by Cindy Myers
“None of us thinks this is a reflection on you,” Barb said. “You’ll have to visit Maggie’s place next door,” she told them. “It’s very nice.”
“I’m sure it is.” Sharon studied her future sister-in-law. Maggie looked uncomfortable, as if she didn’t want to be here. “I don’t guess my brother told you much about me,” she said.
“No, Jameso doesn’t like to talk about his past. Although I gather his childhood was . . . difficult.”
“That’s a good word for it. I don’t blame him for wanting to start over. Why Jameson?”
“I don’t know.” Maggie looked tense. “I didn’t even know he had changed his name.”
“How did you and Uncle Jay—Uncle Jameso, meet?” Alina asked.
“He was a friend of my late father’s.”
“He came up to check on her father’s cabin and Maggie tried to hit him over the head with a stick of firewood,” Barb said.
Maggie glared at her.
“Did that really happen?” Sharon asked.
“It was my first night here and I thought he was a burglar or something. He didn’t know I was in the cabin and thought I was up to no good. And I only threatened to hit him—I never actually struck a blow.”
“But you patched things up and fell in love,” Alina said.
“Eventually.”
“At Christmas, your uncle skied over a mountain pass in a blizzard to get home for the holiday and bring Maggie an engagement ring he’d had made just for her,” Barb said. “The man is a romantic, whether he’ll admit it or not.”
“Can I see the ring?” Alina asked, eyes alight with eagerness.
Maggie held out her hand and the other three crowded around it. The gold band was studded with old mine-cut diamonds and turquoise. “The turquoise is from the French Mistress,” Barb said. “The mine Maggie’s father left her.”
“It’s beautiful,” Alina said. “I like that it’s not like everyone else’s rings.”
Maggie tucked her hands back in her coat pocket. “Do you have everything you need here?” she asked.
“I’ll go out later and buy some groceries,” Sharon said. “I take it my brother doesn’t eat many of his meals here.”
“No, he generally eats with me, or at the Dirty Sally or the Last Dollar.”
Alina giggled. “Everything has such funny names.”
“They’re named after mines in the area,” Maggie said. “I guess the miners liked to give their claims colorful names.”
“In Vermont, where we’re from, most of the places are named after the people who founded them, or after cities in England,” Alina said. “Eureka is more interesting.”
“And you came all the way from Vermont to here?” Barb said. “Because Jameso is here?”
“I know we haven’t been close, but I’m hoping to change that,” Sharon said, trying hard not to sound defensive.
“So you’re thinking of staying in town?” Maggie asked.
“Yes.” She tried to read the tone of the words. Was Maggie welcoming—or warning her off? “I’ll need to find a job. Do you know of anyone who’s hiring?”
The two women exchanged looks. “There aren’t many jobs in a town this small,” Maggie said. “What kind of experience do you have?”
“None, really. I’ve stayed home and raised kids for the last sixteen years.”
“Any volunteer work?” Barb asked.
“I was a room mother at the kids’ school. And I volunteered at the local library occasionally.”
“We’ll keep our ears open, let you know if we hear of anything,” Barb said. “Something might turn up. It did for Maggie when she came here.”
“Where do you work?” Sharon asked.
“The Eureka Miner—the local paper.” She shrugged. “The pay is lousy, but none of the jobs around here pay much.”
“Any job would be good to start. I’m used to scrimping and cutting corners.” Sharon waited for one of them to ask why she was here—why show up after years of no contact on her brother’s doorstep, with only one of her children and no money or plans?
But they were too polite. And she couldn’t find the words to spill her guts in front of Alina. And not to strangers, even if one of them was going to be her sister-in-law. “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon,” she said.
“Yes, we’d better go,” Barb said.
“Let me know if you need anything,” Maggie said.
“Thanks.” Sharon followed them to the door and shut it behind them. She wanted to lean her head against the cool wood and close her eyes, but she was aware of Alina watching her, so she straightened her shoulders and forced a smile. “Well, they were nice.”
