Patience

by Lori Copeland

  Wilson entered, carrying his rooster. “Supper ready? Say, P, how come you’re just sitting there with your hair down? What are you doing?”

  Patience sprang to her feet. “I’ll fix supper.”

  Wilson sat down in the chair she had just vacated. “When did you get back, Jay? I wanted you to show me how to make a peashooter like Butch has. The next time he pops me, I’m going to pop him back.”

  Jay frowned. “Anyone ever mention your timing stinks?”

  Wilson looked bewildered. “What? What did I do now?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Bellyache. Bad.” Moses stood in front of Jay early the next morning, looking sick as a dog.

  “All of you?”

  The Indian nodded. “Bad whiskey.”

  How had the women gotten liquor? he wondered. He had hoped to wind up the week on a promising note. So far, Mule Head was yielding only enough gold to get by.

  “Loaded cart in mine.”

  “You left a cart in the mine?”

  She nodded.

  “Can’t you bring it out?”

  Paling, Moses grabbed her seat. “Go now.” Turning, she trekked off, doing the green-apple quickstep.

  Dropping the wild turkey he’d just shot, Jay glanced at the mine entrance. The women had left a loaded cart in there. If they were too sick to work, that meant he had to go in after it or cause even further delay. He broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about it.

  “Turkey!” Patience rejoiced when he deposited the bird on her doorstep a few moments later.

  “It’s been hanging around the shaft. I thought it would look better on your table.”

  “I’d say!” Picking up the bird, she held it up for inspection. “Nice and plump! We’ll have him for supper.” She looked up, grinning. “I’ll even make dumplings.”

  Jay smiled. “I’ll be looking forward to that.”

  “Not half as much as I will,” she teased, enjoying the way he immediately colored.

  Settling his hat jauntily back on his head, he started off for the mine.

  Patience called after him, “Where’re the shady ladies today?”

  “Sick.”

  “All of them?”

  “All of them,” he confirmed grimly.

  Wilson came out of the dugout carrying his dinner pail. He frowned when he spotted the limp turkey dangling from Patience’s right hand.

  “Uh-uh,” she tsked before he could set up a loud protest. “Turkeys are not put upon this earth as pets. They’re meant … for other purposes.”

  Wilson’s eyes flew to Selmore, who was still safely tied to a tree.

  “With the exception of Selmore,” she allowed. Leaning forward, she tapped her cheek. “Big kiss.”

  Grumbling, Wilson gave her the perfunctory peck. With a sympathetic look toward the deceased bird, he stepped toward the trail, whispering to Selmore, “I hope it wasn’t anybody you knew.”

  Jay paused at the mine entrance, trying to see inside the dark hole. The narrow chamber stretched relentlessly down the tight corridor.

  Undoubtedly, the cart was sitting at the point farthest from the entry.

  Kneeling, he lit the lantern, trying to control the tremor in his hand. This was insane. All he had to do was go in, find the cart, and push it out. He wouldn’t be in the mine for more than a few minutes. He was used to that from checking the ladies’ work each day. How much harder could this be?

  Straightening, he took off his hat, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirtsleeve, and put the hat on again. Why was he doing this? Retrieving abandoned carts wasn’t his job. He could think of only one reason why he would go into that pit: Patience and the boy. They needed the day’s diggings.

  When he left Denver City, determined to rescue Patience from the kidnapper, he had no intention of becoming attracted to her. Just do the job he got paid to do. Now he looked forward to seeing her every day. He’d never thought anyone could take the place of Nelly and Brice, and no one ever could. They’d always have a special place in his heart. But Patience and Wilson were beginning to fill a void he’d thought could never be filled again.

  Taking a deep breath, he picked up the lantern and entered the shaft. A damp, musty smell met his nose, and he hesitated at the entrance. The cart was nowhere in sight. Great. That meant he’d have to venture in farther.

  Edging deeper into the tunnel, he raised the lantern wick, flooding the shaft with light. The temperature was cooler in here. Lantern glare played along the walls, exposing shored-up timbers and overhead leakage. Water stood in shallow puddles on the mud floor.

