“Did you get washed?” Griffin growled.
“No, sir.”
“Wash your hands and comb your hair.” He turned toward the smaller enclosure, beyond the corral where he kept the stage teams. He’d put the palomino out there, along with a colt he’d taken in trade last summer.
“I could lead that spotted horse in for you.”
He looked askance at Justin, hardly knowing how to respond to an offer of help. “Whyn’t you take Mrs. Adams’s palomino? I’ll get the colt.”
“I thought that was the horse you just bought.”
“It is.” Griffin opened the gate to the small corral. The palomino walked placidly toward him, and the colt trotted over, swinging his head and snorting. “I bought it for a friend of mine, Hiram Dooley. He’s getting married soon, and he asked me to find a nice horse for his fiancée.”
“So… does the spotted one belong to you?”
“Yup.” Griffin clipped a lead rope to the palomino’s halter and placed the end in Justin’s hands. “Careful, now. Don’t let him step on you. Put him in the first stall on the right.”
The colt tried to duck past Griffin.
“Hold it, buster.” Griffin snagged his halter and pulled his head down. “There we go.” He hooked the snap on the end of the rope to a ring in the halter. “All right, mind your manners.” He walked on the colt’s left, holding back and downward on the rope, forcing the colt to walk beside him. This one had fire.
As he stepped inside the barn, Justin called, “Now what?”
“Hook the chain that’s hitched to the wall to his halter and unhook the rope.” Griffin took the colt into the stall next to the palomino’s. “I’ll get them some feed and roll the doors shut.”
Justin came out of the stall. “Want me to close the front door?”
“Thanks. That would be good.”
By the time he’d fed the two horses, Justin had both big doors closed.
“All right. Now we need to clean up.”
“That paint horse sure is pretty,” Justin said.
Griffin grunted and eyed the boy in the dim light. “He’s too young to ride yet.”
“Really? He’s big.”
“He’ll be two in the spring. I’ll start training him then. And until I do, I don’t want anyone messing with him, you understand?” “Yes, sir.”
Griffin relaxed a little. “Come on.” He opened the rear door just far enough to squeeze through, and he and Justin went out. Darkness had fallen, and he shivered in the chilly breeze. “I thought you didn’t like horses.”
Justin shrugged. “I never been around them much.”
“Guess you saw more of that mule than you wanted to today.”
Justin let out a short laugh.
“You sore?” Griffin asked.
“Some.”
“It’ll be worse in the morning.” They walked over to the smithy. Griffin jerked his head toward the open door. He hated to let the boy see his disorderly living quarters, but he didn’t see a way around it. “Come on, we’re heating the outdoors.”
Griffin and the boy appeared in the dining room half an hour after Vashti had left them. Both had damp comb marks through their hair, and Griffin had changed his shirt. The hot smell of the forge lingered on him, but Vashti didn’t mind it. She smiled broadly as she led them to a table in the corner near the fireplace. In chilly weather, Augie kept the heater stove ticking, but Bitsy still liked to have a fire on the grate for atmosphere. “People feel warmer when they see the logs burning,” she said.
Justin stumbled a bit as he pulled out his chair. Vashti figured he wouldn’t be so clumsy if he’d quit staring at her. She couldn’t wear her shawl while waiting on tables.
“I’ll bring you water,” she said. “Would you like coffee, Mr. Bane?”
“Lots of it, and strong.”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled at Justin. “And you, Mr. Frye?”
Justin glanced at his uncle, then back at her. “The same.”
“Very good. Our dinner special tonight is roast chicken, but we also have a venison stew simmering.”
“Bring me some of both,” Griffin said. “And plenty of biscuits.”
Vashti tucked in her smile and turned her attention to the boy. “And you, sir?”
“I’ll have the chicken, please. And some of those biscuits.”
“I’ll bring a basketful.”
She walked briskly to the kitchen. Bitsy was picking up two full chicken plates for Oscar and Bertha Runnels.
“Mr. Bane and his nephew are here,” Vashti said.
