Patience was tired and very tempted to crawl between the sheets herself after tidying everything up. She stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the spacious bedroom. It had taken her most of the morning to lug up a bucket of suds to wipe down the window and mop the floor. Now sunshine sparkled through that window, highlighting the fluffy pillows and rose-colored quilt adorning the bed. After numerous trips up the stairs today, her legs and back were sore. But she hummed to herself, trying to forget how weary she was.
She was truly happy to finally have a few more boarders. Not everyone ate in her dining room all the time. But she always provided a hot breakfast in the morning and a good meal at supper. She had changed her schedule so that instead of giving them lunch, her boarders were on their own—which freed her up to do her chores and find a little time to herself. Guests who had previously come for lunch now often joined her boarders for the evening meal.
She gathered up her cleaning supplies to take downstairs and paused, rubbing her back, at the bedroom window. Her mind drew her back to the town of Helena, her mother—and Russell. She and Russell had become friends, and she was pretty sure he was about to ask her to marry him. And then came his tragic death. She still agonized over it all, wishing she knew more details about his accusers and the awful hanging.
Setting the cleaning items down once again, she shook her head and turned away from the window, her stomach in a knot at the terrible memory and the appalling scene she’d imagined way too often. She was still sure it was all a terrible mistake. Russell had just begun a small ranching operation with his brother, Nathan. There was no way he would even think of stooping so low as to steal a neighbor’s cattle. Never. Of that she was sure. Her heart ached at how unjust it all was.
They’d met at church where she played the piano, and together attended several dances and outings. He’d been charming and, in her mind, perfect for her. When she’d learned of his death, she thought her life was over too. She hadn’t seen Nathan since and idly wondered if by now he’d moved away.
Back in Helena, she’d considered driving over to their place to see what she could learn, but she would’ve had to rent a buckboard and horse, and money was as tight in Helena as it was here. Besides, she reminded herself again, Russell had never invited her to his ranch, probably because he was so busy fencing it in. Either way, there wasn’t anything she could do about it now, but it was hard convincing her heart of that.
Only a few months after that terrible loss, her grandmother had passed away, leaving the boardinghouse to Patience—much to her mother’s dismay. Patience had been happy to leave home and start fresh. Especially away from her mother’s eyes, both pitying and prying.
It was hard to believe the place needed so many repairs after being open only about two years. It looked like it had been hastily built, and with the constant flow of miners and travelers, it already had begun to show wear on the rugs and furniture. She’d just have to live with it until she could squirrel away some money to get things done the way she’d like them. At least she’d keep it clean and neat.
Patience shook her head and turned her attention to happier thoughts—her situation was beginning to look up. Tomorrow she would find out if she could buy paint for the front of the boardinghouse. It was in desperate need of a sprucing up, and she thought she could do it herself. She’d have to borrow a ladder, but she figured someone around here would loan her one. Emily would know of someone, she was sure.
As she turned to leave the room, satisfied now that it was as immaculate as she could make it, her eye caught her reflection in the mirror above the dresser. At twenty-five, she was considered an old maid. Right now she was a sight to behold—smudges on her face, unruly dark hair falling from its pins, buxom on top and hips flaring beneath her soiled apron and dress. But her green eyes were still clear and bright. She considered them her best feature. Now, if only she could look like the new boarder, Emily—a little taller and thinner—she just might see a bit of interest from some eligible bachelor.
Patience sighed, picked up the mop bucket and cleaning items, and made her way downstairs. No point in whining about her looks. She couldn’t change what she was, but hopefully someone of God’s choosing would look at her heart and not her outward appearance. Stay focused on the tasks at hand and work as unto the Lord, she repeated silently. She wanted her grandmother to be proud of her—maybe look down from heaven with a smile. It made her sad that her grandmother had a soft spot for her that her own mother did not. Especially after her father died. Without him there to intervene on her behalf when it came to her mother’s demands, she felt her life had been totally controlled and stifled.
She decided to have just another tiny slice of her lemon cake. That would surely make her feel better, wouldn’t it? Tomorrow she would pay the marshal a brief visit.
Patience placed sizzling sausage, scrambled eggs, hot coffee, and fresh biscuits on the sideboard for her guests. Three biscuits she kept aside, wrapped in a blue-checked napkin. She paused, considering whether to add the sausage to her basket. It seemed that a man like Marshal Jones would enjoy meat with his biscuit, so she tucked two of the sausages in with them. She donned bonnet and shawl and picked up the basket. If she got to the marshal’s office early enough, no doubt it would be breakfast she was delivering.
She stepped into spring’s chill, pausing to watch the morning sun just beginning to spread its golden rays across the mountain ridge. She surveyed the small town, barely six blocks long, which was host to thousands of miners traipsing to and from Alder Gulch. With three general stores, two saloons, a butcher, livery stable, and blacksmith, even at sunup there was always steady activity. She lifted her skirts at the end of the boardwalk to avoid the disgusting road littered with horse droppings. So unlike Helena. But I don’t miss living with my mother, she reminded herself. She rather liked her newfound independence. She would no longer be viewed simply as a spinster but instead as a businesswoman with her own boardinghouse.
