The Bride of Willow Creek

by Maggie Osborne

  Molly laughed and looked toward the door when Lucy and Daisy skipped inside. “I’ve been waiting for you two. If we’re going to finish that project we talked about, we need to do it today since Mr. Johnson and I are leaving tomorrow morning.”

  Angie’s heart wrenched in her chest. “Oh Molly. How will I manage without you?”

  “Abby, Tilly, and Dorothy have promised to keep you so busy, you won’t notice I’m gone.”

  “I’ll notice,” Angie said softly. Before they both got teary, she stood and carried their coffee cups to the sink. “What project are you and the girls working on?”

  “We can’t tell,” Lucy said quickly.

  “It’s a surprise.” Every cell in Daisy’s face and body betrayed that she wanted to tell Angie in the worst way. “I could give you a hint. . . .”

  “No,” Lucy and Molly said in unison.

  After they went next door to Molly’s house, Angie washed the dishes and cleaned up her kitchen, thinking about Molly’s advice and about everything she’d considered last night.

  There was no way around it. She had to believe in Sam’s plan and believe that it would be successful. Truly she had no choice. But the bottom line was what she had said to Molly. How Sam handled his life and his daughters was none of her affair. He’d as good as said so. Heart aching, she went looking for him.

  Sam saw her coming. She was heading toward Hugo Mueller’s wagon wearing that tight-lipped fizzy look that hadn’t yet boded well for him. He tossed the last of the bandstand lumber into the bed of the wagon, then took off his hat and wiped a sleeve across his brow before he walked forward.

  “We have to talk, Sam.”

  “I know.” She was beautiful when she was dressed to go out, but he found her the most desirable as she was now. Wearing a damp apron over an everyday dress, tendrils of reddish brown hair loose around her cheeks, her face flushed. Her lips were full and naturally rosy, an invitation to kisses, and her dark eyes flashed up at him in a way that made his stomach tighten.

  “You’re busy now, and I promised to help the women wash the dishes from the party. When will you have a few minutes?”

  “Tonight. After the girls are in bed. By then, I should have something definite to tell you.”

  “Well, I can say what I have to say right now.” She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders, then looked him in the eyes. “I apologize for the things I said last night.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “I don’t have a say. Lucy and Daisy are your daughters, not mine. I forget that sometimes, but last night you made it painfully obvious. Accepting help or not is your decision to make. It’s your choice whether you lose them or not.”

  She pressed her lips together and lifted her chin. Then she turned on her heel and marched off to help carry the tubs of dirty dishes into Tilly Morgan’s house.

  Sam rubbed a hand across his mouth and watched her go, admiring the provocative sway of her hips and the way she carried her head, tall and proud. But he hated what she’d said.

  If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never understand her.

  Thirty minutes later, he headed down to the stable and saddled his horse.

  Marcus Applebee was already waiting at the L&D when Sam arrived. Sam tied Old Brown to a tree and watched Marcus climb out of the main shaft, then he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked forward.

  “What do you think?”

  Marcus knocked his hat against his thigh, shaking the dust off, then nodded. “It’s high-grade, all right. The assays came back on both drifts at well over five hundred dollars a ton.”

  That was as good as any mine in the district. “Then you’re interested?”

  Reaching into his jacket, Marcus pulled out a box of cigars, offered one to Sam. “My group would be willing to lend you some development money.”

  “I’m not looking for a loan.” He didn’t have time to develop the L&D. “I need an outright sale.”

  Marcus waved out a match and puffed. “At this point, you don’t have much to sell. The drifts are just barely deep enough to show that at least one vein is likely ongoing.” He slid a look at Sam. “But that vein could peter out in the next six feet. And you haven’t dug far enough on either drift to know if there are other branches. Anyone who buys this mine is buying a wish and a hope. Not much else.”

  “Most of the mines around here are producing three hundred sixty dollars a ton,” Sam said stubbornly. But he knew he wasn’t negotiating from a position of strength. “I know in my gut that the L&D is going to be one of the richest producers in the area.”