“Yeah.” The girl flopped onto the sofa, which squeaked in protest. “Are we really going to stay here?”
“I don’t know. We’ll stay a while, at least.”
“Will I have to go to school?”
In Vermont, Sharon had homeschooled the children. “I think you should. If I’m working, I won’t have time to teach you. And it would be a good way for you to meet other kids.”
“I guess.” She picked up the remote control for the television and turned it over and over in her hand. “I miss Dad. And I really miss Adan. I know he’s been a jerk lately, but I still miss him.”
Sharon sat beside her daughter. “I know, honey. I do too.” She missed her son anyway. But at fifteen, he’d declared himself old enough to make his own choices, and he’d chosen to stay with his father. Joe had insisted she leave the boy, too, and in the end she felt she had no choice. Sharon hated to think of the way Joe had turned the boy against her—against everyone really. Joe and Adan and Wilson and the others were sitting up there in that compound with their guns and their dried food, waiting for the apocalypse they were sure was coming.
She took her daughter’s hand. “You understand why we had to leave, don’t you, honey?”
Alina nodded. “I know. I just . . . I wish things were different.”
She smoothed her palm over her daughter’s unblemished, baby-soft skin. Alina was growing into a woman, but she was still so young. Bringing her here had been hard, but it had been the right thing to do. “So do I, baby. So do I.”
The next morning, Sharon tried to ignore the feeling that everyone was staring at her as she walked down the sidewalk on Eureka’s Main Street. Having lived in one small town or another all her life, she was pretty sure everyone who wasn’t otherwise occupied was looking out the window at the newcomer, wondering what she was up to. That’s what people did in small towns. Some of them probably knew already that she was Jameso Clark’s sister, and that would only increase their interest.
She exited the bank—which had no job openings, sorry—and passed under the awning for a florist’s, which was closed. At the school where she’d enrolled Alina this morning she’d asked about work, much to her daughter’s mortification, but the school secretary had told her they were under a hiring freeze. The grocery store, hardware store, and liquor store didn’t need anyone either. She’d really hoped her brother would be more help with this. When Jameso had stopped by last night to pack up some clothes and toiletries he’d told her the saloon where he worked and the café where she’d eaten lunch didn’t need help either. “I’ll ask around,” he said, after she’d pressed him. “If you’re sure you want to stay.”
She’d gotten the impression that Jameso hoped she’d change her mind about living in the same town. Maybe it made him uncomfortable having someone here who knew his secrets. Well, he’d have to get used to it. She was sticking it out here. It wasn’t as if she had anywhere else to go, and he was the only living relative she could have anything to do with. When she’d been younger, he’d always looked after her, so she wasn’t being unreasonable to expect him to help her again, was she?
A familiar black and white vehicle pulled to the curb ahead and Sharon slowed her steps. Sergeant Josh Miller emerged from the big SUV, hatless this time, and lifted his hand in a wave. “How are y
ou doing, Sharon?” he asked, when she drew nearer.
“I’m getting settled in,” she said. “Thanks for the recommendation of the Last Dollar. The food was delicious.”
“I’ve eaten probably too many meals there myself,” he said, patting his flat stomach.
Either his wife didn’t cook or there was no wife. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean anything. Joe had never worn a ring either. And she wasn’t going to ask. She didn’t want him to think she was fishing for information, because she wasn’t. His marital status was no concern of hers.
“Did you ever track down your brother?” he asked.
“Yes, he’s Jameso Clark—the bartender at the Dirty Sally.”
“Well, sure, I know Jameso. We’ve been climbing together a couple of times.”
“Mountain climbing?” That sounded like the daredevil kind of thing Jay had always liked.
“More rock climbing. The canyons around here have some great climbs. I’ve seen him up at the ski resort at Telluride a few times, too.”
“So I guess you’re a big outdoorsman,” she said.
