by Cox, Carol
Red hesitated only a moment, then scraped his chair back and stood facing her. “I’ve traveled halfway around the world, and I’ve met precious few people willing to take that kind of chance on me.” His hand enveloped hers in a tight grip. “You won’t lose out on this, Lass. I promise. This strike will bring in enough to set us up for the rest of our days, wait and see.”
six
A flicker of doubt smote Jenny. Had she just made the blunder of a lifetime? She searched Red’s eyes and found reassurance there. He was older and his appearance more grizzled, but in many ways he reminded her of Elizabeth’s husband, Michael. She knew her trust hadn’t been misplaced.
And if the promised wealth of the mine didn’t materialize? It didn’t matter. The Pueblo would continue to bring in money, and if she lost every cent of this investment, so be it. Some things were worth more than money. Friendship was one of them.
The door swung open behind her, and she turned to see Evan step inside. She shot a quick glance at Red, hoping he would understand her unspoken plea to keep their agreement just between the two of them.
“It’s a quiet evening,” she said, waving at the empty tables. “Any idea where all our customers have gone?”
“I do indeed.” Evan let out a sharp bark of laughter. “A fistfight broke out between a couple of freighters, Maddox and Stewart. Half the men in town are standing on the sidelines, waiting to see how it turns out.”
He grinned at Jenny’s obvious concern. “Don’t worry. The way Stewart is looking, the whole thing will be over in a matter of moments and you’ll be deluged with hungry customers. And I haven’t done so badly for myself, either.”
“What do you mean?” Jenny had started for the kitchen to prepare for the onslaught, but Evan’s last words brought her to a halt.
He slicked back his hair with both hands. “Anytime a match is even enough that the outcome is in doubt, men will be willing to bet their last dollar on the result. My job is to make sure as much of that loose cash as possible flows from their pockets into mine.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I covered a good many of the bets that were placed this afternoon.” Evan wore a self-satisfied expression. “But I backed Maddox, not Stewart. I once saw him hit a stubborn ox and bring it to its knees.”
He lifted one eyebrow at Jenny. “And what’s behind that disapproving schoolmarm expression that’s just settled on your face?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
Jenny pressed her lips together and chose not to answer.
“Don’t look so glum,” Evan said. “I’m going back now to collect the profits of an afternoon well spent. Give me a little time to console the losers and send them this way. You’ll have enough trade come through the door to make the cash box ring.”
Jenny watched him stroll back outside, trying to control her temper.
“Are you all right, Lass?”
She spun around at the sound of Red’s quiet voice. “I’m fine,” she told him, hoping the smile she pasted on her lips looked sincere. Not for the world would she admit she’d been so distraught by Evan’s revelation she’d forgotten her friend’s presence.
Red stepped toward her, sharp lines of concern etched on his forehead. “You wouldn’t be giving me a little blarney of your own, would you now? A few minutes ago, I saw trust and confidence in your eyes.” He shook his head slowly. “It isn’t there now.”
“I’m just thinking ahead, trying to plan how to meet the demands of a herd of hungry customers arriving all at once.” Her laugh didn’t ring true, even to her own ears.
She hurried toward the kitchen, but Red held up his hand to stop her.
“I know you’re busy, and I’ll only be taking a moment more of your time.” He paused and wet his lips. “I don’t know what’s happened to put such doubt about people in that sweet head of yours, but I want you to know there’s someone else you can trust and talk to when I’m not around.”
Jenny gave him a puzzled look. “Who are you talking about?”
“God.”
Oh, no. Not you, too. She forced a bright smile to her lips and headed toward the kitchen door. “Trying to figure out how I’m going to cook, clean, and take orders from this mob all at the same time, I just wish I had someone I could trust enough to come in and do some odd jobs for me.” The door swung shut behind her, cutting off Red’s reply.
Jenny leaned her elbows on the counter and pressed her knuckles against her forehead. First Elizabeth, now Red. She cared for both of them and counted them as friends, something that didn’t come easily for her. In every way, she had found them worthy of her trust.
If only they could be content to be her friends without having to bring God into it! She had already endured enough of Elizabeth’s heartfelt pleading and assurances of God’s love. Now Red had gotten into the act.
Who would have dreamed the feisty miner was of the same bent as Elizabeth and Michael? Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised, though. He had the same steady look, the same calm assurance.
An assurance that could never be hers. She cupped her face in her palms, surprised to find her cheeks damp with unbidden tears. She dashed them away with the backs of her hands. Why couldn’t her friends enjoy the benefits of their faith without having to emphasize the difference between them and her? Bad enough that her life had been torn apart by forces beyond her control. She didn’t need to be reminded of the existence of a love she could never hope to share.
She slid a pan of biscuits into the oven, glad she had made an extra large batch that afternoon. From what Evan said, business ought to be booming in just a few minutes.
Evan. She heard his rumbling chuckle again, as though he stood beside her in the kitchen. So he found her distaste for gambling amusing? The unwanted tears stung her eyes again and she blinked them back. Let him laugh! She had seen enough of that vice in the dim cavern of the Nugget Saloon to last her a lifetime.
