“Three?”
He waggled his brows. “There’s no changing Ben’s disposition, so help me make Beulah and Otto happy.”
A flicker of a smile let Jarrod know he’d managed to handle the awkwardness so Angel wouldn’t feel ashamed around him. “I’d guess we’d best take our vegetables inside.”
As Jarrod untied the first bag off Otto, a head of lettuce escaped. A well-dressed man bent and snatched it up. He cradled it to his vest and eyed the other bags. “Do you have more of this?”
“Yes.” Angel went to reclaim it. “Beans and—”
“I want it all,” he interrupted. “I’ll pay cash money.”
Jarrod chuckled as he hefted one bag. “I’m doubting you’ll be wanting it all.”
“But I do! I own Fancy Pans. I’m always ready to buy quality truck. If those bags hold anything similar to this, I’ll be more than happy to snap it all up.”
By the time he’d looked in the second bag, the restauranteur didn’t even bother to inspect the other two. “Four dollars for all of it.”
Jarrod felt Angel jump. She looked to him, and he shook his head. Staring at the man, he demanded, “How much is a meal at your establishment?”
By the time Jarrod held the door of the mercantile open, he couldn’t help smiling at Angel. She positively skipped over the threshold. The bargain they’d struck and the promise of a free meal in a nice restaurant made Jarrod want to jig right alongside her.
They’d been paid in coins, and he promptly gave Angel her half. She hurriedly handed back one of the silver dollars and whispered, “Please keep it for me. It’s not much, but I’ll need it someday.”
He’d slipped it into his pocket and added one of his own. When the time came, she’d need all he could spare her.
Chapter 7
Ben shot them a dirty look as they entered the store, then thumped a can of Wedding Breakfast coffee onto the counter and set three tins of chewing tobacco next to it. “‘Bout time you got in here. Bring in that truck so’s the storekeeper can tell me how much credit I’ll get.”
“We already sold it,” Angel said. “Jarrod and I each have three and a half dollars cash and lunch at a restaurant!”
The lass acted like a child at Christmas in the mercantile. Every last thing held her enthralled. The first thing she did was choose a cough elixir and a health tonic for her mother. Bless her soul, she didn’t even look at the cost. Jarrod knew she’d sacrifice anything for the sake of her mother.
The most pressing needs seen to, she then agonized over which flour and sugar sacks she liked best, stood by the huge barrel of coffee beans and inhaled the aroma as if she were a bride appreciating the most beautiful bouquet a groom ever gathered.
Seeing how she relished each and every scent and item, Jarrod lollygagged as he selected things and formed a small stack of goods on the counter. The storekeeper’s hair glinted oddly in the sunlight streaming in through the window. At first, Jarrod thought it was merely the pomade casting a reflection. Upon second inspection, Jarrod realized the truth. He was a sticky-fingered proprietor.
Oh, he’d read about such men—just never met one. Sure enough, the storekeeper would run his fingers through his hair, then reach into a miner’s poke to pull out a pinch of gold flakes as payment for something. Most of the dust went into the receptacle behind the counter, but some clung to the storekeeper’s fingers—which he’d run through his hair or wipe off on his apron. By panning the wash water from his bath and laundry, the man undoubtedly pulled in as much gold dust as any of the local placers who worked by the cold streams.
A pair of Cornish miners played draughts over between the stove and the cracker barrel. “Smashed Oliver McKnight like a june bug,” one said grimly.
The other shook his head. “He was always talking about coming to the mine to earn a nice nest egg so when his sweet little Charlotte was of age, he’d be able to ‘give her the world along with his heart.’”
“Three-fifty a day sounded like a lot, but seein’ Ollie all bloody and squished—” The first shook his head.
“Superstitious cowards,” the storekeeper whispered disparagingly to Jarrod and Ben. “They had another cave-in—just a little one. Only killed one man. Still, the mountain’s making some noise, so they’re sure the tommyknockers are warning them to stay out of the mines.”
Ben snorted. “Don’t need pretend creatures to warn me off. Couldn’t pay me ‘nuff to crawl inside a mountain and haul out gold for another man.”