“That’s what brought me to the mountains. Law enforcement pays better in the city, but I prefer the lifestyle here.”
“I’m looking for a job,” she said. “Do you know if the sheriff’s department is hiring?”
He grinned, and fine lines formed around his eyes—nice brown eyes, she noticed, now that he wasn’t hiding them behind sunglasses. “You thinking of becoming a deputy?” he asked.
“I’m probably more qualified for clerical work.”
“I haven’t seen any job postings, but I’ll keep my eyes open for you.”
“Thanks.” She stepped away. “Well, I guess I’d better let you get back to work.”
She was aware of his eyes on her as she continued down the sidewalk. Talking to him had lifted her spirits; he was just a pleasant, positive guy. Funny that he was a friend of Jameso’s, though maybe not that strange; they were about the same age and obviously shared many of the same interests. She’d have to ask Jameso about him. Maybe it would give them something to talk about. So far all of their relatively brief conversations had been painfully awkward. So much for the sibling closeness she’d hoped for.
She stopped in front of the next store in line. Lacy’s was written in fancy script on the glass display window. An arrangement of silk sunflowers bloomed in a dented milk can by the door and another sign beckoned—Come in!
The jangle of sleigh bells announced her entrance and a tall, angular woman in a white blouse looked up from behind the counter. “Hello,” she said, smiling.
“Hello.” Sharon took a few steps into the shop, past a child’s pedal car and a second milk can. The shop was jammed with the oddest assortment of items, from a seven-foot-tall display case of fine glassware and china, to what looked like a stack of old highway signs, leaning against one wall.
“Some of it’s junk and some of it’s valuable treasure,” the woman behind the counter said. “Which is which sort of depends on the person who’s buying. But whatever you’re looking for, I’ve probably got it in here somewhere, or I know someone who does.”
“Are you Lacy?” Sharon asked.
“Lucille Theriot.” The woman moved out from behind the counter. “I’m also Mayor of Eureka, so welcome to town. Are you visiting or just passing through?”
“I’m staying. Or at least I hope to.” She took the hand Lucille offered. “I’m Sharon Franklin. I’m Jameso Clark’s sister.” She was getting a little more used to referring to her brother by the name he’d chosen. Jameso wasn’t so far from Jay.
Lucille’s eyebrows shot up and she studied Sharon with the intensity of a crow scrutinizing bread crumbs. “I do see the resemblance now,” she said. “You have the same chin, and the same hair.” Her smile broadened. “Welcome to Eureka, Sharon. What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a job,” she said. “You wouldn’t by any chance be hiring, would you?”
“I’m sorry to say this is pretty much a one-woman operation. And the city doesn’t have any openings either.”
“Oh.” Sharon didn’t even try to hide her disappointment. “Thank you anyway. If you hear of any openings, please keep me in mind.” She turned to leave, but Lucille stopped her.
“Wait just a minute. Come sit down over here and let’s see what I can come up with.” She indicated a tall stool in front of the counter, then returned to her place on the other side. The counter itself turned out to be another glass display case. Sharon looked down and saw a row of sepia print postcards laid out on the shelf. One showed a doe-eyed young woman with a parasol, while another pictured a baby in an old-fashioned pram.
“What kind of work did you do where you’re from?” Lucille asked. “And where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Vermont. And I didn’t work outside the home. I was a housewife.” It sounded so quaint and old-fashioned. So innocent and simple, when really it had been so complex and difficult at times.
Lucille nodded. “We all know that’s hard enough work. I was in the same boat after my divorce. I had a young daughter and a blank résumé.”
“I have a daughter, too.” Sharon felt a surge of kinship with this woman who was probably old enough to be her mother. Though Sharon’s mother had never been this calm and capable. “What did you do?”
“I found work as a cocktail waitress. I was living in Cincinnati at the time. The hours were terrible, and it wasn’t good for my daughter. If I had it to do over, I’d have tried for something different. An office job, maybe.”
