar, always wiping a glass or the surface with a bar towel, her senses were filled with a desire she couldn’t control. His presence befuddled her brain and made her weak in the knees. She had wanted to believe in his dreams, be part of his successes.

  But she knew better.

  A woman could never obtain the success a man could. Especially in Boston, Massachusetts. She wanted more for herself than to clean house and bear children, even with Mac McMillan. On the other hand, she didn’t want to work upstairs all of her life either. She wanted more. She wanted to own the saloon, be the boss, not one of the girls or the barkeep.

  He had sworn he would not restrict her. She would have more if she wanted it, as his wife. She’d be his business partner, and she’d have control over her life, her work.

  But she knew better.

  Today when she realized it was him on the train bench, all those feelings swamped her heart as if it had been yesterday, and not fifteen years ago, that she left Boston… and him. It took every bit of strength she possessed to remain standing when she heard his voice, saw his waxed mustache, and then when he sat up and she saw his face. He hadn’t aged a day. Her heart slammed into her rib cage and her mouth dropped open. She said his name, and he said hers. That was when she knew her love for him still remained as fresh and strong as all those years ago.

  Somehow, he had hurt his back and was embarrassed for her to see him in such a weak state. If only he knew how weak she felt upon realizing he was there, right in front of her, in Silverpines.

  Why was he here? Did he know this was where she lived?

  He had applied for the position as a barkeep. He wanted to work for her.

  Or did he?

  Did he know he was applying to work for her saloon? Or was he applying to work for F. L. Adams Holding Company? She’d written the ad to disguise her true identity. Surely, that had worked.

  Or had it?

  She lowered her eyes to read the letter.

  “To whom it may concern,

  My name is Theodore H. McMillan. I am a successful owner/operator of Mac’s House Saloons located throughout the State of Massachusetts. While I have enjoyed the last decade and a half of a prosperous entrepreneurial adventure, the time has come for me to take a more gentle approach to life. Your ad in the Groom’s Gazette intrigued me because I have dreamed of moving west for some time and look forward to semi-retiring into a simpler life as a barkeep, rather than owner.

  Please be assured I am fit for the position, quick witted to protect the employees, and familiar with the tell-tale signs of trouble before it begins. I’m handy with a shotgun and a pistol to meet your security needs. I’d be happy to give you a demonstration of my skills at our initial meeting.

  As for your alluding to the prospect of marriage, emphasized by the fact that your ad was posted in the Groom’s Gazette, I shall keep an open mind, but due to reasons that shall remain private, I do not expect anything substantial to come of it.

  “I look forward to meeting with you soon.

  “Sincerely,

  “T. H. McMillan”

  Flora dropped the letter to her desk. It didn’t sound like he knew he was applying for a position with her saloon. Was she reading too much into the words he wrote? Or the ones he didn’t write, to be more precise. “Reasons that shall remain private.” Did that not scream her name? And what was this “a more gentle approach to life”? Was that his obscure way to say he’d hurt his back and couldn’t do as much as he had before? How had he hurt his back, anyway? She knew first hand running a saloon required heavy lifting, if one wasn’t careful or had a good man, like Gus.

  Her heart clinched. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Gus had been a good worker and a good friend. He always did all the heavy lifting, the hard work, so she didn’t have to.

  The bat-wing doors creaked loudly in the silence of the empty saloon. Flora quickly folded Mac’s letter, wiped her eyes, and casually left her office. Her heart skipped a beat or two as she took in the tall, solid stature of Mac McMillan standing next to the bar.

  Not moving from the spot where she first laid eyes on him, for fear her knees would buckle, she uttered, “Mac.”

  He pulled the ever-present pipe from his teeth. “How are you, Flora?”

  She tilted her head and gazed at him. He stood much straighter than before. Was the pain mended? “Did you go see Miss Hattie?”

  “You mean Miss Richards? Yes
. She’s an amazing herbalist doctor.”

  Flora laughed. “Miss Hattie’s not a doctor.”

  Mac’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead. “Huh. My mistake, but you could have fooled me. She gave me some muscle relaxing tea and did what she called an adjustment on my back that made me feel better than I have in a long time.” He leaned back and twisted as if checking to see that he still felt better. “If she’s not a doc, she ought to be.”