“Oh good. I can’t wait to see the boy.” Bitsy lifted her tray and brushed past her with her taffeta skirts swishing.
“I’ll need a basketful of biscuits for those two,” Vashti said to Augie. “Hope you and Bitsy don’t go broke from your charitable efforts.”
“Giving away samples is good for business. If the boy likes my cookin’, Griff will have him over here at least once a week. Bachelors don’t want to have to cook for kids.”
Vashti chuckled. “That’s true. But he is putting Justin up at the Fennel House.”
“Oh.” Augie’s bald head glistened in the lamplight as he reached to stir the big iron kettle on the stove. “Well, maybe they’ll still come around now and again.”
“Let’s hope so. Two chicken dinners and one stew.”
“Who’s the third person?”
“Griffin.”
Augie laughed. “He always did like my venison stew.”
A few more customers drifted in, and Vashti stayed busy for several minutes. When she got back to Griffin and Justin, both had cleaned their plates.
“That was good food,” Griffin said.
“Yes’m.” Justin looked up at her with a shy smile. “Did you cook it?”
Vashti laughed. “No, not me. That would be Mr. Moore. He’s the finest cook in Fergus.”
“A man?” The boy’s face stretched to new lengths.
Griffin let out a bellow of laughter. “You’ve never seen Augie, kid, or you wouldn’t say that. He could make hash out of you with one hand.”
“Would you like dessert?” Vashti asked Justin. “Mr. Moore makes delicious cakes and pies, too. You had one of his cinnamon buns earlier today.”
“Two,” Griffin said.
She flashed him a smile. So the boss had given one to Marty and eaten one himself and let the boy have the other two. Somehow, that warmed her feelings toward Griffin.
“What have you got for pies?” Justin asked.
She pointed to the bar that Hiram Dooley had remodeled into an efficient serving counter. “Why don’t you step over and see for yourself? There’re several varieties.” She raised her eyebrows at Griffin.
“Just bring me apple pie with a hunk of cheese,” he said. “And more coffee.”
Justin pushed back his chair. “Uh, will you please excuse me,
Uncle Griff?”
“To pick out your pie? Why, surely.”
The boy walked away, and Vashti said softly, “Well now, he’s got manners.”
“Yes, when he chooses to dust them off.”
She hesitated a moment then said, “You know, leaving home at that age isn’t easy. Chances are, he feels as though his mother didn’t want him around anymore.”
Griffin’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “I can understand why. I had him here ten minutes and had to go pull him out of a saloon.”
“I can see he was a handful for her.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Griffin watched Justin as he walked slowly along the counter, eyeing each confection. “Truth is, my sister was a little scared of him and of his friends, I think. The trouble they might bring on her and the other young’uns.”
Vashti nodded. “You can be a good influence in his life, Griffin Bane.”
Griff sighed. “I’m beginning to think he’ll be a bad one on me.” She chuckled. “I’ll get that pie and coffee for you.” “Wait a sec.”
“Yes?”
He shot another glance at Justin. “You’ve mentioned before that you had a tough time of it as a youngster. Someday, maybe you’ll tell me about that.”
Vashti looked at him for a long moment. “You’d really want to hear?”
“I’m starting to think I should listen to people who know about kids. What it’s like to be a kid.” He shrugged in apology. “Seems like a long time ago, and… well, he’s not like I was.”
She nodded, though she thought, Maybe more like you than you realize. Justin headed back their way, carrying a plate with two pieces of pie on it. “We’ll sit down sometime. But not tonight. You look exhausted, and I think you need to make sure Justin’s safe for the night.”
Griffin shook his head. “I can’t watch him every minute.”
“No, but you’ve gotten him banned from the worst place in town, and there’s no stagecoach out until tomorrow. Unless he steals a horse, he’s stuck here.”
“I’ve thought of that, and I wouldn’t put it past him.”