“Are there any offices around here?” Sharon asked.
“Not many, and I don’t know of any of them that are hiring. And really, it doesn’t matter what you do, you can still be a good parent. My daughter turned out all right. Maybe you’ve even met her—Olivia Theriot. She works at the Dirty Sally with Jameso.”
“The blonde, the artist. One of the women at the café told me she painted the mural there.”
Lucille beamed. “That’s my girl. She has more talent in her little finger than I have in my whole body. And she was in the same boat you were when she came here—a kid and no job. So we’ll find something for you. Instead of employment history, let’s think in terms of skills. What can you do?”
Sharon had been over this ground in her head at least a hundred times between Vermont and Colorado. “I’m organized. I can cook and clean and look after children. I volunteered at the children’s school, and at the local library.”
Lucille drew her expressive brows together in a V. “What did you do at the library?”
“Whatever they needed—I shelved books or entered them into the computer system.” She’d enjoyed the work, until they’d moved too far out from town to make the commute practical.
“How are you at handling difficult people?”
Now, that was an odd question. “Difficult?”
“Ill-tempered. Contrary.” Lucille leaned closer, eyes locked to Sharon’s. “Eccentric.”
She bit off a bark of harsh laughter. “You just described my ex-husband.” And his friends. The divorce wasn’t yet final, but it would be very soon.
“The person I’m talking about is a woman. The town librarian. Her assistant eloped and moved away, so that position is open.”
“I’d love to work in a library.” Sharon’s heart pounded. Talk about a dream job. Libraries kept reasonable hours, so she could be home for Alina at night—and what could be better than working with books?
Lucille shook her head. “Don’t get your hopes up until you’ve met Cassie Wynock. She can be a real dragon and if she takes a dislike to you, forget it.”
“I can deal with her.” After living with Joe and Wilson for the past two years, she could deal with anyone. “I saw the library when I first got to town. It looks nice.”
“Cassie’s family used to own the land the library is on, so she behaves as if it’s her own private property,” Lucil
le said. “Whatever you do, don’t tell her you’re related to Jameso until after you have the job.”
“Oh? She doesn’t like him?”
“She doesn’t approve of him. And she has a grudge against a friend of his—who isn’t even alive anymore, but that doesn’t matter to Cassie. Jameso is tainted by association with Jake.”
She’d have to ask her brother about this Jake character. “How can I get her to approve of me?” she asked.
Lucille pressed her lips together. “Are you sure you really want this job?”
“What are my other options?”
Lucille sighed. “Not many, I’m afraid. Not any this time of year. In summer, the motel hires an extra housekeeper, and some of the businesses that cater to tourists hire seasonal workers, but you need something better than that.”
“Does the library job have benefits?”
“Yes, it’s a county position, so there’s health insurance and retirement.”
“Then I really want the job.”
“All right.” Lucille leaned back against the counter and tapped her chin with one finger. “Cassie appreciates flattery,” she said after a moment. “About herself, but also about her family. If I were you, I’d ask if she’s related to the Wynocks who founded Eureka. Tell her you’re interested in local history.”
“I can do that.”
“Dress conservatively for your interview and don’t wear too much makeup. She’s suspicious of beautiful women.”
Sharon had never thought of herself as beautiful, but she nodded. It wasn’t as if she had a closet full of wild clothes anyway. “Should I go over there now?”
“She’ll wonder how you heard about the job. Let me call over there and set something up.” She reached for the phone, but the sleigh bells on the door jangled.
Both women turned toward the man who entered—the same grizzled miner Sharon had seen exiting the hardware store the day before. Come to think of it, he’d been in the saloon yesterday afternoon, too. “Hello, Bob,” Lucille said.
“I came by to see if you had a package for me.” He scowled at Sharon. Or maybe that was just his normal expression; his face was a mass of crags and wrinkles, worn and roughened by weather.
