And some low-down varmint was trying to steal her mine.
In a sudden burst of temper, he picked up a rock and slung it at a pine tree.
He heard snickering and glanced up to see Gamey perched on a limb of a neighboring cottonwood tree, watching him pan for gold.
“You don’t seem to be in a good mood this afternoon. I’d guess you let it slip out, didn’t ya? Jest couldn’t stand it. Bet you had to tell her about me.”
“You can relax; she didn’t believe me.”
“Well, now—” Gamey squinted and scratched his mangy beard—“that’s a real shame. For you—not for me.”
“Get out of here, Gamey.”
“No, not until I help ya.”
“You can’t help me.”
The little man eased carefully down from an overhead branch, dropping to his feet in front of Jay. “Yep, buddy boy, you’ve got me pegged dead center. I’ve done told you: no one but you is gonna see me, and no one—not even Moses, though goodness knows I’ve got an itchy feelin’ for that woman—is gonna get their hands on my gold.”
Slamming his gold pan to the ground, Jay lit on it with both feet. Trouncing on it, he jumped up and down, venting his pent-up frustrations. Up and down, up and down, he stomped the pan, mangling the tin and fouling the air with a string of epithets that made Butch Miller sound like a choirboy.
He’d had it! Cave-ins, floods, egotistical ghosts, Mooney Backus threatening to kill him, Patience thinking he was seeing things, Patience and the gold, Patience and the boy, Patience, Patience, Patience!
“Leave me alone! You hear me? I don’t want to ever see your face around here again! Torment someone else! You hear me? I’ve had it with you and your nutty ways!”
Hammering the pan with the heel of his boot, Jay viciously ground it into the gravel bank. Rage burned out of control. He pounded the tin with the heel of his boot, cursing the day he was born.
When a shadow crossed the ground, he glanced up. Standing beside the stream, Patience had witnessed his fit of temper. Her baffled gaze shifted from his boots to the throbbing vein in his neck to his anger-splotched face.
Regaining his composure, he paused, his hiked foot in midair. “Yes?”
She murmured, “Supper’s ready.”
Giving the tin one last brutal stomp, he refused to look at her. “Okay.”
She continued to stare at him as if there were something more that needed to be said. But he wouldn’t meet her stupefied gaze.
“I’ll be along in a minute.”
“Are you all right?”
“Fine. Never better. First-rate.”
She walked away, turning back to look over her shoulder, frowning.
Muttering under his breath, Jay gave the mangled gold pan a swift kick, sending it skittering into the stream, and followed her up the hill.
Supper was a tense affair with Jay eating in silence. He still looked angry, but there was something about him that broke her heart. He seemed shamefaced, as if her seeing him pitch that violent tantrum bothered him. Well, it bothered her too.
What had come over him? Jumping up and down and cursing that way. If Wilson had been anywhere within hearing distance—and he probably was—he’d no doubt learned several new words. She’d have to stock up on soap.
What really bothered her was the way Jay had been shouting at someone but there was no one there.
She cut a wedge of dried-apple pie and set it in front of him. “More coffee?”
“Yes, thanks.”
She sat down across from him, watching him eat. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”
He raised his eyes and looked at her briefly before shifting his attention back to his pie. “We already talked.”
“I see. Anything you want to add?”
“Nope. Subject closed.”
He finished his pie and left, and she conquered the desire to throw his plate at the door he had slammed behind him. A reluctant smile curved her lips. Well, she knew what it was to be provoked. Hadn’t she flung a pot of dumplings at his head just a few nights ago? So something had provoked Jay. Who and what? She’d made a mistake last night when he’d confided in her about Gamey. Now she had to regain his confidence.
Patience left Wilson trying to braid the cat’s tail while she stole a few minutes alone with Jay the following night.
The scene yesterday at the stream still bothered her. Jay was behaving so strangely lately. Even so, he continued to stand by her when it seemed they were fighting a losing battle. Any day now, she expected Moses and the shady ladies to walk out. There was barely enough gold coming out of the mine to pay them a paltry sum at the end of a long week. And the constant interruptions were more than annoying—they were dangerous. Patience was beginning to think they were an indication of something more sinister than just plain bad luck. And now Jay thought he was seeing the ghost.
She made her way across the mountain, shivering in the night wind. If she went to him, he couldn’t walk away; he had no place to go. She should never have let him see she didn’t believe him. Tonight she would try to regain lost ground. If he didn’t trust her, she couldn’t help him. Jay needed her, and she had to be there for him.
Pausing in front of Jay’s shack, she called softly, “Are you awake?”
A moment later the door opened and he appeared in the doorway. In the background she saw a rosy fire in the fireplace. He frowned when he saw her huddled against the biting wind. “Something wrong?”
“Can I come in?”
Standing aside, he allowed her to enter.
Hurrying to the fire, she undid her scarf, permitting her hair to fall unrestricted around her shoulders.
She’d seen the way he had looked at her the other night when her hair was down. The decision to wear it loose tonight had seemed good at the time, but now she had her doubts, considering the way he stared at her, like a thirsty man seeing a stream of fresh water.