  “Could be.” Marcus turned to look out over the valley, his gaze following the train. “But I need more than your gut to justify buying blind. If my group buys the L&D, Sam, we’re buying a pig in a poke. Right now nobody knows what’s down there. Like I said, the vein could end in another few feet.”

  “Or you could hit a rich vug. Or the vein could have more branches than a willow.”

  “If you really believe that, then it’s a mistake to sell.” Marcus arched an eyebrow in Sam’s direction. “You know that. You should beg, borrow, or steal the money to extend the drifts you’ve started and sink a half dozen more. Proving the promise is worth several hundred thousand dollars. You’ll have something to sell.”

  “Like you said. I know that.”

  “Sam, we’ve been friends for several years. Keep your mine and develop it. I’ll loan you whatever you need. Hell, I’ll give you whatever you need. I’d rather do that than see you throw away a possible fortune.”

  He held the smoke on his tongue then slowly exhaled. Some would say there was a thin line between honor and stupidity, and maybe they were right. But he was in no position to take on debt, and his pride wouldn’t accept the charity of a gift. He needed to do right by his daughter and by the spirit of the agreement he’d entered into. That was the only way he could justify Laura’s trust, the only way he could believe he deserved his daughters.

  “I truly believe the L&D will be a rich producer,” he said at length. “But I suppose I could be wrong. I could spend thirty thousand dollars of borrowed money and come up dry. But it’s a moot point, Marcus. I don’t have the time to develop the L&D even if I had the money and an ironclad guarantee of hitting the jackpot.” He pulled back his shoulders and focused on the ash growing on his cigar. “So. What’s your best offer?”

  “Damn it, Sam.” They smoked in silence for a good five minutes, listening to the distant booms of dynamite and the train’s whistle. “The best I can justify for a potential dry hole is five thousand dollars.”

  Disappointment bit the back of Sam’s throat. Five thousand was a far cry from Cannady Johnson’s windfall. But Can’s mine had been developed enough for a buyer to know what he was buying.

  “What kind of royalty?”

  Marcus shrugged. “Two percent.”

  “Make it six.”

  “The syndicate will never agree to six percent.”

  “Why not? Six percent of nothing isn’t going to hurt your group. And that’s what you think you’re buying. Nothing. I know you, Marcus. If you believed I had something here, you’d pay for it. Five thousand tells me you believe you’re buying a hole in the ground and not much else.”

  In Marcus’s mind, the five thousand was the same as a gift, and that irked him. Marcus Applebee wasn’t seeing what Sam saw in the L&D. Then again, why the hell would he?

  After a minute Marcus thrust out his hand to shake on the deal. “Five thousand up front and six percent royalty.” He grinned. “If you’re right and the mine comes in, your six percent is going to be the sweetest deal this district has seen. You’ll be wealthy.”

  Sam gripped his hand. “I’ll send Marsh Collins to your office to draw up the papers. How soon can I get the money?”

  “It’s a straightforward deal. Unless the lawyers tangle it up, I’d say you should have your money in a few days. Let’s go to town and I’ll buy you a drink.” They walked toward the hors
es. “Either you just signed off a fortune for a pittance, or you palmed off a dry hole for a tidy piece of change.”

  Either way, now he had the money to keep his promises.

  For the first time in a long while Sam was home to eat supper with his family, but it wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience. Angie didn’t say two words, and his daughters squirmed and pushed at their supper without eating much. Finally Lucy wiped a napkin across her mouth and asked if they could go.

  When Angie didn’t correct her as Sam expected, he said, “You know you’re supposed to say, May I be excused from the table.”

  Lucy rolled her eyes, impatient to run out the door. “May we be excused from the table, please?”

  “That’s better. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

  “Mrs. Molly is waiting for us,” Daisy said, sliding out of her chair.

  “I want you home before dark.”

  Lucy and Daisy exchanged a conspiratorial glance. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  With the girls out the door and Angie not looking at him or speaking, the silence in the kitchen began to feel oppressive. Sam put down his napkin. “I guess you’re mad at me.”