“Your claim doing well?” The shopkeeper gave both men an assessing look.
Ben scowled, and Jarrod knew better than to give a direct answer. They’d be fools to admit anything, so he shrugged diffidently. “I just bought the claim off someone else. I’m supposin’ it’ll take me awhile to be any good at it. Came to stock up on some staples.”
He specifically chose his flour sack to match Angel’s. Truth be told, he’d look mighty silly to be walking down the street with his flour in pink fabric with wee daisies sprinkled all over it, but he didn’t much care. The lass could use the extra fabric to make herself a frock instead of a skirt, and she’d be pretty as one of her blushes in this color.
Angel’s stack of supplies at the counter nearly made Ben’s eyes pop. “Now hold on. No use gettin’ extravagant,” he protested as she set a small box atop the bags and tucked a metal pail of lard beside them.
“Baking powder, baking soda, and salt aren’t extravagances,” she said quietly, but Jarrod detected the firm undertone. “I’ve stuck to basics: flour, sugar, beans, lard, and coffee. Did you get your ammunition?”
Ben rapped his knuckles on a box of bullets he set next to a slab of bacon and scowled. “Money we got from the truck ain’t gonna be ‘nuff.”
Jarrod slipped a few last things on the counter with his selections. He drew his gold-dust pouch from his pocket. “Ah, but there’s satisfaction in knowing we earned every speck of what we eat.” When he’d finalized the transaction, he said, “Speaking of eating, I’m ready to go to that restaurant.”
He and Angel spent time savoring the fine meal. Her gracious manners made it clear to Jarrod that though she’d never said much about her past, she’d obviously grown up in drastically different circumstances. Ben wolfed down his meal and plowed out of the restaurant so he could get to the saloon. Jarrod stayed behind and savored the food and company.
Ben ambled along next to Otto. He hummed under his breath—no doubt, the time he’d spent bending his elbow in the saloon was responsible for his uncustomary merriment.
Angel walked between him and Jarrod and daintily held up her skirt a bit. She’d worn the one Jarrod had given her, and she fretted over the hem as if the dust wouldn’t ever wash out. Every few minutes, she kept glancing at the burden on Otto’s sturdy back. Each time, her smile grew. Jarrod had whispered to her to estimate generous quantities, and the packs tied to the mules gave her a sense of accomplishment and even a flicker of hope. I’ll be able to give Mama medicine and feed her well.
Ben and Jarrod were discussing the smokehouse as if it were already built. That heartened her further. Ever since Jarrod arrived, things had improved. He’d shown her kindness and courtesy, seen the longings in her heart and bettered her life in every way. She and Mama had a roof over their heads, and after today, they had medicine, plenty of staples, and the promise of sufficient meat—if Jarrod continued to be as adept at hunting as he’d been thus far.
But for how long?
Jarrod said he would stay only as long as it took for him to pan enough gold to buy his dream ranch. She didn’t know how much gold that would require—or how long it would take. Jarrod hadn’t wasted a single cent in town. Every last purchase rated as a necessity. Some might consider that parsimonious, but she didn’t. After her stepfather’s previous forays to town where he spent everything—from today’s events, Angel had a mortifying notion of just how he’d squandered their gold—she had a deep appreciation for a man who exercised self-discipline a
nd frugality. A deep contentment radiated from him, making it clear he didn’t need a lot of material things to keep him satisfied.
Her stepfather dragged her and Mama here and hadn’t put himself out at all in any way for them. Even after Mama got sick, he’d not lifted a finger to ease things by getting medicine, chopping wood for heat, or providing adequate shelter.
For all others might say about love, Angel decided few people knew what it truly meant. They saw love as taking, not giving. In that light, love would prove to be vastly overrated and empty. She’d turned down many a proposal out here—none of the men who asked cared a whit for her. She vowed to stay for Mama. She couldn’t fool herself into believing Mama would recover because Mama had lost too much weight and slept most of the time. At least that was a blessed escape from her pain and cough. For now, they had food aplenty, clothes, and shelter—humble as it was.
She owed it all to Jarrod.
And he’d be leaving.