  Flora stood in silence, considering what he said. Miss Hattie did know a lot about healing, but Doc Hamilton had never referred to her as a doctor. Of course she was a woman and obviously had Indian blood, perhaps ol’ Doc Hamilton exhibited a wee bit of prejudice. Everybody in town just assumed she was his nurse or a well-trained assistant… could this be true? Was Hattie actually a doctor? How would Mac know anything about her credentials, he just got into town today.

  “About this letter.” She held it up and shook it slightly. “What’s this all about?”

  “What do you mean?” He took a step toward her.

  Her knees turned to jelly. She nonchalantly placed her right arm on the bar, the letter dangled loosely from her hand, as if she were just waiting for his answer. The truth was, if the bar had not been immediately to her right, she would have stumbled. He still had that effect on her. “I mean, what happened to your big dream… fifty Mac’s House Saloons throughout Northeast America?”

  “I did all that, plus some.” He closed the space between them and took her hands into his. “And I was very successful. But—”

  She should jerk her hands back, telling him in no uncertain terms she did not want him to touch her, but the warmth of his hands caused her resolve to melt into goo. She just could not pull away from him. She breathed the words, “But… what?”

  He smiled under that waxed-tip mustache and her heart dissolved into a sweet custard. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I wasn’t with you.”

  Mac couldn’t believe his fortune. He had suspected F. L. Adams Holdings Company might be none other than Flora Adams. He’d dared to hope it was her. Deep down he had always known she’d achieve her dream of owning her own saloon. But he really thought it would take him a day or two, if this ad was truly from her, to find her and confront her about the position.

  The week-long trip involving five trains and hard, wooden seats did a number on his already sore back. By the time he pulled into Silverpines, he couldn’t even stand. All he could do was lie down flat on his back and pray there was a doc nearby who could help him get on his feet. The steward had come through letting everyone know the stop was Silverpines, Oregon, but all Mac could do was moan for help.

  The man was kind enough to let those in charge of the train’s continuing know that he needed a doc and left the train to get one for him. It was a bit of a surprise that an Indian woman showed up, but it was even more of a shock that the very woman he had prayed to find came in behind the lady doc and asked if she could help.

  What a compromising position he was in when Flora saw him. He hated that, but was thrilled to hear her voice and see her face. She was more beautiful than he remembered and hadn’t aged a day other than to become even more beautiful with time, like a rare, fine wine.

  Whereas back in Boston, he put up with this troublesome back problem, now that he knew Flora was indeed here, he had a new found determination to have a doc fix, or at least remedy, the problem. His greatest desire was to present himself in good standing to Flora. How fortunate Miss Richards had come to his aid. She was more educated on the solutions to his weakened back than he could have hoped. She had actually fixed the problem. She’d said it would take several treatments, explaining that his vertebrae had slipped out of place and would need to be readjusted, but that eventually, if he followed her instructions and did the exercises she suggested, his muscles would strengthen to help support the bones, keeping them where they should be.

  He knew it was merely ego on his part, but he enjoyed being able to show up at The Lucky Lady Saloon as an able-bodied man, prepared to fulfill the needs of a barkeep. And then she walked out of the back room. His heart slammed against his chest. He couldn’t believe how his entire body reacted to her presence. His knees went weak, his throat went dry, and other familiar things happened that he prayed she didn’t notice. It was as if she had walked away from him just yesterday and his heart was just as on fire for her as it was then.

  When she said his name, it sounded like a choir of angels. It took every restraint he could muster not to rush to her and scoop her up into his arms. He longed to kiss her soft, sweet lips and pull the pins from her hair, letting it cascade down around her shoulders. He wanted to cup her locks in his hand and inhale their fragrance. Desire burned inside him, and the sight of her long, slender neck summoned him to caress her skin with tender kisses from her earlobe to her collar bone.

  He took her hand instead and kissed the back of her knuckle. She smelled the same floral sweet she did fifteen years ago. He fought everything in him that wanted to carry her upstairs and rekindle the old flames.