She hurried away to get Griffin’s dessert and coffee. Doc Kincaid and the Hamiltons had come in while she talked, and Bitsy threw her a glance begging for help. Vashti took Griffin a generous slice of pie with cheese on the side and refilled his coffee, and then she turned to the Hamiltons’ table.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, folks. We have a delicious roast chicken dinner tonight and a savory venison stew.”
“Oh, the stew sounds good,” said Mr. Hamilton. “What’ll you have, dear?”
Vashti glanced back at Griffin’s table. His eyelids drooped as he reached for his coffee mug, but he seemed to be listening as Justin talked with more animation than she’d seen so far on the boy’s face.
Mrs. Hamilton said, “I believe I’ll try that stew as well.”
Vashti smiled at them. “Very good. Would you like coffee?”
“Could you bring us a pot of tea?” Mrs. Hamilton asked, cringing almost as though she were asking for something very rare and difficult to produce.
“Of course. I’ll be just a moment.” As she turned away, Vashti looked once more at Griffin. He was still listening to his nephew, but a tolerant smile lit his face.
That’s the way you ought to look all the time, she thought. Griffin Bane, you could be a very handsome man.
CHAPTER 10
Vashti stayed on her feet, serving the customers long after Griffin and Justin left the Spur & Saddle. About seven thirty, Goldie came in from the kitchen. Though she’d spent the entire day working at the emporium, she smiled at the diners and sat down before the piano. Soon lilting music filled the restaurant. Mr. Hamilton gave her fifty cents to play “Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair.” Next, Dr. Kincaid requested “Silver Threads among the Gold.” After several more numbers, Goldie covered the keyboard and accepted the people’s applause with a becoming blush.
Vashti had taken away all the dirty dishes but the coffee cups by then, and the diners soon ambled home. As she cleared off the last table, Goldie came to help her.
“You go on up to bed,” Vashti said. “I know you’re tired.”
“The people are so nice now.” Goldie’s eyes reflected the light of the lamps and the candle chandelier. “In the old days, the cowboys wanted me to play my fingers to the bone, but they never applauded like that—like they respected me, I mean.”
Vashti gave her a hug. “You deserve that respect. And a good night’s sleep. Go on—Bitsy and I will get these done in no time.”
As Goldie drifted up the staircase, Vashti looked up in surprise to see Griffin again coming through the doorway.
“Mr. Bane!”
“I guess you’re closing.”
“Well… the coffeepot’s still on the stove.”
“Would you join me for a cup?”
Vashti hesitated, her pulse tripping. “Let me just take these to the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
Bitsy had already washed most of the dishes, and Augie was drying them and stacking them on the shelves.
“This is the last of them.” Vashti held out a pile of cups and saucers.
Bitsy took them and plunged them into her pan of sudsy water.
“Uh… Mr. Bane came back.”
“Oh?” Bitsy frowned. “What does he want?”
“Coffee. And conversation, I guess. He asked me to sit with him. Earlier he said he’d like to talk to me about Justin.”
“Can’t see any harm in that.” Bitsy looked over at Augie. “What do you think?”
“Well, I dunno. Has Griff got designs on our adopted daughter?”
Bitsy flicked some soapsuds at him. “The day Griffin Bane falls in love is the day somebody finds the Blue Bucket Mine.”
Augie laughed at her reference to the legend of a “lost” gold mine. “Stranger things have happened.”
“That’s right. You finally convinced me to marry you, didn’t you?”
“Yup. Mighty strange, but I’m tickled pink.” Augie squeezed her.
Vashti laughed. “I’m pretty sure it’s not romance Mr. Bane has in mind. The boy’s giving him headaches, and he’s only been here half a day.”
“Go on, girl,” Bitsy said. “Just don’t let him stay too late.”
Vashti ran a hand over her hair, wondering if it looked all stringy and scraggly. She hadn’t noticed her reflection in the big mirror for hours. What if Griffin really was interested in her? Would that be so bad? More likely, he’d tell her again why she couldn’t hold a man’s job and ask for more advice on dealing with Justin. Her past had taught her not to count on good things happening out of the blue. She took off her apron and went back to the dining room, a bit wary.