Chapter 8
Arms full of branches, Angel walked to the smokehouse. Her stepfather had agreed with Ben and Harv about building it, but when the time came to do the work, he balked. Jarrod and Harv decided to build it near the bank on Harv’s side of the creek. Neither of those men said a word about why they’d chosen that location. They didn’t have to: Angel knew full well why. Her stepfather wouldn’t do his share of building or filling it, but he’d gladly help himself to whatever the smokehouse contained if it were on his claim. When Jarrod left, he’d not want to rob Harv of his fair share. Hardworking as Jarrod was, Angel knew he’d not be a placer for long.
Angel nimbly crossed the log bridge Jarrod had constructed, and she dumped off the wood. Though she couldn’t hunt, she’d do her family’s part by helping dress out and cure the meat.
Harv grinned at her. “Jarrod went a-huntin’ this mornin’. Got hisself a passel of squirrels. I set out a sieve last night and netted ‘leven fish. Pete brought over a few fish he wants smoke cured too.”
Jarrod rested his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side. “I was just telling Harv and Pete about what a good cook you are. Think we could talk you into making squirrel stew and dumplings? Then Harv will fillet and smoke the fish for us to have some other day.”
“I’ll bring coffee,” Pete offered.
Warmth rushed through her. Jarrod had been complimenting her cooking to someone else? Angel smiled. “Squirrel stew and dumplings it is, gentlemen.”
Jarrod nodded, then gave her a chiding look. “You’ll not be carryin’ wood again, lass. ‘Tisn’t fitting.”
She shrugged. “I do it all of the time for the wash pot.”
“We know,” Harv grumped. “Makes me wonder which Ben uses less—his ax or his head.”
All of them exchanged a glance, and the men burst out laughing as a smile tugged at the corners of Angel’s mouth. Harv had a way of looking at life and speaking his mind that managed to lift the spirits.
“We’re partners in this venture,” Jarrod said, “and we men already agreed you’re not responsible for any of the wood, so that’s how the vote stands.”
“But if you both hunt and dress the meat, I—”
“Will be filling the air with the aroma and our bellies with your fine squirrel stew.” Jarrod took her arm and started back toward the bridge. When they reached it, he cupped his hands around her waist to help her step up. She didn’t need the assistance, but his gentlemanly ways made her feel dainty and special, so she didn’t protest.
He didn’t lift right away. He stared down into her eyes. “I have the ring. I’ll slip it to you, and you can stitch it back into your hem.”
She cast a glance across the creek and shook her head subtly. “He’d find it. Every night, he searches to be sure I didn’t keep any of the gold for myself.”
A muffled sound of outrage rumbled in his chest.
“The day Ben gets his hands on my grandmother’s ring, it’ll be lost to me forever. My cousins, Philip and Gabe, are to receive Grandma Monroe’s locket and get Grandpa’s pocket watch. The ring is my one worldly treasure. Grandpa made it for her out of the first gold he ever mined. I trust you to keep it for me, Jarrod.”
“You deserve better, lass.”
Lass. He called her lass as if it were an endearment. His rich, deep burr made that word and her name both sound like caresses when he said them. Before she let him know where her mind was wandering, she shook herself free and scrambled onto the log bridge. “Bring the squirrels as soon as you can. I’ll want them to simmer ‘til tender.”
She made it all of a few steps when he hopped up and fleetly followed behind her. “I’ve carrots aplenty. I’ll pluck them up along with a turnip or an onion for the stew.”
“No, no,” she denied as she finished crossing. Relief flooded her that he’d left the sore subject behind and chosen to discuss something so practical and mundane. “Feed the carrots to Beulah and Otto. I have a bumper crop of carrots too.”
“I’ve been thinkin’ on digging a root cellar.”
Angel spun around and looked at him. “For a man who said he’d stay only long enough to pan out enough to buy a ranch, you sure are putting down roots.”
Lines around his eyes crinkled as he threw back his head and chortled. “The roots are already planted, lass. I’m just hoping to save me a fair bunch of them for when the harvest is over.”
“If you keep hunting and gardening, it’ll take you years to pull enough from the river to buy that ranch.”
