Sweeten the Swindler

by Adams, Dallis

  David hadn't wanted to move to the farm. Turned out that neither of them had been adequate farmers.

  After two years of working the farm, both he and David had decided they weren't cut out for the work. While Jake had been a restless soul, anxious to travel and to experience new places, David had been the creative one in the family since he enjoyed drawing and coming up with better equipment built for safety and convenience.

  So they'd sold the land and had split the profit. David had settled in the nearby town of Magia, California, which was about two hundred miles north of San Francisco, to open up a toolmaking and repair shop. Jake moved from town to town, picking up temporary jobs along the way, enjoying the life of a vagabond.

  Shortly after leaving the farm, he'd received a telegraph from David, asking if Jake would be interested in a new miner hat venture. To Jake's everlasting regret, he'd declined.

  When a miner told David that a major cause of death for miners was fire from the miner caps was when he became interested in designing a new protective hat. Prototypes got miners excited, which was what captured the attention of Geary Pasley. David had been only interested in new designs and way too trusting to discuss his ideas with anybody interested. He hadn't had a deceitful bone in his body.

  "Look what last night's storm blew in."

  Theo Caper's voice brought Jake out of his grim memories. He turned to see the acrobat and animal trainer grinning at him as he held out his hand.

  "Nice to see you again, Jake," Theo said in greeting. A tiny brown and black dog sat next to Theo's booted foot.

  "Likewise," he responded.

  Theo gestured to the dog. "Jake, meet Attila. Attila, this is Jake."

  "Why Atti—"

  Before Jake could finish his question, the four-pound canine grabbed hold of Jake's pant leg and pulled with all its might.

  "As you can see, Attila's courage is bigger than his size. He can intimidate dogs three times his weight. I thought the name appropriate."

  "I can see that." The mighty Attila the Hun. Jake tried to gently shake off the dog, but he feared he would accidentally hurt the tiny mutt. As it was, he felt like a fool just watching the small tyrant growl as it tugged as Theo did nothing but stand there and laugh.

  "What happened to your other trick dog?" Jake asked in a surly tone as he glared at Attila. "The one with a spot over the left eye?"

  "Oh, you mean Bandit? I gave him to my niece."

  A ripping sound rented the air. Jake grimaced, still not willing to anything that could injure the small beastie. "Would you get your infernal dog off me?"

  "And deny me my entertainment? Alright, alright," Theo replied with his hands in the air at Jake's fierce scowl. He withdrew a small bag from his cape pocket and held it out. He started swinging the pouch from side to side next to the unruly dog. The canine suddenly let loose of the fabric and looked at its master, tongue hanging out slightly to the side of its mouth as he watched. Then Theo began to hum as he drew an invisible pattern in the air, and saying a chant. At the same time the terrier began to spin like a top.

  "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;

  Give Jake your full trust.

  When the bells chime

  Three and a half times

  Attila will pretend to be lame

  Until Jake says your true name."

  Theo withdrew two tiny bells. He flicked his wrist. They rang once, twice, thrice. Then halfway through the fourth ring Theo cupped his other hand around the bells, causing the sound to cut off abruptly.

  Immediately, the dog stopped spinning. Then the animal held up its right paw and released a low moan.

  Jake stared at the dog in bemusement. "That's it? I can trust the mutt to keep up the performance?"

  "Yes, sir. Just don't say his real name until you want him to recover miraculously. And if the chant starts to wear off, just say asculta."

  The mutt took a step, the limp pronounced as it yelped.

  Jake frowned. "What does that mean?"

  "Obey. Or hearken."

  Asculta. He would have to say the word in privacy to the dog, which might be a nuisance. Otherwise, he would have to explain why he knew a Romanian word. "What was in that pouch?"

  "Do you really want to know?" Theo countered. "You don't believe in Gypsy magic, which only works for Gypsies. You're a Gadjo."

  "Knock it off, Theo. You don't have to put on a show for me." He knew Theo enjoyed theatrics, which was suddenly annoying to him right now. "Is the dog really hurting?"

