Patience

by Lori Copeland

  He smiled at his own humor but sobered almost immediately. Was someone trying to run Patience away so they could claim the mine? Well, he was a sheriff, and investigating was part of the job. He’d do a little nosing around in Fiddle Creek. If there was something going on, he’d find out what, and he’d put a stop to it.

  Resting her elbows on the table, Patience laced her fingers together and gazed at Jay. Each day brought a new awareness of him.

  She knew the way he walked, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the sound of his now-familiar voice. Just having him near, sitting across the table from her, seemed so right. She hadn’t missed the way he looked at her either … and could it be possible that he liked what he saw? Shivers assailed her.

  “Thank you.”

  “For distracting the bear?” He shrugged. “Anyone would have done the same.”

  “No, for being you.”

  Avoiding her gaze, he handed her the bowl of dumplings. “Can’t say I’ve heard that recently.”

  Setting the bowl aside, she said, “Then I’ll say it again. Thank you for being you, Jay. Why do you find it so hard to accept a compliment?” She could see he was uncomfortable with the subject.

  He slathered butter on a steaming biscuit. “You have a lot to learn about men.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as, men don’t want compliments.”

  Her brows lifted. “They don’t?”

  “This one doesn’t.”

  “Nonsense. Everybody likes compliments.” She didn’t know one person who didn’t.

  “I don’t.” He took a bite of beans.

  “Really down on yourself, huh?” Picking up the bowl of dumplings, she spooned a helping onto her plate.

  “I’m not down on myself, and I wish you would quit implying that I am. From the moment we met, your eyes have accused me of being indifferent. What right do you have to accuse me of anything? I’m doing my job, minding my own business. That should be enough for anyone.”

  “You are indifferent to me.”

  “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Lowering his spoon, he leveled his gaze at her.

  Edging forward in her chair, she stared right back. “You are.”

  Jamming his spoon into the beans, he took another bite.

  She wasn’t going to let him avoid the subject this time. He was quite proficient at hiding his feelings. “Tell me why you don’t like yourself.”

  “Eat your supper.”

  “I’m eating.” She slid a spoonful of beans into her mouth, studying him. She was in a feisty mood tonight. “I know,” she ventured. “You hate yourself because of your red hair.”

  Glancing up, he caught her grinning.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? Rather be dead than red on the head.”

  Shaking his head, he reached for a second biscuit.

  “Yes, you hate your red hair. That’s clearly the reason you’re so down on yourself.” She picked up her cup and took a sip of coffee. “You’re downright embarrassed because of it. No one in your family other than old, fat Aunt Fanny has red hair, and you had to take after her.” She smothered a giggle, loving the way she could frustrate him so easily.

  The man patiently spread butter on a biscuit, appearing not the least frustrated. “I don’t have an old, fat Aunt Fanny. My mother had red hair. My sister Jenny has red hair. And the color of my hair has nothing to do with my character. It so happens that I like red hair.”

  “Mmmm, me too,” she mused. She hadn’t been all that fond of it before meeting Jay Longer, but now it was a favorite with her.

  His features sobered. “Wilson told me about your mother and father.”

  Patience nodded. “I’m told they were killed by a band of renegade Indians. Someone found me and took me to the orphanage.” She met his eyes across the table. “What about your parents?”

  She knew so little about the man she loved. And she did love Jay Longer. Each day brought a clearer—if not understanding, then complete acceptance, of that love. He didn’t love her. Goodness, he was terrified of her. But he would love her someday. He would someday.

  “Mother’s dead. Pop’s alive.”

  “Any brothers and sisters other than Jenny with the red hair?”

  “No, only Jenny. She’s married, with children of her own.”

  “Living where?”

  “Phoenix.”

  “Phoenix?” She racked her brain trying to recall American geography. “Where is Phoenix?”

  “Arizona Territory.”

  “You lived in Arizona? Isn’t that the place with all the cactus?”

  He nodded. “I lived in Phoenix most of my life.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  He shrugged. “I was young, wanted something different.”

  “So you came to Colorado? Then what?”

  He stared at his plate, and she thought he wasn’t going to answer. She waited, her eyes daring him to remain silent. Finally he spoke, slowly at first, then picking up speed.

  “I got married. We had a boy, and then both Nelly and the child got sick. You wonder why I don’t have any faith in God—I’ll tell you why. Nelly had strong ideas because of her religion. Wouldn’t have a doctor. She died. Brice too. I lost them both. God took them. He could have let them get well; Nelly believed he would. She prayed about it, but he let them die. I lost my faith in God the day I lost my wife and son. It changed me. After Nelly, I knew I’d never love another woman, and I knew I’d never trust God again.”

  He took a drink of coffee, lost in memory now. “After I lost Nelly and Brice, I wandered around for a while, settled in Denver City, and took the sheriff’s job. Got involved in gambling. Right now, Mooney Backus is hunting me to collect a debt I can’t pay. That’s the only reason I’ve stayed to help run the mine. I need the money.”

  Patience felt like he’d thrown cold water in her face. She’d been feeling sorry, wanting to take him in her arms and comfort him for his loss, only to learn he hadn’t stayed because of her. He didn’t care a thing about her. Why keep hoping for romance when obviously the man didn’t have a romantic bone in his body?

