Patience

by Lori Copeland

  “You were saying?” Jay prompted.

  What had she been saying?

  “I asked if you were doing okay, and you said—”

  “About to say I was, but that isn’t the truth,” Patience admitted. She didn’t know how he’d feel about her confiding in him, but she had to talk to someone. Even an enemy was better than no one.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I can’t find anyone to work the mine; but then, you know that, don’t you?”

  To his credit, his tone held a note of humility. “I don’t stick my nose in other people’s business, Miss Smith.”

  “If I have to call you Jay, you have to call me Patience. Smith’s just a name they gave me at the orphanage. I didn’t know my last name. None of us did, except Mary; her last name is Everly.”

  His expression softened. “Does it bother you, not knowing your last name or who your folks were?”

  “Some,” she admitted. “I’d like to have known my parents, but then, I guess who you are isn’t as important as what you are. I try to live in such a way that no matter who my folks were, they wouldn’t be ashamed of me.” He looked stricken. She had touched a nerve somewhere. Best leave the subject. “Please, call me Patience.”

  That would be hard for him, she knew. Patience was too personal, and the last thing he wanted was to get too personal. She had known that from the moment she’d set eyes on him.

  “You do know why no one will help me, don’t you?” she asked.

  “I know why.” His gaze fixed on a distance point, and she could see his jaw firm.

  She sighed. “Well, you did warn me the mine was haunted.”

  “That I did.”

  “But you also said you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

  “I don’t, but everyone else does. That’s the problem.”

  Gazing at the mountain, she said softly, “I’m in trouble, Jay. I’ve been everywhere, tried everything, and I can’t find one single person willing to work for me. You know what happened in Silver Plume. The Chinamen just laughed at me. Even they had heard of the Mule Head.”

  A wry smile touched the corners of his mouth.

  “Then I got this bright idea to ask the townswomen to work in the mine.”

  His grin widened, and she figured he’d heard about that too.

  “They thought I was crazy. I didn’t know women were considered bad luck in a mine.” Sighing, she leaned back, staring at the moon darting in and out of clouds. “Guess I shouldn’t be burdening you, but I don’t know who else to talk to—Wilson’s tired of hearing about my problems. The old prospector’s food supply won’t last forever. I have to get that mine operating.”

  When he didn’t respond, she glanced sideways, silently praying that he wasn’t laughing at her. That would greatly upset her. “What would you do?” she asked.

  “Me?” He laughed. “You’re asking the wrong person.”

  She cocked a brow in disbelief. Since when was he shy about offering his opinion? He’d been pretty verbal before—now she really needed some common sense. “You’ve worked in mines, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve staked claim to several, but as you can see, my success has been limited.”

  “Perhaps you’re too modest.”

  “Perhaps I’ve been skunked one too many times.”

  “But you know a lot about mining.”

  “Not a lot.”

  “But some—you know what needs to be done.”

  He looked away. “I know enough to recognize when it has me whipped.”

  “Feathers—nonsense,” she amended quickly. Their eyes met briefly in the moonlight. “You’re not the kind of man who gives up easily. You’ve nearly driven me crazy ordering me back to Denver City. I cannot imagine that something like a little old mine would intimidate you.”

  “No disrespect intended, but you couldn’t know that.”

  “I am an excellent judge of character.”

  He found that amusing. “Trust me. You’re wrong about this one.”

  “Why don’t you work the mine for me?” He was strong, capable, and knew about mining. “I’ll hire you to run the mine. You can operate it any way you see fit.”

  “I’m afraid not. I am gainfully employed—sheriff of Denver City. That’s my home and I like it that way.”

  She had seen no indication that he had a permanent home—here or in Denver City. He seemed more like a man who hung his hat on a different peg every night.

  “I could make you rich.”

  “Rich,” he scoffed. “That notion’s for fools and dreamers. Not interested. I appreciate the offer and I regret your circumstances, but I’d be of no use to you.” He pulled his threadbare jacket closer around him. “We need to go; wind’s coming up stronger.”