  Rounding a corner, Jay lifted the beam higher. The familiar tightening in his lungs warned him that in a few minutes he would be struggling for breath. Light flickered off the walls, and his leaden feet picked up the tempo. Where was that cart?

  Following a left fork, he moved through the tunnel, his breathing strained now. As he rounded a third bend, panic nabbed him. This was much deeper than he wanted to go. The walls closed in and his lungs battled for air. Rationality fought with phobia, but as usual fear won out.

  Whirling, he started to run. Had to get out—now! Gasping for breath, his left foot tangled with his right and the lantern went flying. Diving headfirst, he managed to grab it just before it smashed to the ground.

  Struggling unevenly back to his feet, Jay leaned against the wall, sweating in earnest now.

  “Heh, heh, heh.”

  Jay’s head shot up. “What?”

  “Some days it jest don’t pay a man to git outta bed, does it, buddy boy?”

  Cocking an ear, Jay peered into the darkness, hearing nothing but the sound of his ragged breathing.

  “Tee, heh, heh, heh.”

  He crooked his head from side to side, trying to find the source of the sound. “What?”

  “Some days it jest don’t pay a man to git outta bed, does it, buddy boy? Tee, heh, heh, heh.”

  “Who’s there?” Lifting the lantern, Jay searched the darkness. Light played along the cracks and crevices, revealing nothing. Someone snickered—he heard it.

  Snort, snort, snigger, chortle. “Tee, heh, heh!”

  Jerking the lantern back, Jay ran the beam along the walls more purposefully. “Who’s there? You’re trespassing on private property!”

  “I know. Mine.”

  Nailing the beam in the direction of the voice, Jay hit pay dirt. What he saw made his blood curdle.

  Perched on a ledge, a man, small of stature and sporting a long white beard, lifted five fingers and waved at him.

  Stunned, Jay’s heart pumped faster. Lowering the lantern, he tried to think. It had to be his imagination. This was not the ghost of Gamey O’Keefe. Couldn’t be …

  Waiting a moment, he lifted the light again, moving it back to the perch.

  Grinning, the figure on the ledge devilishly wiggled five fingers at him. He cocked his head. “Yo? Hello?”

  Lowering the light, Jay wiped at sweat running down his sideburns. He’d lost his mind; claustrophobia had turned to delirium. He was deranged, loco. Gone nuts.

  “Yes, you see what you see, buddy boy. It’s me. Shine that light over here. I want to get down, and my eyes ain’t the best.”

  While Jay searched for his voice, the man bellowed. “Hey! You deaf? I said shine that light over here!”

  The light shot up and over. The man hopped down off the ledge. “Thank ya. That’s better.”

  Aghast, Jay watched the little old miner walking toward him.

  “Gamey O’Keefe here. How ya doin’?”

  Mesmerized, Jay reached out to shake hands when Gamey quickly drew back. “Wouldn’t do that if I was you.” He looked sheepish. “The hand’s still a mite hot from the blast.”

  Putting his palm at the small of his back, Gamey stretched. “Rheumatism kickin’ up on me again.” He glanced back to Jay. “What’s th’ matter, boy? Cat got your tongue?”

  “Who are you?” Jay whispered. “And what are you doing in the mi
ne without a light?”

  The old man grinned again. Slapping his hands on his knees, he leaned forward. “Who do you think I am?” He bent closer. “I’ll give ya a clue. Boo.”

  Jay edged backward, speechless. The ghost. The ghost of Gamey O’Keefe. But it couldn’t be Gamey—he was dead.

  “Now, now, buddy boy—you ain’t scairt of me, are you? Ain’t you the one who’s been blowin’ off ’bout not believin’ in ghosts? Eh? That was you, wasn’t it, buddy boy?”

  “Gamey O’Keefe,” Jay murmured, unable to believe his eyes.

  Gamey bowed modestly. “In the flesh—oops—guess that ain’t exactly the truth.” He suddenly straightened. “Say, where’s them ugly women today? That one they call Moses? Whooeee! That woman’s so ugly, when she was born, the doctor slapped her mother!”

  Dumbfounded, Jay stared back. “Does Moses know about you?”