  Once a personal note was injected, he changed the subject. “There’s a square dance in Fiddle Creek tomorrow night.”

  “Really?” After what he’d told her, she wasn’t in the mood for a party. To him she was nothing more than a way to pay off a gambling debt. The thought hurt—not that he’d ever given her any indication he was romantically interested in her.

  “You should go,” he observed. “A young lady like you needs a social life.”

  Toying with her food, she wondered how he could tell her that he would never love another woman then callously ask her to attend a square dance with him. She shook her head, then casually observed, “It’s too cold to make the long walk.”

  “Would you pass the salt?”

  She absently handed him the shaker. “So the square dances are respectable?”

  “Far as I know they are.”

  Patience wondered. She had seen men dancing with each other in Silver Plume. She had also heard stories about Fiddle Creek men and how they made such a spectacle dancing with one another, half-drunk and shamelessly disorderly during their Saturday night forays. She didn’t want to go to a square dance with anyone other than Jay.

  Have you no pride? He just said he wasn’t interested in other women. Still, if he asked, what would it hurt to go? Enjoy his company for the evening?

  He handed the saltshaker back. “I’ll watch Wilson if you like.”

  She glanced up. “What?”

  “I’m not doing anything. I’ll watch Wilson for you.” When she glared at him, he clarified the offer. “While you go to the square dance.”

  Shoving back from the table, she stood up, her hackles rising. “You’re not going?”

  “Me?” He laughed. “I hate to squaredance.”

  “Then why did you ask me to go?”

  “
I didn’t ask you to go; I merely said you should go.”

  “Oh, really?”

  He looked back mulishly. “Really.”

  Picking up the bowl of dumplings, she heaved its contents at him. Dough and gravy hit him, sending him reeling backward on the stool. He wiped his eyes, nearly blinded, but he could see well enough to catch the gleam in her eyes. He cringed instinctively, halfway expecting to have the beans hurled at him too. She glared at him for a moment, then turned on her heel. Marching to the door, she jerked it open and slammed it shut on her way out.

  A minute or two passed before the door opened again, and Patience stuck her head around the corner. “You’re not coming after me?”

  He brushed dumplings off the front of his shirt. “Not on your life.” What kind of fool did she think he was?

  She slammed the door again.

  When a knock came at the door the following evening, Patience laid her sewing aside.

  “Want me to let Jay in?” Wilson asked.

  “Yes, and if he wants to talk to me, tell him I’m busy.”

  Wilson’s eyes appraised the cramped quarters. “Won’t he know I’m lying?”

  Crawling into her cot, Patience jerked the blanket over her head.

  Setting Jellybean aside, Wilson went to open the door. “Patience’s busy,” he relayed.

  Looking inside the dugout, Jay’s eyes traveled to the conspicuous hump in the middle of the cot. “I want to talk to her.”

  “She’s busy,” Wilson repeated.

  “Doing what?”

  His eyes gestured toward the cot. “She’s real busy, Jay. She can’t talk right now.”

  Stepping around the boy, Jay closed the door, holding his index finger to his lips. Tiptoeing to the cot, he lifted the corner of the blanket to reveal Patience’s head.

  She stared up at him.

  “You look busy.”

  “I’m asleep,” she murmured.

  “I can see that, and I hate to bother you, but the square dance starts at eight. It’s seven thirty now, and it’s a forty-five-minute walk to Fiddle Creek.”

  “So?” She jerked the cover back over her head.

  He lifted the corner again, and his gaze ran lazily over her. Goose bumps raced down her spine. “I had that coming, but let’s not argue. Let’s go to the square dance.”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to wear what you have on, or would you like to change?”

  “Please go, P.” Wilson held Jellybean in his arms, his face a mask of concern. “It’d be fun.”

  Nodding, Jay dropped the cover back into place. “Wilson, tell P I’ll wait outside.”

  “What about me?”

  “Guess you’d better get your dancing shoes on. We’re going dancing.”

  “Oh, boy!” Wilson dropped Jellybean and ran to grab his coat.

  Jay and Patience lagged behind Wilson. The boy carried the lantern despite a full moon overhead lighting the trail.

  “You look mighty fetching tonight,” Jay admitted, helping Patience descend a slippery slope.

  She knew he was only being nice. If only she had a pretty dress and shoes to wear—anything other than the prospector’s clothes. “I feel very foolish about throwing those dumplings at you.”

  “Why? I like dumplings.”

  Grinning shyly, she refused to look at him. “To eat—not to wear.”

  “Well, I was being insensitive. Forgive me?”

  Her smile widened. “You’re forgiven.”

  Without thinking, she slipped her hand into his. His warmth was reassuring. He might vow to never love another woman, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t love him. Secretly, down deep in her heart, where no one would ever know.

  The square dance had already begun when they arrived. The chandeliers above the dance hall burned brightly.

  Wilson spotted a few of his classmates sitting together on the sidelines and reluctantly went to join them.

  Offering Patience his arm, Jay led her to the floor, where the musicians were just beginning a new set of square dancing.