  Patience turned to face him. “I beg you to reconsider. You must have come here with a dream. Apparently, that dream hasn’t worked out. I’m offering you a second chance.”

  He looked down at her, and for one crazy moment she saw something akin to anticipation flash in his eyes; then it faded just as quickly.

  “Another chance, Jay Longer, to realize your dream.” She pointed to the mine. “Right now, the Mule Head’s got me whipped. I’m asking—no, I’m begging—you for help. You don’t believe in ghosts. You said so yourself. So that shouldn’t stop you. Work the mine for me. Half of whatever gold it yields will be yours.”

  “Miss Smith …”

  She lifted her hand. “My name is Patience, and I mean every word of what I’ve said. If you’ll supervise the work, half of whatever the mine yields is yours.”

  He turned away. “I don’t want your money.”

  “It wouldn’t matter if you did.” She took his chin and turned his face back to meet hers. “I’m desperate. See? My only hope to offer Mary, Lily, and Harper a future is buried in that shaft. The only chance Wilson and I have is that mine.”

  “The mine could be worthless. Most likely is,” he argued. “Will be, I can assure you, if I work it.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. We won’t know until we try. Think about it: more gold than you’ve ever dreamed about. Another chance. A fresh start. A probability to realize your dream.”

  For a moment, hope flickered in his eyes.

  “If you can’t find anyone to work the mine, what makes you think I can? I haven’t got the best record in this area. Other miners have seen me fail—not once, but several times. No one would take me seriously even if I attempt to run a crew.”

  Patience was relying on instinct now, but instinct told her she was on solid ground. “Because you’re a man who doesn’t want to give up his dream, and I believe in you.”

  “Believe in me?” he jeered. “Why would you believe in me? I’ve done nothing to deserve your confidence. Sorry, I can’t help you.” He turned and started to walk away.

  “Say you’ll think about it,” she called, refusing to give up. He could do it. She knew he could.

  “Sure, I’ll give it some thought.”

  “And you’ll let me know?”

  Lifting his hand aimlessly, he dismissed her. “Sure, sure, I’ll let you know.”

  Chapter Ten

  Snow drifted from the sky in thick, wet flakes, piling up onto the crude building Fiddle Creek called a hotel. The primitive structure, which sat on a hillside overlooking a deep ravine, was joined side by side, sharing a common wall with the other buildings. Elegant it wasn’t.

  Jay’s rented room was about the size of a clothes closet with one dirty window. A rough bedstead made of planks dominated the small space. A mattress and pillow stuffed with dried meadow grass discharged a rustling sound when lain upon. An old blanket, a washstand with a chipped bowl and a fragment of a mirror above it, and a bar of claybank soap topped off the dismal setting.

  Crawling off the bed, he reeled to the washstand. Fumbling for the tin pitcher, he dumped the contents over his head. Shuddering, he threw back his hair in an effort to minimize the icy jolt. Grabbing a towel, he buried his face in
the cloth, trying to block out the morning light.

  Catching his image in the mirror, he bent closer. A stranger stared back at him. Long dirty hair, matted beard, bags beneath his eyes. Not a pretty sight. Maybe it was time for the disguise to go. He hadn’t seen Mooney’s thugs around in a while.

  For no particular reason, Patience came to mind. If things had turned out differently, he might have fallen for a woman like her. She was pretty, smart, spirited. There wasn’t a woman in Fiddle Creek who could hold a candle to her.

  She had spunk. He used to like that. Nelly had spunk … and warmth and compassion. He’d seen the way Patience fought to assemble a crew. Even watched her become the laughingstock of Fiddle Creek. He’d turned his back on the unkind remarks, closed his ears when they ridiculed her perseverance, but he still admired her. Maybe a little too much.

  A smile creased the corners of his mouth. What a pair the two of them would make. She refused to give up; he gave up too easily.