  “I was. I’m not anymore.” Standing, she took the girls’ plates to the pan in the sink. “Like I said, what you do is your own affair. I’ve already apologized for losing sight of that.”

  Sam listened to the weariness in her voice and studied the slump of her shoulders as she scraped the girls’ plates. He would have preferred to see a flash of that Italian temper.

  “The reason I didn’t want to explain my plan is because I didn’t know how it would work out.”

  “For a while I wondered if there really was a plan,” she said without turning around. “Then I thought about it, and I know you wouldn’t mention a plan if there wasn’t one.” She lifted her head and gazed out of the kitchen window. “You didn’t tell me because your plan is none of my business.”

  Oh Lord. Standing, he started toward her, but the door flew open and Lucy and Daisy danced inside, sparkling with excitement. Their timing couldn’t have been worse.

  “Can’t you come inside quietly?” Irritated, he changed direction and closed the door which they had left standing open to the flies and bugs. “Must you slam, bang, and run?”

  They ignored him. At a nod from Lucy, Daisy skipped to Angie and tugged at her sleeve. To Sam’s eye, it seemed that she dipped and lurched more tonight. “You have to sit down and close your eyes,” she said excitedly.

  “Whatever it is,” Angie said in that tired, defeated voice, “can it wait until I wash up the dishes?”

  Both girls turned stricken gazes toward Sam.

  He cleared his throat. “Angie? Could you . . . ?”

  “Three against one,” she murmured. Then she flung down the utensils with a jarring clatter and wiped her hands on her apron. “All right. What is it you want me to do?”

  Daisy took her hand and tugged her toward the table. “Sit here.” When Angie was settled, not looking any too happy, Daisy gave Lucy a sparkling look. “Now close your eyes.”

  Frowning, Sam leaned against the sink, arms folded over his chest, wondering what this was about. Then Lucy came forward and he saw what she placed on the table in front of Angie. The irritation ran out of his chest like water out of the pump.

  “Open your eyes,” Lucy said, watching Angie’s face.

  “What . . . oh!”

  Angie’s hands flew to her mouth and tears sprang in her eyes. She looked at both girls, then carefully picked up the mended cup and saucer, holding them as if they might shatter in her hands. The glued cup would never be strong enough to use again, and a piece was missing near the handle, but her mother’s cup and saucer had been returned to her.

  “When . . . but how. . . ?” After cautiously placing the cup and saucer back on the table, Angie lifted the hem of her apron and wiped her eyes. “Oh my.”

  Daisy leaned against Angie’s lap, smiling up at her. “I saved the pieces and Mrs. Molly helped Lucy put them back together again.”

  “I wanted to tell about it!” Suddenly Lucy went shy, looking at the floor. “I know it isn’t good as new, but . . .” Now tears appeared in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. Angie, I’m so sorry. Mrs. Molly says the cup isn’t strong enough to use, but you can still look at your mama’s cup and saucer.”

  “Oh honey, thank you. Both of you.” Opening her arms, Angie pulled the girls close in a tight, tearful embrace. “This is the nicest thing anyone ever did for me.”

  After a few minutes, Sam slipped out the door and sat on the stoop. He could hear them talking inside. Angie admiring the repairs, the girls relating every detail of gluing the cup and saucer and planning their surprise.

  His daughters loved her. He’d seen that tonight, and he’d heard the love in their voices.

  God help him, he loved her, too.

  Chapter 19

  “It was such a wonderful thing to do,” Angie murmured, a hitch in her voice.

  They stood outside in the darkness beside the clothesline pole, looking back at the house. Daisy’s lamp stood in the sink, illuminating the mended cup and saucer on the sill.

  “Are you warm enough?” Sam asked. At this altitude, the nights were always chilly, even at the end of August. But tonight an especially cold wind ruffled the edges of Angie’s shawl. The wavering glow of the lamp in the window reached far enough that he could see her hand clutching the shawl close to her throat, but her face remained in shadow.