  She’d read his letter and she’d asked about his franchises. He hesitated telling her why he was here, but then she asked “But what?”

  He had no choice but to tell her that all his success had no meaning because she hadn’t been there by his side. It meant nothing without her. He’d given it all up to find her. And he’d happily be her barkeep for as long as he could stand and pour drinks, if she’d let him.

  No. He decided one very important thing. He looked around the empty saloon. He would serve as the barkeep whether she said yes or no. He would never lose her again. He was staying no matter what.

  “So.” He took the letter from her hand and laid it on the bar. “Am I hired?”

  “Mac! I ran an ad. I’m obligated to consider all responses.”

  Mac looked around again and chuckled. “I don’t see any applicants lining up for an interview.”

  “Well, I—” Flora swallowed. “Our post is fairly slow… and I—“

  Mac laughed. “You don’t have any other applicants, do you?”

  “Not as of yet, but they’ll be coming.” She lifted her chin a notch. “Just because you came with your application letter doesn’t guarantee you the position. Besides, why would you want to work for me? You’re accustomed to being the boss. How are you going to adjust to being bossed around… by me?”

  He lifted her hands to his chest and pulled her close so he could look deep into her bonny brown eyes. “I would do anything, even get on my hands and knees and wash this saloon’s floors, if it meant I could spend every day in your presence. Oh, Flora, I missed you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Flora’s jaw went slack. Then she slammed her mouth shut and inhaled deeply, jerking her hands out of his. She could not let this happen. She had more to think of than just herself. “Stop this! What are you really here for? Are you trying to take over my business? You know, I had two saloons in this town… Two! The landslide took out one of them. This place was in infirmary for a while. I gave away booze for medicinal uses. My girls served as nurses. We did whatever we had to do to help this town recover. Two of my girls have left to work where they are more valuable for the people. You see, I’ll do whatever I have to to get this one running again. My only problem is—”

  What was she saying? He didn’t need to know anything about her business or what her problems were. It wasn’t as if he could resolve the fact that her town lost all their working men and her saloon lost all her drinking and gambling customers in the earthquakes. He couldn’t do anything about the fact that the only customers she had now were con men who had come here to take advantage of her townsfolk. She hated every one of them, but business was business. She only had two girls working for her, and for now that was alright. But when business picked up, she’d need to round up two, or maybe four, more—but none of that was his business.

  Tommy Goodnight and his constant companion pushed through the saloon d
oors. They looked Flora and Mac over and then flopped down at a card table.

  “I’ll be right with you two.” Flora told them and turned back to Mac. For all she knew, he was here for the same reasons the con men were. He wanted to take advantage of her situation and cheat her out of her hard earned ownership of this saloon. The more she considered all the possibilities for why Mac McMillan was standing in her saloon today, the madder she got. She spoke in a quieter tone. “You get outta here, Mr. McMillan. You are not needed or wanted in here or in Silverpines.”

  Mac chuckled and glanced around the saloon. Just then three more men walked in laughing and stood at the bar. Quietly, Mac leaned in to speak in her ear. “Flora, look around. You do need a barkeep. You know I’m the best there is.” He walked around the bar and addressed the three men. ”What can I get you gentlemen?”

  “HEY!” The one who sat at the card table shouted. “We were here first!”

  The warmth of his breath had left her stunned, but when Goodnight yelled, his harsh tone snapped her out of her state. She glared at Mac and walked over to the men who were sitting. “What’ll you have?”

  Goodnight smiled a wicked grin and licked his lips. He let his eyes roved over Flora as if he wanted to devour her and then gave her their drink order. “And a deck of cards, too, honey. Why don’t you stand over here by me, so I can rub up against your pretty behind and get some of that good luck off’n you?”

  Flora’s eyebrows shot up on her forehead. “I’ll get your drinks, and I’ll get you a deck of cards, but I’ll have to send one of my girls over to be your lucky charm. You see, I’m the owner.” She turned with a huff and marched to where Mac stood.

  “Well sure, you’re the Lucky Lady what this here saloon’s named after, ain’t ya?” Goodnight jabbed an elbow into his companion. The other man muttered something that sounded foreign to Flora’s ear.