  Pounding sounded at the door. Spinning around, he dropped the towel.

  “Open up, Longer! We know you’re in there!”

  Mooney’s thugs. Red and Luther. They’d caught up with him.

  Snatching his trousers off the hook, Jay hopped on one foot, trying to get them on, his eyes searching for his boots.

  “Longer!” The racket got louder. “Open up!”

  Jay dropped to his knees, frantically searching under the bed. Where were his boots?

  Grabbing his shirt off the chair, he yanked it on, all the while gravitating toward the window, hoping it wasn’t far to the ground.

  Lifting the window sash, he managed to throw a leg over the sill before the door splintered in half. Two beefy characters rushed into the room, snaring him by the shoulder before he could jump.

  “Not so fast, Sheriff!”

  They spun him around and a fist slammed into his stomach, then another. Red backhanded him across the face. His bottom lip split, and he tasted blood.

  A well-aimed kick found its mark, sending him sailing across the warped floor. Yanked back to his feet, he felt a meaty knuckle connect with his nose. A swift knee smashed to his groin, followed by a right hook to his chin.

  A left, then another fast right, and the floor came up to meet him. Sprawled flat on his back, Jay stared up at the double images floating above him.

  “Mooney’s gettin’ impatient,” a gravelly voice reminded.

  “Yeah, he wants his money.”

  A boot smashed into Jay’s rib cage, knocking the wind out of him. Rolling to his side, he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.

  “It ain’t nice not to own up to your debts.”

  “Yeah, it ain’t nice, Sheriff. How many times you got to be told that?”

  A sharp blow to Jay’s back sent an excruciating pain spiraling up his left shoulder.

  “This is your last warning. Either pay up, or you’re a dead man.”

  Turning, the two thugs stalked out of the room, slamming what was left of the door behind them.

  Shifting to his back, Jay squeezed his nostrils to stem the stream of blood gushing from his nose. He lay for a moment, trying to clear his head.

  As his vision gradually returned, he spotted his boots, crammed upside down on the bedposts. Nice, he thought. Now I find them.

  Patience answered the knock at the dugout door later that morning to discover the sheriff, hat in hand, standing there. For a moment she didn’t recognize the stranger before her. He was cleanly shaven, freshly bathed, his hair fresh cut, and he was wearing a new red flannel undershirt under a blue woolen shirt, jeans tucked into new leather boots, and a brand-new hat. Only the color of his hair remained the same—fiery red.

  Jay Longer had transformed himself back into one fine-looking, respectable-appearing man. The conversion nearly took Patience’s breath away.

  He also had a humdinger of a shiner, a deep slash across his right cheekbone, and a wad of cotton stuck up his right nostril.

  “Morning, P.”

  “What in the world happened to you?” Taking his arm, she pulled him into the dugout and shoved him into a chair. Grabbing a dish towel, she wet the end and went to work cleaning away the remnants of blood circling his cuts.

  He seemed awkward with her sympathetic clucking. His thoughts were as transparent as his wounds. It was bad enough she had to see him this way. It was bad enough he had to show up here at all, and he sure didn’t like her making a big fuss about it.

  She stepped back, planting her hands on her hips, frowning. “Have you been fighting?”

  “No, ma’am, I haven’t been fighting. Unfortunately, I never threw a punch.”

  Taking the towel out of her hand, he laid it aside. “Patience, I’ve come here to say something, and I’d appreciate it if you let me get it said.”

  Relaxing, she waited. “All right.”

  “This is no place for a good-looking, single woman. It isn’t safe. I’m surprised you haven’t had trouble before now.”

  Good-looking? He thought she was good-looking? Or was he just saying that to sweeten her up and bring her round to his way of thinking?

  She scowled at him. “Save your breath. I’m not leaving.”

  Jay sighed. “Please don’t be like that.”

  “Like what? Don’t you talk down to me.”