Delicious fragrances drifted from The Star Bakery as she hurried along. She’d bought a cinnamon bun there once, and enjoyed chatting with Hannah, the middle-aged lady who owned the establishment. But it was an extravagance she really couldn’t afford—at least not very often. She nodded to Hannah through the shop window and hurried on.
She was pleased to see light from the marshal’s window and quietly swung open the wooden door. She found him leaning back, hat over his face and boots resting on his desk. She called out a cheery good morning as she placed her basket on his desk. Yanking off his hat, he quickly sat up, boots thumping on the floor, and blinked at her. He swept his hand through thick hair and ran his fingers over his mustache. It appeared he’d slept in his chair all night.
“What in the world are you doing here at this hour, Miss Patience?” he growled.
“You could be a bit nicer, Marshal—a little less grumpy,” she admonished, tucking her arms beneath her shawl. “Actually,” she said, moderating her lecturing tone, “I brought you some of my biscuits as a peace offering for my rude interfering last week. By the looks of you, I’d say you haven’t already eaten—am I correct?”
He just stared back at her—Disbelief or irritation? she wondered—and she was afraid he was going to throw her out. She stared back into his deep-set, dark eyes and at the dimple in his chin—which she bet could be disarming if he wasn’t always scowling.
Jedediah pulled the basket over and lifted the napkin. He closed his eyes, sniffing the hot biscuits. “Oh my! Miss Patience, for this, you deserve an olive branch and a good morning!” He rubbed his hands together and licked his lips—apparently delighted by the addition of the sausage links. Standing up, he motioned toward a chair. “Uh, please have a seat while I boil some coffee to go with this mighty fine peace offering.”
She complied and watched as he filled the pot, added coffee, and lit the wood stove. She noted his shirt pulled tight across his broad back and the shaggy, dark hair curled into his collar. When he turned aroun
d to retrieve two mugs from the shelf, she pretended to be gazing out the window.
4
Jedediah was not of a mind to wait for the coffee to brew. He reached into the basket and picked up the lightest biscuit he’d ever seen, then sat down and took a bite of pure pleasure. He swiped a hand across his mouth and grinned at her.
“You might like to try a bit of sausage with your next bite,” she suggested. He nodded agreement and soon savored the flavors of the sausage and biscuit together in his mouth. This breakfast—and the one who’d brought it—was like the fresh air he enjoyed when he went into the mountains on a spring day. He looked at her over his biscuit, at her pretty green eyes and that sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks. She remained quiet as he finished the biscuit and picked up the other sausage link.
“Miss Patience,” he said, shaking his head, “the truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever had a more delicious breakfast. Monty was indeed correct,” he added. “Why don’t you share this last biscuit with me?”
“I—oh—” And then she sprang from her chair and rushed to the stove, where the coffee was boiling over. Grabbing a dishtowel, she lifted the coffeepot and placed it to the side, then partially closed the oven’s damper to lower the heat from the fire.
Jedediah was at her side in two strides. “See what happens when a man gets distracted with good food and a pretty lady?”
She went perfectly still. “I’ve never been called pretty . . .” Her voice trailed away and her gaze remained toward the floor.
He shifted on his feet and took the towel, his hand brushing against her knuckles, and placed the coffeepot back on the heat to finish brewing. She seemed more reserved, maybe even bashful, than when they’d first met. Was she simply putting on a front to win his favor? “Well, you should’ve been. Didn’t your ma ever tell you that?” he said from where he stood near the stove.
“I don’t recall her saying much of anything complimentary,” she said quietly as she moved back to her chair. “I’d rather be called intelligent though. Anyway, I only came here this morning because I wanted to apologize for the way I intruded in your duties the other day. I had no right.”
“No. You didn’t.” He grinned. “Apology accepted.” The air was thick with silence. He filled two mugs and brought one over to her.
“However, you’re not completely off the hook,” she said from behind him as he returned to his chair behind the desk.
Why do women always have to have the last word? He sighed. “Well, I’m sure—”
“You obviously think I’m empty-headed just because I’m a woman,” she hurried on. “Why, I run a business that will soon be quite successful, just as it was before my grandmother died. Though I am struggling to make ends meet, with repairs and all, and needing supplies—”
“Woman, do you ever know when to quit talking? How can I get a word in edgewise with you nattering on?”
She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin as if to say something else, but she must have decided against it.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said into the silence. “That was not my intention, but if you’d let me finish, I have a proposition for you.”
“Whatever do you mean?” She shot to her feet, set her mug on the desk with a bang, and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “I’m not in the least interested in your ‘proposition.’ I’m not that kind of woman!” She stared at him angrily, then marched across the room toward the door.
His laughter no doubt could be heard down the boardwalk. He recovered, but she looked back at him as if she’d just eaten a lemon. She grabbed the door handle, her lips in a tight, thin line. Miss Patience was a strong-willed woman.
“Are you quite through?” she shot at him, adjusting her shawl tightly about her shoulders.
“Hold on,” he said, stretching his hand out toward her. “Don’t go getting the wrong idea. Sit back down and drink your coffee. I’ll explain.” Her brows knitted together, but she moved back to the chair and picked up the mug.