Jarrod’s face took on a pensive air. “Whatever happens, it’s all in God’s time, according to His will.”
She gave him a flicker of a smile. “Once I told you I didn’t think God listened to me anymore. I was wrong. He took His time to answer my prayers. Because Mama and I had to do without for so long, it makes all I now have seem far more precious. It’s as if He’s showering me with blessings.”
“Sure and enough, He is, Angel. Of that you can be certain.”
“I need to go see to Mama.”
“We’ll talk more about this later.”
She pressed her lips together and cast a surreptitious look to the side. Her stepfather would make Jarrod stop seeing her if he found out they discussed anything religious. She couldn’t take that risk. “I have to go.” Before he could say another word, she dashed off.
The elixir really did help. Mama’s breathing didn’t carry that rasp if she had a dose four times a day. Maybe it wasn’t as much the medicine as the company. Jarrod came over about noon each day and carried Mama to a pretty spot where he and Harv had slung a length of canvas to form a hammock. Fresh air, sunshine, and gentle companionship put the slightest tinge of pink into Mama’s cheeks.
Jarrod and Harv made a show of having an argument over who got the privilege of feeding Mama lunch each day. Ben never sat with them—he’d grab his food and stalk off. While Angel sewed, one of the men would feed Mama and the other would gut fish or dress out whatever they’d hunted. The camaraderie between Jarrod and Harv reminded Angel of how her cousins, Philip and Gabe, used to act with one another. Some days, it made her homesick; other days, it was such fun, she’d lose herself in the joy of their nonsense.
“I’ve decided on a spot to dig my root cellar,” Jarrod announced one day just as the air started to take on a decided nip that warned the season was changing. He pointed at a site.
“That spot is all rock. It’s as hard as your head,” Harv teased.
“It’ll keep creatures from burrowing in and helping themselves to my food.” Jarrod nodded to himself.
“Everybody knows you have the second-best carrots around,” Mama said in her shaky voice.
“Second best?” Jarrod gave her a look of mock outrage.
“Seems I’m the only impartial judge hereabouts.” Harv swiped a part of a carrot Angel had been cutting to dehydrate and chewed it. He then wandered over, picked a carrot from Jarrod’s garden, and rinsed it in the creek. He took a bite and made a wry face. “Hard to say. Maybe I o
ught to eat a couple more to make up my mind.”
“What mind?” Jarrod asked Mama in a stage whisper.
They all laughed—Mama included. Later, as Jarrod carried her back into the cabin, she tapped his chest. “You’ve got a good heart, Jarrod McLeod. I prayed God would pour out His joy and love, and you’re the answer to my prayer.”
Jarrod decided prospecting for gold held absolutely no charm whatsoever. The sun glaring on the water hit his eyes and burned his skin. Hot as it was, he wouldn’t remove his shirt out of deference to Angel’s sensibilities. He’d used his pickax at a particularly promising black streak on his claim and fed it through his shaker box. Some days, he managed to find several tiny nuggets and a gram or so of little golden grains. Other days, he’d garnered nothing more than flakes that caught along the rusty spots in his pan.
Silver miners were paid twenty dollars a week. Most weeks, Jarrod knew full well he’d have made more working in the dark bowels of a mountain with other men, but the very thought of being closed in like that made him break out in a cold sweat. He’d spent almost all of the voyage from Scotland up on deck because he couldn’t bear being crammed so tightly with everyone else in the dim steerage compartment.
He cupped his hand and scooped up a drink of cool water, then stood to stretch his weary back muscles. Lord, I’m sorry for having a complaining spirit. Thou art showering me with sunshine and fanning me with afresh breeze. Just then, Ben shouted something unintelligible at Angel. And Father, I’m thinkin’ Thou hast planted me here for more of a reason than funding my dream.
Angel broke into his prayer by marching straight across to his claim. Temper set her hazel eyes aflame and lent vivid color to her cheeks. She carried a gunnysack over her shoulder, but Jarrod knew it couldn’t contain her belongings. She’d never leave her mother, and if death had come, Angel would be in tears, not in a roaring temper.
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