  “I’m not talking down; I’m talking sense. You can’t get a crew. These people are too superstitious to go down in that shaft. It’s not going to happen. You may be sitting on a fortune in gold, but it won’t do you any good if you can’t get at it.”

  “But I can get the gold if you’ll help me.”

  “Would you just listen? This is no place for either of us. Give it up, P. Let’s go back to Denver City. We’ll take Wilson with us. If you insist on staying here, you’ll just cause grief for both of you.”

  Patience sank down in a chair and stared at him, willing him to understand. “I can’t leave. It’s not that I want the money for myself. I have too many others depending on me. Lily isn’t robust. She’s not able to do heavy work. Harper’s black, and you know what that means. People treat her like she’s not a real person with feelings and needs. There’s no future for her. Mary is sickly, and Ruth and Glory are married, so I guess you wouldn’t say they’re dependent on me, but I’d help them if I could, and now there’s Wilson.”

  Jay shook his head in frustration. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

  “That’s what I said. I can’t.”

  “You won’t.”

  “I guess it means the same thing. Either way, I’m staying.”

  He sighed gustily. “All right. I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll give you two weeks to see if we can find a crew.”

  “We? You’ll help me?”

  “For two weeks only. If we don’t get a crew by then, you’ll go back to Denver City with no argument. Agreed?”

  She pursed her lips, staring at him. Two weeks wasn’t a lot of time. Still, it was more than she had expected. She held out her hand. “Agreed.”

  God would help them; she knew he would. He wouldn’t have brought her this far to abandon her now. She had no idea where they would find a crew. If they didn’t, she would have to keep her part of the agreement and go back to Denver City. In her heart, she refused to think of that possibility.

  “Then you will work the mine for me?”

  “I’ll run the crew for you.”

  “Oh, thank you so much!” He still had to find a crew willing to confront Gamey O’Keefe’s legend. Until the mail got started regularly, by the time she could get a letter to the others, she’d probably be on her way home with a trunk full of gold.

  “Run the crew,” he stressed. “I don’t intend to work in the mine. And you have to know, Patience. I lost my faith five years ago. God doesn’t figure into my life anymore, so don’t be spouting things like ‘God will take care of us’ or ‘God is good; he’ll provide,’ because he doesn’t provide and he’s got a strange way of showing his goodness. I
don’t want you to cram religion down my throat. Do we understand each another?”

  He had been deeply hurt, she realized. And he blamed God. But he hadn’t said that he didn’t believe in God. Somewhere in his tortured mind he must still have a seed of trust, or else why would he say, “He’s got a strange way of showing his goodness”? To admit that meant he still believed in God. And if that was the case, Jay needed healing, not censure.

  “Do we have an understanding about your faith?” he asked.

  She nodded, thinking they really didn’t, but she needed him on any terms. “What about a crew?”

  He looked away, his gaze rather sheepish, she thought. “I know where I can put one together.”

  “I’ve asked everyone,” she warned. “I even borrowed Chappy’s mule and rode to Silver Plume, but to no avail.”

  “I know all about that, but there’s one place you haven’t tried. There’s a female work camp over near Piety Hill. I think I can arrange to have the convicts work the mine.”

  “Women? Women are bad luck in a mine.” If she’d heard that once, she’d heard it a hundred times in the last week. Gamey’s perceived ghost and women would be a dicey match.

  He gave her a long-suffering look. “You really think our luck can get any worse?”

  She frowned. He had a point. “Who do you have in mind?”

  “Moses Malone. She and several other women were working a worthless claim over at Piety Hill before they were arrested for murder. Rumor has it they shot a couple of prospectors and jumped their claim. But they say they didn’t do it.”

  Patience swallowed, aware her eyes were as wide as doorjambs.

  “I can’t say for certain, but I think I can pull strings and get the women released to my custody during the day. If you don’t have any objections, I’ll talk to the warden this morning and see what I can arrange.”