  “Well, now.” Gamey doffed his hat and mindfully scratched his head. “I reckon she does—don’t everybody?”

  “Then she’s seen you?” Relief flooded the sheriff; he wasn’t the only one losing his mind.

  “Who, Moses?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, she ain’t seen me. I ain’t gonna show myself to nobody but you, buddy boy.”

  “The name is not buddy boy.”

  “Oh, I know that, Jay.” He put more emphasis on the name than Jay thought necessary. “But that’s what I’m gonna call you.”

  Why me? Jay agonized. He didn’t want this responsibility, and he sure didn’t need more aggravation! Why hadn’t he ridden off for Denver City and left Patience here to deal with her mine and her … ghosts. No. He didn’t believe in ghosts. Whoever this was, he was a living, breathing human being. Question was: what was he doing in the Mule Head?

  Gamey hefted himself back onto the ledge and got comfortable. “I haven’t showed myself to nary a soul since the accident. Been real ornery—causing all sorts of trouble with cave-ins and whatnots—but haven’t showed myself to nobody.” He laughed. “Not until today.” A devilish twinkle lit his rheumy eyes. “Now, why do you suppose that is?”

  Jay was powerless to say, but he didn’t believe a word this man was saying.

  “Say, buddy boy, you’re not breathin’ so hard. Ya feelin’ better?”

  Jay realized his breathing had stabilized. When Gamey appeared, the phobia had receded.

  “That classtrefabio stuff? What is that?” Gamey asked.

  “How do you know about that?”

  Gamey shrugged. “I know everything.”

  Jay inched backward farther, convinced he was imagining the encounter. It wasn’t happening. The phobia was doing bizarre things to his mind. There was no ghost. Gamey O’Keefe had been dead for thirty-six years. Folks in these parts knew of him, and someone had put this man up to pretending to be the ghost.

  “You leavin’?”

  Jay refused to answer. If he responded, he acknowledged his insanity. If he kept quiet, there was still hope he could shake it off. He continued backing up, one foot, then the other, round the first corner, one boot behind the other, then another, then another.

  The man’s voice pursued him down the corridor. “What’s yore hurry? It gets lonely in here.”

  Jay rounded the last corner, and he turned and broke into a sprint.

  Patience was working in the kitchen, humming softly to herself. She’d cook a supper tonight like Jay Longer had never tasted before. The turkey was young and plump, just right for good eating. She wanted something special for a sweet. Maybe peach upside-down cake. He’d like that.

  She’d make good dumplings too. Take flour, baking powder, and salt, add milk, and drop them in the boiling broth and keep the lid on tight until they were done. No soggy dumplings for Patience Smith. The cook at the orphanage had taught her to create a masterpiece that would rival thistledown and taste a whole lot better.

  She paused in her work, thinking how much better her life had become since meeting Jay. He had seemed so aloof back in Denver City and when she first met him here, but now he was almost nice. Most of the time.

  She gasped. What was wrong with her? She had gone to Fiddle Creek last week and had plumb forgot to see if the telegraph lines had been fixed. She still hadn’t gotten word to Mary, Lily, and Harper that she was all right.

  “There you are! I was worried about you.”

  Late that afternoon, Jay glanced up to find Patience coming toward him. Shoveling more dirt into the sluice box, he continued working.

  Pausing beside the cart, she shaded her eyes against the sun.

  Jay had discarded his coat and now worked in shirtsleeves.

  For a moment Patience could only stare at him. Ridges of taut muscles glistened beneath his shirt, open at the neck. She had seen appealing men, but she was certain there could be none more remarkable than this one.

  The thought shamelessly intrigued her.

  When Jay looked at her, she quickly looked away.

  “Did you need something?”

  “I’ve lost Wilson.”

  Lowering the shovel, he repeated, “You’ve lost Wilson.”

  She smiled. “Not permanently, but I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  His eyes skimmed the area. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”

  “Have you seen him lately?”

  Plunging the shovel back into the dirt, he dumped another scoop into the box. “He was here for a few minutes after school.”

  Patience studied the sun, wrinkles creasing the folds of her eyes. “That was hours ago. The sun will set soon.”

  “He’ll be along.”