Faro, monte, poker—she’d watched grim-faced men playing all of them, seen the way the lure of unearned riches drew them farther and farther into its web. She checked the biscuits, trying to shake off her black mood. How had only a month at the Nugget made such a deep impression on her?
Was it there the seeds of distrust planted by her disrepu-table guardian took root? She didn’t know and didn’t care to ponder the matter. As she had told Red, some memories were better left alone.
But the question kept niggling at her. Had she become so hardened she was now incapable of giving her trust to anyone? Surely not. Look at Michael and Elizabeth. They had won her unqualified devotion two years before, and she considered them her dearest friends.
And then there was Red. Although she’d known him only a short time, something about him inspired the same kind of confidence.
And whom do you trust besides those three, Jenny Davis? She brushed the bothersome thought aside. Getting the restaurant set up and running had consumed her every waking moment. She hadn’t gotten to know many people in Tucson yet. When the time was right, she would make more friends.
What about Evan? Surely their business partnership counted for something. She wouldn’t have pulled up stakes and come to an unknown part of the territory with someone undependable, would she? His penchant for gambling aside, Evan had proven himself an astute businessman. She had made a good choice with him, as well.
There. Four people on her list of those she trusted didn’t seem quite so bleak. Maybe she was making more progress than she’d thought.
And maybe someday she’d find someone she could believe in as wholeheartedly as Elizabeth trusted Michael. Red’s company helped fill the void she felt without the O’Roarkes close at hand, and Jenny felt grateful for that.
Still, it would be nice to have a special someone in her life. Someone she could share her dreams and innermost thoughts with. Someone who could make her feel protected and safe.
She checked the biscuits one more time and pulled them from the oven. Could Evan possibly be the one
? Jenny closed her eyes and tried to picture him in that role. The face that swam before her eyes, though, didn’t belong to Evan Townsend.
Instead, she saw a rugged face, a firm jaw. Sandy hair she longed to smooth back with her fingertips. . .keen blue eyes that stared at her with an intensity that left her breathless. . .
The face she saw all too often in her dreams. The face of a man she’d never even spoken to: the stranger from Prescott.
Even though she had caught only a fleeting glimpse of him before he strode out of Elizabeth’s restaurant, his features had been imprinted on her memory. She traced her finger along the countertop. Could he possibly be as wonderful as he had seemed from that one fleeting glance?
Her finger bumped the hot pan of biscuits, jolting her out of her reverie. She popped the wounded digit into her mouth, glad to have something to distract her attention from her daydream. Her finger throbbed, but she didn’t mind the pain.
She deserved to be caught up short. It wasn’t like her to allow her guard to drop like that. The stinging reminder served her right.
Of course he wouldn’t be as wonderful as her imagination had played him up to be. She had built him up into some kind of fanciful hero based on nothing but fragments of an overheard conversation. Men like that didn’t really exist. Not for her, at least.
The front door banged back against the wall, and footsteps clattered into the dining room. Jenny cast a practiced glance around the kitchen to make sure everything was ready and went out to greet her guests. It sounded like Evan’s predicted crowd of diners had arrived at last.
❧
Another morning, another day’s worth of chores. Jenny carried the last of the breakfast dishes back to the kitchen and added them to the stack on the counter. She pressed her hands against the small of her back and twisted this way and that, trying to loosen the kinks in her muscles.
Evan was right. She couldn’t keep on doing everything on her own much longer.
“Where are you, Lass?” The familiar voice echoed in the dining room.
“I’ll be right with you, Red.” She wiped a stray smear of gravy off her fingers and hurried out, smiling at the surge of pleasure she felt at the prospect of her friend’s company.
She pushed open the swinging door and stopped short when she saw Red standing with his arm draped across the shoulders of a small boy.
“What’s this? Or, rather, who is this?” She softened the abrupt question with a smile and leaned down to extend her hand to the lad.
“Meet Manuel, Jenny. Manuel Ochoa, to be exact. He’s the answer to your problems.”
The dark-haired boy bowed over her hand with grave solemnity. “Buenos dias, Señorita.” Then he looked up and a bright grin lit his face. “Good morning. You see? I speak English. I learn from some of the American storekeepers.”
Jenny’s own smile widened in response. “Good morning, Manuel. I’m pleased to meet you.” She straightened and looked at Red, puzzled. “Now what’s this about Manuel being the answer to my problems?”
Red’s grin matched Manuel’s for brilliance. “You said last night you needed someone to do odd jobs. Well, I found him for you.”
Jenny felt her forehead pucker and tried to keep her smile from fading. “Red, could I talk to you for a moment?” She gestured to a spot across the room. “Excuse us, Manuel.”
She led the way to a corner of the dining room and turned so her back was toward the boy. “What’s going on?” she asked in a low tone. “I meant someone who could clean the tables and floors and maybe help take orders. He’s just a little boy.”
Red’s left eyelid lowered in a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t you be worrying about that now. I’ve known Manuel since he was just a wee tyke. He’s a fine lad and a hardworking one. He’ll do a grand job for you.”
“But he can’t be more than eight or nine,” Jenny protested.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Red gestured toward the middle of the room, where Manuel stood.
