~~*~~
Alex breathed a sigh of relief the moment Travis Gold walked out the door. She wasn’t sure she could have put up with him much longer. His eyes were most likely brown, but in the dimly lit saloon they’d looked black.
And intense.
Way too intense.
Now, with him gone, weariness squeezed in on her. Had putting up a strong facade drained all her energy, or was it the jetlag still?
She turned when Denver let out a loud sigh. The resemblance was strong between them—both having dark hair and eyes—but Denver lacked his brother’s intensity. Denver seemed nice. And the apologetic look on his face made her wonder if he’d found his brother as difficult just then as she had.
‘Well, that was … intense.’ She huffed out a breath, trying to make light of the awkwardness.
‘Yeah, sorry about that. He’s not always so abrupt. I think he’s pretty upset about that filly.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he must be.’ She hesitated before allowing herself to ask the next question. ‘Although I did get the feeling he wasn’t too impressed about you being here in the saloon. It wouldn’t have had anything to do with me, would it?’
Denver shook his head as a deep frown appeared. ‘No, it’s just … he never liked me working on the saloon.’
‘Really? And why’s that?’
‘It goes back a long way … you see, the saloon used to belong to our family, and our Dad carried a real grudge about how we lost it. Travis, now he’s head of the household, well he’s kinda sensitive about it, too.’
‘Oh?’
Denver’s eyes darted back and forth for a moment before he continued. ‘Besides, he’s never been the same around women since his divorce.’ He shrugged his shoulders, and quirked a smile. ‘I probably shouldn’t have said that.’
She smiled warmly, hoping he’d continue. ‘I won’t let on that I know.’
His quirky smile softened, and he let out a sigh. ‘I don’t think he trusts many women anymore.’
‘Messy, I take it?’
‘Yeah, she ran off with a bull-rider.’
So, they had something in common—cheating spouses. Not exactly a great basis for a meaningful friendship, but it least she didn’t take his rudeness quite so personally now. ‘Someone he knew?’
‘Yeah, kinda.’
And that had to be worse. At least she hadn’t known her replacement.
‘Well, I’m glad you don’t think it was about me.’
Denver started to say something else, but gave her an uncomfortable smile instead. She wanted to ask him more about how the saloon’s ownership changed, but decided not to pressure him for further information. She’d ask the lawyer if he knew the saloon’s history. Or maybe the accountant would know. There was no point putting Denver off-side with too many questions, although there was one more she needed to ask.
‘Given the works have stopped, what were you doing in here today?’
Denver’s face lit up. ‘Ah,’ he said, holding up a finger in a wait just one moment gesture as he dashed back into the burned-out kitchen.
Alone now, Alex took the opportunity to look around the saloon. A fine layer of dust covered just about everything, but even with the dust, the room seemed to hold memories of better days. She reached out, and traced the well-worn edge of the bar with her fingertips, imagining people leaning up against this bar, in the days well before she was even born. She looked up, taking in the huge mirror across from her. The beautiful piece was set in an ornately-carved dark wooden frame. She leaned toward it, frowning, noticing damage in one corner, and wondering how it might be repaired.
Reaching down beside her, she pressed her hand onto a stool. She swept her hand over it, removing the dust to reveal rich burgundy leather, slick and shiny with years of wear. She sat for a moment, turning to take in the rest of the room. A large tarp in one corner covered what appeared to be a pool table; in the other was a small dance floor complete with another covered object that by its shape and location must surely be a juke box. Tables were scattered throughout the rest of the saloon, with chairs covered in the same leather as the bar stools.
She closed her eyes, letting her imagination take over, and could almost smell freshly cooked burgers and fries. She listened with her heart, allowing the tinkling of ice dropping into glasses, the laughter of patrons, and music from the jukebox surround her. She’d never been much of a bar-goer, yet this saloon didn’t feel like a stranger to her.
Then there were footsteps—was it customers going to and fro, buying drinks, heading to the pool table maybe, or to the dance floor?
Her eyes flew open at Denver’s voice. He’d stopped beside her with a tool belt in one hand and a sander in the other. ‘I’d left my tools behind. Hadn’t needed them until this morning, and then I remembered this was the last place I’d used them.’
It took her a moment to reorient herself, and then she smiled. ‘Oh, so you aren’t a full-time carpenter I take it?’
‘Not any more. I used to be, but when Dad got sick, Travis and I moved back home and I had to help running the place, so I only do a bit of carpentry work now—the odd bit on our properties, and for friends and that. This morning I was working on … I was doing some work at our place, and remembered this was where I’d left my sander.’
‘Oh, so if you’re not really doing carpentry work any longer, why did my uncle engage you to look after the saloon repairs?’ It seemed odd that her uncle would employ him if he wasn’t really doing that sort of work any longer; especially given the saloon was the basis of contention between them.
When Denver was slow to respond, she tilted her head, staring at him until he answered.
‘He didn’t really … his insurance company engaged a contractor, but Old Man Mason wasn’t happy with the quality of some of the work they’d done, so he asked me to oversee it—just check on the work from time to time and keep an eye on things.’