  “Could you see if you can find him? The turkey’s ready to come out of the oven.”

  “All right. I’ll drop what I’m doing and look for Wilson.”

  Patience decided to ignore the note of acrimony in his tone. “Thank you. Supper’ll be ready soon.”

  Once he got a taste of her turkey and dumplings, his mood would improve considerably.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jay plunged through the underbrush searching for Wilson. No telling where he might be. Ran around like a rabbit most of the time. The boy needed responsibilities, needed a father to help him grow into a man, but it wasn’t his job and it wasn’t going to be.

  He’d already allowed Wilson to get closer than he ever intended. He and Patience both. He had to stop this invading relationship before it went any further. No point in starting something you didn’t intend to finish.

  “Wilson!”

  Where was that boy? Never seen anything like him. Out of one thing and into another. Give the kid his due. Once Patience straightened him out, he never pulled the same trick twice, which wasn’t much consolation, considering he apparently had an unending supply of new ideas he hadn’t tried yet.

  Jay approached the mine with a knot in his stomach. He’d looked everywhere else, everywhere he knew to look.

  Wilson had been told a hundred times to stay away from the shaft; he prayed this wasn’t the time he’d decided to test his mettle.

  “Wilson!” Wilson, Wilson, Wilson … Jay’s voice echoed back from the mine.

  “Wilson!” Bless that boy’s hide. Where is he?

  Stepping closer to the entrance, the sheriff admitted this had been the longest day of his life. This was the third time today he had been forced to go into the mine. He wasn’t sure he could do it again. The last time had been bad enough. Going back into that mine to get the loaded cart had taken all the nerve he had. Particularly after seeing that old miner who claimed to be Gamey O’Keefe.

  He’d had to bring out the cart for his own sake. He couldn’t live with the knowledge that he was a coward. Worse, he would never be able to face Patience again. Afraid of a so-called ghost. Now that he’d recovered from his first reaction, he was a lot more skeptical of Mr. Gamey O’Keefe. There could very well be another opening to the Mule Head, which would allow someone to come and go at will.

  He didn’t like that thought.
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br />   “Wilson!”

  Jay’s voice echoed back on a cold wind.

  He didn’t know why, but he knew the boy was in there. Simple knowledge that it wasn’t his day sealed it. If anything happened to Wilson, Patience would be heartbroken. That thought alone made up his mind, because he didn’t want to think that he cared about the child. He couldn’t afford to care. Everyone he’d ever cared about had been taken from him.

  Lighting the lantern, he entered the shaft. “Wilson? You in here, son?”

  Overhead, timbers creaked. He mechanically set one foot in front of the other. Gamey could arrange for one of his cave-ins, he thought. Having met the outlandish ghost, he couldn’t deny that he was eccentric enough to wreak havoc—

  What am I thinking? I didn’t meet the ghost! The encounter was a figment of my imagination! But in here, alone with his own fears for company, it was a lot easier to believe.

  His footsteps wavered, and his ears picked up the sound of dripping water. Plink, plink, plink.

  “Wilson, can you hear me?”

  Maybe the boy wasn’t in here. Premonition had led Jay astray more than once. Relief flooded him. There was no telling where that boy was—

  “In here, Jay.”

  Jay’s heart sank when Wilson’s muffled voice reached him. He turned, his gaze searching the jagged crevices. “Wilson?”

  “In here, Jay.”

  Running the light over the uneven clefts, Jay tried to determine where the voice was coming from. The boy was close. He could hear him clearly.

  “Where are you?”

  “In here.”

  Swinging the light around, Jay checked the passageway jutting to the right. A bat darted up, disappearing between two ragged clefts. “Wilson, what are you doing in there?” Wherever there was.

  “Just sittin’ here.”

  Jay followed the sound, holding the lantern aloft. It was here he had encountered Gamey earlier. His eyes warily searched the blackness. “Come out, Wilson. Patience’s waiting supper for us.”

  “I can’t come out, Jay.”

  Jay muttered under his breath. He wasn’t in the mood for games. Dampness seeped through his coat. His hands trembled and his breathing grew more labored. “Wilson, get out here! P’s looking for you.”