Griffin stood by the woodstove, pouring himself a big mug full of coffee.
“Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine.” Vashti walked over and sat down at the table nearest the stove, where Griffin and Justin had sat earlier. “We put the pies away, but I could get you a piece.”
“That’s all right. I ate plenty.”
“Where’s Justin?”
“In bed at the Fennel House. I made sure he was sleeping this time.”
“First night in a strange bed. You sure?”
“Oh yeah. I tickled his foot to see if he was faking it. What you said earlier about him stealing a horse made me think. He might do that—just take one from the livery—if he doesn’t like it here.”
“Do you want him to like it here?”
Griffin winced. “Not sure.” He sipped his coffee and set the mug down. “I guess what I really want is for him to apologize to his mama and go home and take care of her like a man should.”
“What are the chances?”
“Slim to none.”
Vashti nodded. “That’s about the way I saw it. That boy’s got a lot of growing up to do.”
“Well, I’m not sure I know how to help him do it.”
“Put him to work, but not too hard. Let him see that he can do things—make things. Like you do.”
“I don’t know as I can get him to work around the smithy.”
“Did you when you were his age?”
“Yes, but I was interested in it. I’d go by the smithy in our town after school and watch old Jack Hogan shoeing horses. And when he’d put a piece of metal in the fire and bring it out all yellow-hot and glowing and hammer it into a hinge or a spoon or something else useful, well, that seemed like magic to me.” He picked up his mug. “But Justin’s got no such inclination.”
“Does he like horses?”
“I would have said not overly—he acted a little scared of riding at first. But he did perk up when he saw that yearling colt I’ve got in my barn.”
“Hmm.”
“He rides like a sack of flour in the saddle.”
“Ouch. And he rode all the way from Boise?”
“Yeah. Maybe that was a poor decision on my part. We could have stayed over at Nampa or Reynolds, or I could have sent him on in the coach. But think how much mischief he coul
d have gotten into until I got here.”
“True. He’ll get over the sore muscles in a few days.” She thought about Griffin’s situation. “There ought to be lots of things a boy could do around your place. Lots more than a girl can. And if he likes horses…”
“Yeah. If I give him a few pointers and give him decent mounts, he might get to be a good rider. The thing is, he’s here, and I’m responsible for him. I couldn’t just turn him loose, even if I felt like it. He’s too young to take care of himself.”
“Didn’t you take care of yourself at his age?”
“Yes, but Justin—he doesn’t seem to have any common sense, and he wants to butt heads with life, not learn how to make things work for him.”
Vashti smiled ruefully. “Sounds like me in some ways.”
Griffin focused on her with a pensive frown. “I’ve been wondering about you. How you got to be on your own so young. Didn’t you have anyone to take care of you?”
She shook her head. “I was eleven when my folks died.”
“What’d you do then?”
“Went to live with some kinfolk—my mother’s cousin. I called her Aunt Mary. But I—I couldn’t stay there.”
“Why not?”
She hesitated, wondering how much to spill. “Mostly because of Uncle Joshua.”
Griffin was quiet for a moment, then took a sip of his coffee. He set the mug down and met her gaze. “I see.”
“Do you? I told Aunt Mary when he bothered me, but she didn’t believe me. Said I was a bad girl for making up such tales. I ran away after less than a year. Headed west.” She gave a little chuckle. “I thought maybe I could find a place where I’d fit in and could get a job of some sort. I found out quick enough there aren’t any jobs for twelve-year-old girls.”
“That’s awful young to be on your own, boy or girl.” Griffin’s voice had taken on a gentle tone, and his eyes were velvety like an elk’s.
“Yes. Far too young.” Vashti stood, suddenly unable to sit under his scrutiny. “I believe I’ll have some coffee, too.” She went to the stove and took her time pouring a cupful. When she sat down again, she took a sip. Too hot and too strong. She blew on the surface of the dark liquid.
“You want to tell me the rest? How you got here?”
The Blacksmith’s Bravery Page 10