“I don’t believe I’m letting you talk me into this,” Jenny muttered.
“You trust me, Lass, remember?”
“I did up to now,” she retorted, then strode back to the boy. “Manuel, how old are you? I must have someone who’ll be able to do hard work.”
“I am eleven.” The youngster puffed out his chest and stood tall. “My cousin Rafael is bigger than me, and he is only ten. But he is perezoso, Señorita Davis. Lazy,” he translated. “I will work hard for you.”
“But I’ll need someone to be here most of the day,” Jenny said in a gentle tone. “What about school?”
The light in Manuel’s eyes dimmed, but he kept the smile determinedly in place. “I do not go to school. My mother needs me to help bring in more money to care for the rest of my family.”
“What about your father?”
The boy lifted his chin. “He is muerto. Dead. I am the man of the family now.”
“He was helping to put up a building,” Red whispered behind her. “The wall collapsed and landed on top of him.”
Jenny looked down at the stoic little face and felt tears pool along her lower lids. She knew all too well the havoc wrought in a life when death tore a family asunder.
She knelt down to put herself on the boy’s level. “Very well, Manuel. You’re hired.”
seven
“I think the dining room is ready for this evening, Señorita Davis. Would you like to come and check before you leave for the afternoon?” Manuel stood straight and proud in the soft white shirt and dark trousers Jenny had given him to replace his cast-off clothing.
“I’ll be right with you.” Jenny spread a cloth over the pies she just had pulled out of the oven and followed her hired helper.
A quick survey of the room assured her all was in order. Every inch of the floor had been swept clean. Cups and silverware sat neatly at each place, ready to welcome their evening guests.
And she hadn’t had to lift a finger. Jenny grinned at the thought that she would be able to leave for her siesta a good hour earlier than usual.
“Hiring you was one of the best business decisions I’ve made so far,” she said as she walked back to check her dinner preparations once more.
“I told you I would be a hard worker.” Manuel followed her into the kitchen and pinched off a bit of piecrust with an impudent grin. “Like you. You work very hard. Too hard, I think.”
Jenny leaned against the counter and sighed. Did all the men in her life have to be obsessed with her workload? Even the little ones?
“I’m not working nearly as hard since you came,” she reminded him.
“But still very hard.” Manuel focused his gaze on a spot on the ceiling and went on in a voice oozing innocence. “I heard Señor Townsend talking to you about getting someone else to do the cooking.”
Jenny thought back to her talk with Evan. They had been speaking in low voices in the kitchen at the time, with Manuel puttering about on the other side of the swinging door. So much for a private conversation. She shouldn’t be surprised, though. She had already learned that Manuel had the ears of a cat. Nothing escaped his notice. “Not necessarily to take over all the cooking,” she hedged. “Just to help me out a bit.”
“My mother is a fine cook. She could be a great help.” The boy looked directly at Jenny now, his face glowing with pride.
“Uh, Manuel, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” At the sight of his crestfallen expression, she hastened to add, “I’m sure she’s a very fine cook. But I’m looking for someone I can teach to cook the way I do. Your mother probably wouldn’t want to change the way she does things.”
The glow returned. “Oh, no. She would be very happy to have you teach her. She says you must be a good woman to give me a job like this. She will be honored to learn from you, just like me.”
How did we go from “she would” to “she will” in just a sentence? Manuel had been a pleasure to work with, a joy to have around. But sharing the kitchen with a grown woman
who already had years of cooking experience?
“I will bring her with me in the morning so you can meet her. You will like her very much.”
“But then who will care for the rest of your family?”
“My sister Angelita, she helps with the younger ones.”
Jenny sighed again, accepting the inevitable. “All right, Manuel. In the morning.”
“Bueno!” He scampered to the door, ready to dash home and share his good news. He paused for a moment to call back over his shoulder, “And you can teach her English, too!”
Jenny stared at the boy’s retreating back. She hadn’t even thought about having to surmount a difference in language. Could she instruct someone in meal preparation using only hand gestures?
Another consideration came to mind: From what she’d learned from Manuel in the short time he’d been there, she had pieced together the story of the Ochoa family’s meager existence after Mr. Ochoa’s death. Manuel’s mother needed all the help anyone could give her.
Elizabeth had helped Jenny when she was in dire straits. This could be Jenny’s opportunity to rescue someone else, to be the one helping rather than the one in need for a change.
At any rate, thanks to Manuel, it seemed she had already committed herself.
Jenny Davis, what have you gotten yourself into?
❧
“This is my mother. Her name is Jacinta Ochoa. She is very glad to be here.” Manuel wore a formal expression as he made the introductions and indicated the quiet woman at his side.
His mother gave Jenny a shy smile.
Jenny took in the woman’s smooth complexion and slender figure. Too slender. Manuel had been eating some of his meals at the restaurant. She made a mental note to be sure Jacinta got her share of food, too. And she could send extra food home with the two of them at the end of each day. Tell them it was part of their pay, perhaps.
She smiled and tried not to let her misgivings show. “I’m happy to meet you, Jacinta. Would you like to see the kitchen now?”