What was that fragrance he’d gotten a whiff of as she passed? Pleasant, but not too strong. Some kind of flower—or flour? He almost laughed aloud at the thought that the flour she made her biscuits from might have an aroma, but she seemed in no mood to be trivial, so he didn’t ask. “I’m listening,” she said, though her expression didn’t match her words.
———
“Here’s how we can help each other,” he said, watching her sip at her coffee. “I have a posse of five men riding out with me tomorrow at daybreak, looking for a man wanted for murder. Do you think you could make us up some of your box lunches? It’d sure beat hardtack and beef jerky.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’ll have time, with running the boardinghouse an’ all—”
“I’d be paying you, of course, but you’d need to throw in a piece of chicken or meat. Maybe you could do that occasionally for us, but it might often be on short notice. You know, like an arrangement. I could help you with your earnings, and you could help me with better-tasting lunches. What d’ you say?” He watched as she seemed to consider it.
“Maybe . . .” She gazed across the room. “I have to fix large meals anyway—the extra money could help me.” She paused, then said, “Are you handy with a hammer or paintbrush? I could surely use someone to do a little patching up on the roof and such. What about it? You know, when you’re not in pursuit of criminals.”
He crossed his arms while he thought it over. “I think I could manage to find some free time. If not, maybe one of my men can help out.” He reached out a hand, and she stood to shake it. “I think we have an arrangement, Miss Patience, one that’s good for both of us.” As he shook her hand, he was surprised at her firm grip. And her calloused palm—another surprise. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone quite like her. Maybe all the more reason to keep his distance.
“Fine, then. I must be going,” she was saying. “You can stop in for the boxed lunches tomorrow before you leave with your posse—I’ll have them ready.”
The front door flew open, and both of them turned as Hannah from the bakery entered, a basket on her arm. “Well, Jed,” the older woman said with raised eyebrows, looking from one to the other, “I had no idea you had company this early in the morning. I’ve got your breakfast. Just like usual.”
Jedediah cleared his throat. “Morning, Miz Hannah. Have you met Patience Cavanaugh?” The older lady had more or less taken him under her wing since he’d arrived. He didn’t mind, even though he wasn’t much used to anyone fussing over him. But it felt nice in a motherly sort of way. Occasionally, though, she could feel like an irritating thorn in his flesh.
Hannah beamed at Patience. “Why, yes, I have. It’s nice to see you again, Patience.” But then she caught sight of the biscuit nestled in the napkin on Jedediah’s desk. “What’s this?” She almost gasped. “A biscuit?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Patience said. “I made them for my boarders this morning and brought a couple to—to the marshal.” Patience seemed a bit intimidated. “I had no idea that you regularly supply him with biscuits.”
Hannah didn’t say a word, but reached over to pinch off a bit of the biscuit and put it in her mouth. Tilting her head, she looked at Patience. “These are better than mine, and I thought I made the best biscuits in these parts. Why, it’s light and delicious!”
Quite an admission, he thought to himself, considering her obvious pride in her own baking. He watched Patience’s face as a tinge of pink brightened her cheeks and her green eyes sparkled.
“Oh, I daresay they can’t hold a candle to yours, Hannah,” she murmured.
“Sooo . . .” Hannah turned to Jedediah with twinkling eyes. “You won’t be needing my biscuits any longer?”
“Oh, no, Hannah!” Patience hurriedly interjected a response. “This was a peace offering for my . . . well, my ill-advised public lecture to the poor marshal.”
Hannah laughed. “I can’t see a young lady like you having to apologize, but
your offer seems as good as any to get to know a fella better. But that’s all right.” She gave Patience’s arm a pat. “I’ve heard it said that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You’ll make someone a good wife, Patience,” she added with a sly glance at Jedediah.
Jedediah chuckled. “If that ol’ wives’ tale was the truth, you’d be the one courting me, now wouldn’t you, Miz Hannah? In fact, Miss Cavanaugh and I just reached an arrangement of sorts where we can help each other out.”
The older lady eyed the two of them, looking rather skeptical. “I see. Well, give these to your prisoner then, Jed.” She held her basket out.
“I would, but he was released yesterday. Got only a firm warning from the circuit judge since Shorty didn’t actually manage to steal anything.”
“Oh, well, in that case, I’ll ask what you can do about the potholes in front of my establishment. It’s such a muddy mess, and isn’t good for business. All those wagons getting stuck in front of my bakery, and . . .”
As she prattled on, Patience murmured, “I’ll leave you two to discuss this.” She retrieved her basket, the last biscuit and sausage remaining in the napkin on the desk. “Good day, Hannah. I’ll see you later, Marshal.” She gave them a wave and quietly left.
Hannah stared at Jedediah after Patience was gone, tapping her hand against her folded arms.
“What?” But Jedediah already knew what was foremost in her thoughts, wagering that it wasn’t about whose biscuits were the best.
“Patience seems like a very nice woman, don’t you think?” Her eyes held a mischievous gleam that made him uncomfortable. He was used to her scrutiny, but he wasn’t about to play into her matchmaking scheme.
The Trouble with Patience Page 3