‘But if you were just overseeing it, why the sander?’
He shuffled his feet for a moment before answering. ‘I can’t help myself, you know? There was some work the boys weren’t doing right, so I just thought I’d touch it up.’
She smiled, appreciating his dedication. But it still didn’t answer why he’d even been asked to be involved. ‘But why you? Surely, there are other good carpenters in the area?’
‘Yeah, of course there are … but … well … Travis and I had made an offer to buy the saloon, so he knew we’d have a special interest in making sure the repairs were done properly.’
Alex stepped back, his unexpected admission surprising her. So, these brothers had put in an offer to buy the saloon—one that hadn’t been accepted. Perhaps that explained why Travis was still sensitive about it.
Regardless of the saloon’s history, she wasn’t going to let that be a factor in her decision making process. She liked the saloon—liked the feel of it—and was beginning to wonder if it mightn’t be worth hanging onto. And if that were the case, it might be an option to hang onto all the other properties as well. Maybe this wouldn’t be a sell-up-and-go-home exercise after all.
‘Right. Well, before we go can I have a quick look at the damage in the kitchen?’
Chapter 4
Alex was immediately invited into the dining room of Masons Hotel by an older man with a waistline that suggested the food they served must be excellent.
She ordered a Caesar salad and one of those brilliant iced-teas that the Americans were so good at, and sat watching the other patrons in the cheerful dining room.
When her lunch arrived she pulled out her phone, took a couple of photos, and emailed them to her sisters. It was still too early to ring—they’d probably still be sound asleep—but she put a caption on the email saying she was dining at their hotel, and followed it with a row of smiley faces.
When she finished her meal
she walked over to the register to pay, and the man who’d served her appeared straight away.
‘The salad was lovely, thank you,’ she said with a genuine smile.
‘I’m so glad you enjoyed it. We certainly aim to please our guests.’
‘Yes, well, about that … now might be a good time to introduce myself. I’m Alex Mason, Steven Mason’s great-niece—which actually makes me the owner now.’ She held out her hand, which he grasped in his larger one.
‘Alex, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sam Johnson, and lunch is on the house, of course.’
‘Oh, no, I’m more than happy to pay. The meal was lovely. I just wanted to introduce myself, given we’ll no doubt have plenty of dealings in the future.’
‘No, I insist. My treat. I’m just surprised I didn’t realise who you were. The family resemblance is rather strong.’
‘Thank you, Mr Johnson, but it really isn’t necessary.’
‘Just Sam, please, and I won’t be taking your money. Not this time, anyway.’
She smiled again. ‘Thank you, Sam. The hotel is lovely, and the flower boxes out the front are such a nice touch.’
He beamed at her words. ‘My wife does them. I’ll tell her you admired them—she’ll be tickled pink that you both noticed and mentioned them.’
‘She isn’t here today?’
‘No, she’s here on the weekends, but this time of year I can pretty much handle things without her during the week.’
‘Oh, so you don’t live on the premises?’
‘No, we have a night manager who lives here in exchange for being on call at odd hours.’
She quirked a brow. ‘I don’t suppose I could have a look around?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘How stupid of me. Of course you’d want to have a look. Follow me. We’ll have a quick look upstairs, and then I’ll show you the kitchen and back rooms.’
Sam led the way as they climbed the well-worn carpeted stairs up to the floor above. With each step the floorboards squeaked in protest, and Alex wondered just how many times they’d borne the weight of guests and workers over the years. She allowed her hand to trail along the carved wooden handrail, noting the grooves in sections where the wood must have been softer and more prone to wear. How many hands would have done exactly what she was doing now? The wood was as smooth as glass, much more so than any sandpaper could have made it.
When he reached the top of the landing Sam stopped for a moment to catch his breath.
Alex stopped on the step below him, and pointed to some old photos hanging on the wall beside her. ‘Do you know who the people are in the photos?’
‘I know most of them. This one here, this is David Mason, and his wife Sarah. And the two little chaps with them are your Uncle Steven and his brother, Joe. Now I’d say Joe must’ve been your grandfather, right?’
When he paused, and looked at her for acknowledgement, she nodded.
Then he continued. ‘The boys mustn’t have been more than six or seven in that photo.’
Alex leaned forward, studying the photo carefully. Being black and white meant she couldn’t tell if they all had the red hair that ran in her family, but she suspected they probably did.
Now she pointed to the photo just down from where she was standing. ‘And this photo, with the three men?’
‘Ah, that’s the three town founders—Thomas Mason, Mr James and Mr Gold. The tallest of the three men is Thomas Mason—I know that because there are a few more photos of him in some of the bedrooms.’
Alex stepped down to study the photo closely. It was like she was looking at a photo of her own father, the way he looked when she last saw him. The man was taller and more rugged than her father, but the family resemblance was strong—his sharp nose and deep-set eyes. She drew in a breath, suddenly missing her father. She hadn’t known him well, and regretted that now more than ever.
‘Would you like me to show you a couple of the bedrooms? I shouldn’t be away from the front desk for too long, in case anyone comes in.’