  “I’ll go inside in a minute. After you’ve said whatever you brought me out here to say.” A gust of wind fluttered the curtains at the kitchen window. “I put a couple of small stones in the cup so the wind won’t blow it off the sill.”

  “Angie, I need to tell you about my plan. What I’ve done.”

  She edged away from his hand on her arm. “That isn’t necessary.”

  “Damn it, don’t do this.” The wind picked up, swirling cold dust around his boots. Sam didn’t want to return to the house. He felt certain the girls were asleep, but just in case they weren’t . . . “Come inside my tent, will you?”

  Her fingers tightened on the folds of the shawl and he suspected she was remembering the last time they had been together in his tent, just as he did. Whatever that memory meant to her, it didn’t extend to this moment. Her resistence was as tangible as his desire to hold her close to his body. “I only want to talk to you.”

  The faint light from the window slid across the gold band on her finger. She made a small sound, then slipped past him and walked toward his tent. “All right, Sam. But only for a minute.”

  Inside, he lit the lantern, then waved a hand toward his cot. “You sit there, I’ll take the camp stool.”

  “You sit on the cot. I’ll be more comfortable on the stool.”

  “Whatever you want,” he said.

  She sat down, arranged her skirts around her, and folded her hands in her lap before she looked at him. “Will this take long? It really is cold tonight.” A gust of wind bowed the wall of his tent, died away, then came again. “Plus I’m tired, and I’d like to go to . . .” Pink stained her cheeks, and she waved a hand as if brushing something away. “Say what you want to say.”

  “I should have explained what I was planning, I guess I know that. I intended to, then we heard about Cannady’s good fortune and I knew I wasn’t going to come anywhere near his jackpot. By that time I’d already contacted Marcus Applebee and asked him to have one of his people assay the ore from the L&D. I didn’t put off telling you because it was none of your business, Angie. Whatever happens here is your business.” The lantern light shone directly on her face and for a moment he was distracted by her beauty. How had he ever walked away from her? And how could he let her go again? “Damn it, I feel like I’m towering over you.”

  He sat on the ground, leaned his back against the cot and rested his hands on his upraised knees. The wind blew a stream of cold air beneath the tent, and not for
the first time Sam wished things were different between them and that he wasn’t sleeping alone in a tent while she was sleeping alone in the house.

  Angie frowned. “What does Marcus Applebee have to do with anything? Why would you ask him to have your ore assayed?”

  Speaking quietly, he told her what he had done.

  “Oh Sam.” She stared at him. “You sold your mine? For only five thousand dollars?”

  Only five thousand dollars. “And a six percent royalty.” Now that the deal was done, doubt crept into his mind. As sure as he was sitting here, he’d never see a dime’s worth of royalty. But he was enough of a dreamer that it gave him something to hope on, however remote.

  “You believed in your claim. Couldn’t you have done like Cannady and borrowed enough money to—”

  Holding up a hand, he cut her off. “No, Angie. That would be too much of a risk. If things went wrong, I’d end up saddled with debt, and you’d never get your divorce.” The word hung between them. When she didn’t say anything, he bit the inside of his cheek, thought about that bastard Peter De Groot, and went on. “This way, there’s money for Daisy’s operation, the divorce, and enough left that I can move the girls out of Willow Creek. Denver is booming; there should be plenty of work. I plan to speak to Can about building his mansion.”

  “You’ve worked so hard on that claim.” She looked genuinely upset. “It was your dream.”

  He met her eyes. “I’ve thought about this. I’m never going to be the kind of success that would have impressed your father, and that’s what the dream was. You were right. I’ve wasted ten years trying to prove something to your father.”

  He pushed a hand through his hair, thinking what a fool he had been. Instead of focusing on what he loved, instead of using the years to build his construction business, he had drifted from mining camp to mining camp, tramping the mountainsides in search of an easy jackpot to impress her father. He doubted five thousand dollars would have changed her father’s opinion.

  “Do you know what galls me most?” He stared at her. “I didn’t stick up for myself that night.”