Something inside her stirred, responding to the look in his eyes. He was older than she was, and she had an idea what he was thinking: that he was too old for her with nothing to offer a woman. Somehow, she had to change his mind.
Jay broke the silence. “Where’s Wilson?”
“Braiding Jellybean’s tail.”
“How can he do that?”
She shrugged. “Not easily, but it keeps him occupied. How was your trip to Fiddle Creek?”
He busied himself stacking dishes. “Routine.”
She wondered what the unexpected trip was really about; she found a box of fuses in the cellar when she’d gone for another jar of pickles, so obviously he hadn’t been completely honest about his reason for going. Had he been in Fiddle Creek asking questions? trying to gain solid evidence that someone was trying to jump her claim?
Lifting her hands to the fire, she warmed her fingers. “It’s so cold. Jay. I worry about you here, alone in this drafty shack.”
He stooped and put another stick of wood on the fire. “I’m thinking it’s time I went back to Denver City.”
“Why? We need you here.”
He shrugged. “I should have left sooner, but I thought you’d give up and see reason. I don’t know, P; seems like I have to get away, regain my perspective.”
“Are you leaving because of me?” She almost whispered the words.
“That’s part of it. Seems like everything I do these days is because of you.”
Patience caught her breath. She’d never been alone with a man like this. What would Lily and Mary and Harper and Ruth say? She could just imagine. He stepped closer to the fire, and she turned to face him, aware of the isolation of the cabin. She shouldn’t have come. What had she been thinking?
Suddenly—she didn’t know how—she was in his arms and he was holding her close. She knew she should pull away, but somehow she couldn’t make the effort to move.
“This is crazy,” he murmured, but he didn’t try to break the embrace. Stroking her hair gently, he said softly, “I was thinking a
bout the look on your face today when you found me at the stream.”
She held him tightly, feeling a spurt of alarm. “Jay, what was that all about? Everyone loses their temper at times, but the incident today was more than a simple fit of anger.”
“Gamey O’Keefe.”
“Jay,” she complained, “we’re not going to start that again!”
“All right, don’t believe me,” he said, apparently willing to let it go for now. “What brings you out this time of night?”
Sighing, she rested her head on his shoulder, absently fingering the woolen fabric of his shirt. She felt surreal, as if being in his arms was a dream—one she didn’t want to awaken from. “If it’s true, why can’t I see him? After all, I own the mine. If he wants to frighten someone, why not frighten me?”
She didn’t want to talk about the ghost, but Jay seemed determined to have his say. He lowered his face in her hair, whispering. “Maybe he doesn’t like to provoke beautiful women.”
Her eyes drifted closed as she relished his nearness. It felt so right to be in his arms—he was so right for her. Why couldn’t he see that? “Does he say why he appears only to you?”
“Of course not; he wants me to believe that he’s a ghost, but I don’t. What I believe is that he’s been sent here to convince me that someone will never let us work the mine. Once you leave, they’ll move in and stake a claim.”
She held him tightly, wanting desperately to believe him, even though the thought of someone trying to trick her out of the mine was distressing. If this … man truly did exist, her future looked dim indeed.
She’d had enough talk of the mine and ghosts for tonight. The gold was important, but she had something else on her mind. Tilting her head back, she looked deeply into his eyes. “Do you ever think of me?”
He shifted. “What kind of question is that? We were talking about ghosts.”
“But we’re not now. We’re talking about you … and me… .” She smiled up at him. “Do you ever think of me?” Some days she thought of nothing but him.
“I’m thinking of you right now.”
“Then you feel the attraction too?” She was both relieved and frightened by the revelation. If he felt the same magnetic pull that continually drew her, there might be hope… .
“Yes, I feel it,” he admitted. His voice dropped to a low, husky timbre. “I don’t want this to happen, Patience. I’m wrong for you.”
“Why are you so afraid of your feelings?” she asked. She wasn’t afraid of hers. She raced to embrace them.
“I don’t want to fall in love again, Patience. I have nothing to offer a woman.”
She gazed up at him, aware of how hard he was fighting the way he felt. “Don’t you think that’s for the woman to decide?”
“No, it’s what I’ve decided, and I don’t want to complicate matters between me and you. You’re young, beautiful, alive. You need a man who will match your spirit, not an ex-gambler who can’t pay off his debt.”
“I’ve found that man.”
“You’re young and impressionable, Patience. You know nothing about me.”
“Then tell me about you, Jay Longer. What are these thoughts you find so frightening?”
“They’re foolish thoughts, and I’m a fool for thinking them.”
“There’s nothing foolish about you,” she assured him.
He hesitated and then said softly, “At night, before I drift off, I find myself wondering why you like sweet potatoes so much—or questioning your love affair with pickle sandwiches.”
Laughing, she contentedly nestled deeper against the solid wall of his chest. He smelled of woodsmoke and mountain air. “I was expecting to hear something a little more romantic.”
“That wasn’t romantic enough?”
“No. Try again.”
“I’m not very good with romance.” He held her closer. “What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me what’s in your heart.”