They had a quick look in the guest rooms—which were each different, yet lovely in their own way—with their individual balconies that overlooked the street. She’d probably enjoy staying in one herself, and that was a good sign. When she told Sam as much he beamed.
After they’d made their way back downstairs and had a quick look at the kitchen and said hello to the cook, Alex turned to say goodbye. ‘Thanks so much for the tour, Sam. It’s a beautiful old hotel and your presentation of it is top-notch, that’s for sure. Speaking of presentation, are there any repairs you need done? Anything you should let me know about?’
‘Not really. Things do come up from time to time, but there’s nothing at the moment. Besides, I fix what I can myself. I’m not bad with a screwdriver and a hammer when I need to be.’
‘Well, don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything I should be aware of.’
He walked her to the front door and Alex was about to leave when she thought to ask. ‘It seems awfully quiet for such a nice day. There have hardly been any cars in town.’
‘It is a bit quiet today, but it’s early in the year. Things pick up once the kids get out of school and families start going on vacation—that’s when we start to see more tourists. Plus the County Fair and the big Jumping Frog Jubilee over in Angels Camp is coming up in two weeks. We always get a bit of overflow then. It’ll make the town busy.’
She looked at him blankly. ‘Jumping Frog what?’
Amazement crossed his face. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of it?’
‘Uh, sorry, no, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ Was this some sort of gag they pulled on newcomers? Jumping frogs? Right up there with Australia’s legendary Drop Bears, no doubt.
‘It’s only the biggest weekend around here. People come from all over the country, and even Canada, to enter the Calaveras County Jumping Frog Jubilee. Not to mention the Frogtown Rodeo.’
Her forehead tightened involuntarily. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘Of course I am,’ he said, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. ‘Look it up on the internet if you don’t believe me. It started ages ago. Mark Twain wrote a story about it back in the eighteen-sixties, and it became an annual event sometime in the nineteen-twenties. We’re fully booked for the whole time, plus a couple days either side of it. And I expect it’ll stay a bit busier from then on.’
‘Well … I truly did not know.’
His face broke into a wide smile. ‘Well, now you do. And you can’t miss it. Even if frog jumping isn’t your thing, the rodeo is worth going to. Lucky you’ve got a place to stay as I doubt you’d find a room anywhere around here at the last minute.’
For a moment she didn’t know what he meant, and then it dawned on her. Her Uncle Steven’s home was hers now. She’d go have a look at it before she left town. She smiled at him and started to move to the door but could tell he wasn’t finished. ‘And?’ she prompted him.
‘And then there’s Denver Gold’s big thirtieth birthday bash next weekend. He’s throwing a huge party—live music, barbeque, and dancing. Lots of dancing. Everyone’s going. It’ll be a great way to meet everyone from town, and then some.’
Now it all made sense. Denver’s flirting, and asking her about rockabilly music. Perhaps he’d have invited her if Travis hadn’t interrupted them.
~~*~~
Staying in her uncle’s house—her house—hadn’t been something she’d contemplated. He hadn’t died in it, but from what the lawyer said he’d been rather unwell for several months in the lead up to his death which meant the house could be a horrible mess. And it had been locked up for several weeks now, which meant it probably smelled. She wrinkled her nose at the thought, and then made the short drive down Mason Street until she found the address.
She parked out the front and stoo
d gazing at the house with wide eyes.
When she’d been told she’d inherited his house, she’d imagined some sort of rustic cabin, or miner’s cottage. Old, like him, and probably in need of significant repairs. She’d expected an unkempt garden full of weeds, and perhaps a broken down car out the front.
However, what she found was the complete opposite.
The house was modern, constructed from a combination of corrugated metal and masonry walls, with huge windows all around. It seemed like it might have been specifically designed for the land it sat on, capturing the views across a wooded area to the hills in the distance. At the front it had a well-designed low maintenance garden, and there were no cars at all, let alone a broken down one.
Then it occurred to her that she could have gotten the address wrong. She double checked her notes and looked at the letterbox at the front. This was definitely the right address.
She walked past the house along the side street—Blue Gum Road—where she now saw the driveway leading to a garage at the back of the house. Just past the driveway was a huge hedge that separated the home from its neighbour. When she stopped to have a look at the neighbouring home, similar in style but larger, she wondered if both houses might have been built at the same time, by the same builder. Perhaps her uncle and the neighbour had gotten a better deal that way.
She made her way to the end of the street, noticing the rest of the homes were more in keeping with what she’d expected to find—modest homes, but older, some with nice gardens, some less loved, and yes, some with broken down cars in the front gardens.
Arriving back at her uncle’s house, she walked up to the door and dug out the keys the lawyer had given her. He’d said it would be fine if she went into any of the untenanted properties. They were, after all, hers now.
As she entered the house she found herself in a light filled entry hall that had a huge living room off to the right and what must be the master bedroom to the left. Further along, the entry hall led to an open plan kitchen and family area. She suspected there would be further bedrooms and utility rooms beyond that.
Discovering Gold Page 3