  The caller went to work.

  “Allemande left with the old left hand

  Honey by the right, then the right and left grand!”

  After bowing to one another, Patience took Jay’s hand, and he twirled her gracefully around. They moved across the room, passing each other twice before joining the other couples in a square.

  “Side couple turn their ladies;

  Ladies turn side couples.

  Gentlemen turn side couples,

  All hands round, back again.

  Pass on through and a do-si-do

  Like a chicken in the bread pan a-pickin’ out dough!”

  Laughing breathlessly, Patience collapsed into Jay’s arms at the end of the third square.

  Several men approached Patience, asking her if she would do them the honor of dancing the last dance with them. She refused graciously, waiting for Jay to ask her.

  He gripped her hand. “Let’s sit this one out. All right?”

  She nodded, relieved.

  He led her to a remote corner and then brought her a cup of punch. “Hello, belle of the ball,” he teased, fondly smiling down at her. The fabric of his shirt made his eyes look as blue as a field of cornflowers.

  “Thank you for bringing me tonight.” She gazed up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. “I’m having a wonderful time.”

  “Wilson seems to be enjoying himself. He and his school friends have emptied the punch bowl twice.”

  She laughed, thinking about the expert way he had guided her through the complicated squaredance formations. “Sheriff Longer, you’re good! Do you dance often?”

  He smiled. “Only when I have to.”

  She feigned amazement. “Other women have thrown dumplings in your face?”

  “I’m afraid they’ve thrown more than dumplings,” he confessed, “but none have had your charming persuasion. Besides, you make very good dumplings.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she made a face.

  The music slowed; the fiddle sang sweetly. She hummed along, remembering the words. “I love this song,” she confessed. “Do you know it?”

  “I’ve heard it.”

  Softly, she began to sing, “‘I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,’” only she substituted Jay for Jeanie, and red for light brown hair. Her gaze locked with his, willing him not to look away.

  In soft, whispery tones, she sang the words for his ears only, in a voice pure and sweet as a nightingale’s. Others around them faded away, and they were in a world of their own.

  That moment something changed between them. Patience could never be sure exactly what, but something changed. They both were aware of it.

  After the dance, Jay walked Patience and Wilson home. Wilson, yawning, promptly said good night and slipped inside. Jay said good night, then turned to walk back to his shack. Suddenly he spun around. “Patience?”

  She looked up expectantly. “Yes?”

  “I was wondering …” He hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “If it wouldn’t offend you, I’d like to kiss you good night.”

  “It wouldn’t offend me,” she returned softly. “Actually, I’ve been hoping you would.”

  “You were?”

  She nodded, smiling.

  They stood for a moment, neither one certain of what to do next.

  “Should I come to you?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Oh … no, of course not. I’ll come to you.” Approaching her, he tried to position himself properly.

  With darting, chicken-like neck gestures, they hemmed and hawed around a few moments, struggling to come to a meeting of the lips.

  When it finally happened, Patience felt a stab of disappointment. She’d not seen stars—or skyrockets. Nothing at all like that romantic novel she’d read.

  “See you in the morning,” Jay murmured.

  “Yes.” She smiled, trying to hide her frustration. Was it her? Sur
ely he could do better than that. “See you in the morning.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Moderation now seemed to be a thing of the past. Jay drove the shady ladies with a passion, working them long after the sun went down over the mountaintop. He suddenly had a will to live—and if he was to survive the gambling debt, he had to make the mine pay off.

  Only a minimal amount of gold was coming out, but Jay knew there was more, much more, buried deep within that black, abysmal creation called the Mule Head. Otherwise, whoever was trying to scare Patience away wouldn’t be setting up residence in the mine.

  Once or twice, he thought of telling her about his encounters with the “ghost,” but he never did. She didn’t need to know; the old man hadn’t shown himself to anyone but Jay—and wasn’t likely to. Jay figured the less Patience knew about the strange goings-on, the better.

  Unexpected floods, unexplainable fires, collapsing timbers, strange noises, and obnoxious belching sounds occurred in the mine on a routine basis now, but the shady ladies didn’t seem to mind.

  Jay was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery without alarming Patience and Wilson. If the mother lode was in the Mule Head, he was going to unearth it. He had taken the job to save his own neck; now he’d made up his mind to save Patience’s also.

  Moses approached him as he worked outside the mine one afternoon. “Man at assay office say no weigh gold for two weeks.”

  “Tell him we have to have it sooner.”

  “Told him.” She shook her head no.

  Jay paused, resting on the handle of his shovel. There wasn’t another assay office around for thirty miles. Consequently, the one in Fiddle Creek was running behind.

  Lifting his hat, he wiped the sweat off his forehead. If he had a choice, he’d do business elsewhere. Sage Whitaker was an ill-tempered old coot. Area miners were having to wait weeks to get their ore assessed, but Jay couldn’t wait weeks. Already the ladies were starting to complain about low wages.

  Smiling, Jay winked at the sober-faced woman, knowing she could arm wrestle a man out of his hide if she was pushed. “Why don’t you see if you can get Sage to cut us some slack?”

  Moses returned his look stoically. “Diplomacy?”