  "No. Well, maybe a little bit. More than anything the mutt— as you call him—wants human attention and sympathy. This is what drives him to stick with his fake injury the most. Pick him up, but take care to not jostle the leg he's holding up."

  Jake paid his friend. As he followed Theo's instructions by gently picking up the terrier, he asked, "What should I call him?"

  "Did you listen to the chant I said? Call him anything but his true name, like the chant dictated."

  "You know I don't believe any of that mumbo-jumbo. So don't use your parlor tricks on me."

  Theo chuckled. "No, just on the dog."

  Jake knew the routine worked because Theo had trained the dog. But the gypsy liked to pretend it was magic. So Jake rolled his eyes and turned toward the small canine who let out another whimper. "Mutt. Come."

  Attila limped two feet toward Jake and then stopped to cry again.

  With a sigh, Jake carefully picked up Attila and gently held him while he mounted his horse, and then headed back toward Blessings, hoping against hope the dog would behave.

  Chapter Three

  "So? How was your honeymoon?" Maxine asked Araceli Arroyo Santiago as she sat at a bench table across from her at the Forty-Niner Cafe. A customer opened the front door, bringing with him a cool gust of fall wind along with a few multicolored leaves.

  As she waited for Araceli to chew and swallow her bite of pie, she glance at the painting that hung on the wall next to them— one that Araceli had created earlier in the year. The theme of the painting was mining. The oil painting showed men in a cave with their Pasley Miner's Hats lit, pickaxes in hand.

  By gazing at the oil painting, Maxine could imagine the miners at work, with the dust in the air, the lights on the hats making halos around them—the carbide covered lighting making their work safer. A sense of peace and satisfaction that she was a part of Uncle Geary's shop washed over her. Not to mention the pride that burst through her over Uncle Geary's selfless work to not only design the hats, but to set up the factory and provide work for people in town.

  "My honeymoon was maravillosa," Araceli replied, clasping her hands together. Then she picked up her fork to take another bite of the apple pie they were sharing. "You better help me with this delicious pie or else I'm going to eat it all."

  Complying by retrieving her own fork, Maxine tasted the bitter apple mixed with sweet filling and sighed over the combination.

  "Good, no?" Araceli smacked her lips.

  "Always," she replied with a nod before setting her fork aside. She studied the roses in her friend's glowing cheeks, the sparks that lit the backs of her eyes. "By the happy grin on your face, I assume maravillosa means something better than just muy bien, which is one of the few Spanish phrases I know. Dare I make a guess that it means marvelous?"

  Araceli laughed. "Ah, yes, we need to continue your Spanish lessons."

  "Sí." Hoping to say that she missed Araceli, she said haltingly, "Te perdí mucho."

  The corners of Araceli's mouth curved upward. She pressed them together. But the humor still danced in her lively dark eyes.

  Maxine gave her head a wry shake. "Alright, tell me. What did I just say?"

  "You said you lost me very much. I'm sure you meant to say, te extrañé mucho."

  "Sí," Maxine replied with a giggle. "See? I need you. Three months is a long time to be without mi buena amiga, Araceli." She grimaced. "I'm giving up this stilted conversation for now ... at least until we resume our less
ons. So tell me, did Miguel have the quality time he's always wanted with his dad?"

  "Oh, yes. It was as if father and son had never been apart. And his papá even taught him how to make Saltillo tile. We brought several tiles with us so that we can add some Mexican flair to our casa."

  Maxine knew Araceli mixed in the Spanish words for Maxine's benefit, helping her to learn more vocabulary.

  "I heard you have an admirer," Araceli said after taking another bite of apple pie.

  She groaned. "Don't remind me. Now that you aren't available anymore, he's been pestering me."

  Araceli's puzzled look cleared. "Oh, you think I'm referring to Bart Frister? No, I was referring to the tall, handsome stranger who works for Whisper Railroad. Jake Stark."

  She frowned. "What? You've only been back for two days. How do you know about him?"

  "Oh, let's see," Araceli replied, holding up a thumb. "Number one, I heard from Roxie that the man is ooh-la-la, and can't seem to take his eyes off you."