“I can’t … not now, Patience. Maybe never—”
She laid her finger across his lips. “Then tell me the sort of things a man might say to a woman when he loves her so much he can think of nothing else.”
His mouth moved to the nape of her neck, lingering hesitantly. “If I were to say such things, let alone think them, I would be twice a fool,” he confessed.
Eyes drifting shut, Patience held him close. The fire crackled, swathing them in a warm cocoon. “Then tell me what is in your heart.”
“I wonder how you make your hair smell so good, or why your eyes turn the color of warm honey when you smile,” he whispered. His breath fell softly upon her ear.
“Hey! There you are!”
Wilson’s voice jerked them back to sanity. Patience had not heard the door open.
The boy stood in the doorway, holding his cat. “What’re you doing?”
Springing away, Patience tidied her hair, disappointed, but knowing the interruption was for the best. What must Jay Longer think of her, throwing herself at him like this? Her cheeks flamed. “It’s late.” She hurriedly tied the scarf around her hair. “I have to go.”
Brushing past Jay, Patience pointed Wilson back out the doorway. “What are you doing out at this hour of the night?”
On the way back to the dugout, Patience walked so fast Wilson struggled to keep up.
“P?”
“What?”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No, of course not. What makes you think so?”
“The way you’re walking, like Moses when she’s working on a temper fit.”
Patience stopped so abruptly, Wilson bumped into her. “I do not walk like Moses.”
“Well, when she’s upset about something, she steps out fast, like that. You upset about something, P?”
“No, Wilson. I am not upset about anything.”
She had behaved in a way she would have trouble explaining to her friends back in Denver City. Going to a man’s cabin this time of night with her hair down and throwing herself at him like a common hussy. She could only pray the others would never learn of her bold behavior. And then to have Wilson walk in on them …
She walked slower now, letting Wilson keep up with her.
“P?”
“Yes?”
“Did Jay decide to marry us?”
“He didn’t say anything about it.”
Wilson sighed. “Well, I wish he’d hurry up. Then he could move in with us instead of staying in that cabin.”
Patience’s face burned. “I’m not sure he wants us.”
Wilson stopped dead still. “Not want us? Of course he does. I’ll talk to him.”
Patience stopped, goaded beyond endurance. “You listen to me, Wilson. If you ever talk to Jay Longer again about marrying me, I’ll … I’ll …”
“You’ll what?” he asked, interested.
“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.”
They walked on in silence, with Patience remembering the natural feel of Jay’s arms around her. Whether he admitted it or not, they belonged together. Somehow she had to convince him of that. Not Wilson.
Chapter Twenty-One
Early the next morning, on his way to fetch Moses and the shady ladies, Jay decided to drop by Fiddle Creek and see if the old whittler Chappy was around.
The air was fragrant with the scent of pines, the sky a pearl gray, the scattering of fluffy clouds touched with peach glow from the searching rays of the as-yet-unseen sun. Jay paused to enjoy the scene. Seemed like he had learned to appreciate the mountains. The cold didn’t bother him the way it used to.
He thought of Patience, the way she had felt in his arms last night, the scent of her hair. The man who won her would be lucky. He turned his face resolutely toward Fiddle Creek. He’d give all he owned if he could be the one. Realizing the turn of his thoughts, he laughed bitterly.
All he owned? A horse and saddle? Not much to offer a woman. A rich man he wasn’t, and unlikely to become one. One thi
ng he could do for her: find out who was behind the problems at the mine.
He rounded a stand of scrub pine and jerked to a halt. Down the trail a ways stood the “ghost” of the Mule Head in earnest conversation with a tall, burly man with a bushy black beard and clothes as disreputable as Jay’s had been when he was in disguise.
Jay was too far away to hear what they were saying, but the big man was doing most of the talking. Gamey’s ghost didn’t seem all that happy, and Jay got the impression they might be disagreeing about something.
The two men separated and Jay felt torn, but he decided to follow the bigger man. The old miner was probably going back to the mine, using a different entrance than the main one by the dugout. But Jay lost the man he was following because he didn’t want to get close enough to be seen.
In Fiddle Creek he bought two cups of coffee and carried them outside to where Chappy had already taken his post outside the mercantile.
“Thankee.” Chappy took the hot coffee. “What brings you to town so early?”
“Wanted to talk to you.”
Chappy’s expression didn’t change. “About what?”
“About a man—tall, broad shoulders, black beard, wears an old battered hat and a shirt that used to be blue and gray, far as I can tell.”
Chappy took a drink of coffee. “Silas Tucker.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Worst claim jumper in these parts. Supposed to have a nose for gold. Thinks there’s a mother lode in the Mule Head.”
“Mother lode?”
“Yep. Don’t know if it’s so or not, but Tucker thinks it is.”
Jay nodded. “Tell me about a little old miner who is pretending to be the ghost of Gamey O’Keefe.”
Chappy grinned reluctantly. “Frank Innis. Tucker’s paying him to be the ghost. Promised him a cut of the gold if he can run the woman off. Frank ain’t up to working much anymore. Was a good one in his day, but got stove-up in a cave-in a few years back. You’ve seen him?”
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