  Roxie Boone. Thank goodness she was off today from her waitress job there at the Forty-Niner. Otherwise, she'd be gushing about Jake Stark right along with Araceli.

  "Number two," Araceli continued, holding up her forefinger, "is from Atherton, who said Jake perked up when he saw you in the street yesterday, so much so that Atherton felt obliged to introduce him to you." She held out her middle finger as she continued to count. "Number three, Coco had a vision of the two of you abrazando ... embracing. Besando con las bocas abiertas."

  Maxine groaned and threw her head back in exasperation before straightening. "Do I even want to know what that means?"

  "Open-mouthed kisses," Araceli supplied for her with a grin, ignoring the sarcasm in Maxine's tone. "Coco said that in her dream there was no mistaking that you were enamorada, in love. And you know that Coco's premonitions come true." Araceli gave her an expectant look before picking up her fork to get another bite of their shared pie slice.

  Dear Coco Monet. Yes, she did know Coco's premonitions were right on the mark. Although Coco didn't always predict life-altering events, the ones she did predict had so far come true. But were her predictions just a coincidence? Something that could be explained away? Personally, Maxine didn't believe in hocus-pocus. But Maxine would never say so because she adored Coco, and so did the other ladies in town. If she voiced her doubts, she feared she would crush Coco's delicate feelings. Coco had confided in her that for years she'd kept her so-called predictions to herself because she feared ridicule and censure.

  Last year Coco had predicted record snows, which had happened. But Maxine's granny had been able to predict storms, too, because her tooth would ache just before a storm, probably because of the pressure in the air. And supposedly two years ago, Coco had foreseen that Paul Leon would come into a sizable inheritance from a distant cousin. Which had happened, giving Paul money for the start-up costs to have the funds to build, furnish and supply the Forty-Niner Cafe. But what if she'd heard Paul talking about his successful elderly cousin and simply didn't remember. Because Maxine realized that Coco believed with all her heart in her so-called abilities.

  Too, last spring Coco had dreamed that the four-year-old Martin boy would fall into an abandoned well, and she'd been able to direct the sheriff to the well's location. That prediction was harder to discount. The boy visited Coco's millinery shop with his mother. Maybe the boy talked about the Smith's abandoned water well and somehow the location had stuck in Coco's mind. Maxine would be more apt to believe in Coco's innate ability to associate events than to see into the future.

  But this? Predicting Maxine would fall for someone she suspected was an experienced swindler? One who already made her mind mush, and her toes to curl? Which was just because he was different than the other men in Blessings. She might have a knee-jerk reaction to him initially, but that would soon wear off, the more she got used to him being around. Too, she couldn't really see him falling for her. She was just a small-town girl ... a homebody. He was ... well, too worldly.

  To her, love was a two-way street. And she couldn't imagine a man who exuded such confidence, such overwhelming power in every move he made to fall in love with someone like her. With her, what you saw it what you got. With Jake? What you saw was probably not what you got. She knew she was making rash judgments but she couldn't help it.

  "Well?" Araceli asked after taking another bite of the slice of apple pie they shared. "Are you going to accept your fate and let love for Jake Stark sweep you away?"

  Maxine shifted on the Forty-Niner's wooden chair and then realized she was squirming. She stopped being a ninny. Instead, she studied her friend who was so blessed as to find her perfect husband. Now that was what Maxine called love. The pair was so well matched that many times they could finish each other's sentences. Oh, they had their arguments. But that only fueled their passion for each other. But she couldn't imagine the same for herself so she ignored Araceli's question. "Araceli?"

  Her friend lowered her fork down on the dish. "Yes?"

  She sighed as she remembered when she'd seen the newlyweds together earlier. How Miguel tenderly kissed Araceli before leaving her to do his errands while the two friends visited over tea and pie. "You know how thrilled I am that you and Miguel found each other. There is not another couple that I can think of who matches and compliments each other more than the two of you. You and Miguel are soul mates. Destined together for all eternity. A match made in heaven. Two comets jettisoning off into the sky spreading sparkling beauty throughout the night. Souls lit on fire that—"

  "Maxine! Ya Basta! Enough already! Do I detect a 'but' coming at the end of all that match-made-in-heaven flattery?"

  She gave Araceli a sheepish smile. "But I don't think my soul mate is out there— at least, not yet. Coco might have predicted this ... this stranger and I would have sparks together, but now that I'm warned, I can be on guard. Make sure it doesn't happen."

  "Why would you even want to fight your destiny? This might be your last chance at true love."

  "Because I simply don't trust Jake Stark."

  "Why not?"

  "For one thing, I have a funny feeling about this so-called Whisper Railroad."

  "Why?"

  She knew she had no proof, and that she sounded paranoid. But she said it anyway. "I have doubts that the company is legitimate."

  Araceli fiddled with her fork, her expression pensive. "Why do you say that?"

  "Call it intuition. And Jake Stark ... well, I don't trust him either."

  "Why?" Araceli asked again.

  "He's— he's too much."

  With precise movements, Araceli carefully put down her fork and then drew her perfectly-shaped artisan's brows downward. "What do you mean?"

  She tried to put her wariness in words. "His ... eyes seem too ... dangerous in the way they seem to scope the town ... and me. The manner in which he moves is almost panther-like. He's all sleek muscle with that economy of motion he's got going on." She glanced at her friend.

  Eyes round, mouth slightly open, Araceli gaped at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted beaver whiskers. Maxine's cheeks burned. Subconsciously, she rubbed her palms against her skirts. "To put it simply, I don't know if I can handle such a man."

  "Amiga, you are loco en la cabeza. Crazy in the head." She put her finger up near her temple to make circles in the air. "Most women would love a man who proposes such a delicious challenge."

  "Not me. Give me somebody safe."

  "Safe? Then you should allow Bart Frister to court you."

  "Ugh." Maxine shook her head. "No. Not him."

  "Ike Wall?"

  She pictured the wiry, angular miner who obviously didn't like to take baths, given his body odor. "Not him either."

  "Worley Bodman?"

  "Heaven help me," Maxine muttered, thinking of her uncle's supervisor who liked his food a little too much, evidenced by his round belly. "There isn't anybody in my file of acquaintances that excites me."

  "You're forg
etting Jake Stark."

  He excited her, alright. The man caused a deep churning in her gut. Made her feel breathless, like her bustle was too tight, unable to take a proper breath. Evoked a deep sense of vulnerability that shook her to her very soul. "Nope. I've yet to meet my destiny."

  Araceli cocked her head, studying her in a way that made her want to fidget again. Her friend had an uncanny way to see inside a person's heart. And Araceli meant well, but she wasn't always right. Besides, nobody knew Jake Stark. He was a virtual stranger. Albeit a good-looking, fascinating stranger.

  Maxine finished the last bite of pie and then set down her fork and folded her napkin. Just as she did so the door to the cafe opened and in walked Miguel.

  "Ah, there's my love," Araceli said, mimicking Maxine's routine of preparing to leave. "Our time is up for now. I must get home. We're still unpacking. And Paul Leon has already asked for another painting."

  "So you'll be busy. Too busy for our monthly women's club meeting at Coco's?"

  Araceli laughed. "Never too busy for that. Or for giving you Spanish lessons."

  Maxine smiled with relief. She hadn't been certain how Araceli's marriage would affect her free time. Now Araceli had new responsibilities. That she was able to keep up with her friendships just showed how much Miguel loved his wife. "Good. Get settled in and then we can decide the best time to continue the lessons."

  Araceli patted Maxine's shoulder. "Yes, we will make time for your Spanish lessons."

  After hugging Araceli, Maxine watched the newlyweds walk toward their oxbow wagon. Miguel kissed Araceli before gently grasping her waist to assist her onto the seat. Then he climbed aboard and they were off.

  Maxine was crossing Main Street toward Pasley Miner's Hats when, to her dismay, she saw the object of their discussion, Jake Stark, as he rode into town on his sleek-looking bay horse.

  Chapter Four