Before the Larkspur Blooms (27 page)

“Heck of a way to treat your neighbor,” the drunken man shouted into the bar, as he shook his fist in the air. He swiped his hand over his face and looked around. “I’ll be looking for you!” When he saw them, he pulled up. “What’re you staring at?” Not waiting for an answer, he mumbled something unintelligible and wobbled off into the night.

“You be careful,” Jake said, watching the drunk fall into the dirt.

She lifted a shoulder. “I can take care of myself.”

He really liked Daisy. She was sweet, with a good heart. She’d been dealt a bad hand, but she never felt sorry for herself, as he’d done the other day. Philomena started the second verse where the cowboy tells the passerby that he’s dying.

Jake cocked his head. “That sure sounds pretty. This song always gets me right here.” He thumped his heart, then chuckled when Daisy curtly folded her arms over her bosom. “You’re not jealous, are you, Daisy? You know you’re the prettiest gal in this territory.”

“Daisy!” It was Kendall. He sounded aggravated.

Jake turned. “I better get back to the ranch.”

“Don’t go yet, Jake. Come inside, just for a little while.” He felt the warmth of her smile. A burst of laughter resounded from inside.

Why not?
He was off until tomorrow. He’d just go in and take a quick look around. Wouldn’t stay more than five minutes.

He nodded and followed Daisy through the swinging doors. The place was jammed with bodies. “’Twas once in the saddle I used to go ridin’. Once in the saddle I used to go gay. First led to drinkin’, and then to card playing. I’m shot in the breast and I’m dying today.”

Something about that song always sent a niggle of unease scratching up Jake’s spine. Perched on top of the piano like a
songbird, Philomena swung her shapely, ankle-crossed, black-stocking-covered legs with the music. She smiled when he came in.

“Jake!” Blake bellowed. He stood at the bar, drinking with some fellows. Kendall would be happy tomorrow after the walloping business tonight. “Come over here so I can buy you a drink.”

Jake ambled over, and Daisy made her way through the tables, checking on the men.

“Evenin’,” Jake said. Blake was the only man there who he knew.

“Jake, boy, what brings you into town? Kendall, pour my young friend a drink on me.”

Blake had already had a snootful even though he had watch later tonight. Kendall poured the liquor into a shot glass and slid it over to Jake.

“Go on. What’s stopping you?” Blake turned to his friends and said something under his breath. They all laughed.

Jake picked up the glass and tossed the whole thing back at once, squelching the desire to cough up the fireball plunging to his belly. His eyes watered, but he blinked back the moisture.

Blake did the same and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s darn good. Been too long since I had any time off.”

Two men left the farthest card table, aiming for the door. “Blake,” Rome called. “A spot just opened up for you. If you’re playing, now’s the time. Bring along Jake.”

Before he knew what had happened, Jake found himself at a card table with Blake, Rome, and two strangers. The whiskey that had pooled in his belly now slithered through his veins as it brought a nice, weighty feeling to his limbs. He nodded when Rome held up his bottle in invitation, then filled the players’ glasses.

“Let’s see your money, boys.” Rome shuffled a well-worn deck as he looked from face to face.

Jake was amazed at the wad Blake drew out. He slipped off a money clip and peeled off several ten-dollar bills. Saddle tramping didn’t pay
that
well. Yesterday was payday, and Jake still had his twenty dollars in his pocket. He pulled it out.

Philomena ended the song, and everyone clapped. The piano player helped her down, and she made her way over to the bar.

The men anted up. “Five card draw,” Rome said, dealing the cards.

Daisy came over and ran her hand up Jake’s back, letting it linger then stop on his left shoulder. It felt good. He looked up. The corners of her soft-looking mouth turned upward in a charming smile. Jake sipped his drink slowly. He wasn’t going to get drunk. And after a hand or two, he’d leave. He folded the first hand, along with Blake and two others. Rome won the pot, albeit a small one.

An hour passed with Jake holding his own. He was up thirty dollars, having gotten the hang of reading faces. He’d played plenty in the bunkhouse, but this was his first time with strangers. Lady Luck seemed to be smiling his way. The other men appeared to be watching him, as if he’d passed muster. He liked the approval, as well as the whiskey he’d consumed. He blinked, clearing his vision.

Rome shuffled. Before he could deal, one of the players got up and left, leaving just the four men. Jake picked up his cards. Two kings, two queens, an eight.
Holy smokes! Best hand I’ve had all night.

Rome tossed in five dollars, followed by everyone else.

Blake drew three cards, Rome one, the third man—a railroad employee—two.

“Jake?”

“One.”

He rolled the corner of the card Rome placed in front of him.
Queen.
A full house.

Hefty betting went around several times.

Jake calculated the pot. Over one hundred dollars. He swallowed. He could sure use that money. He studied Rome over the rim of his cards.
I’m not the only one with a good hand.

It was past midnight, but the saloon was still going strong. Philomena had disappeared upstairs, and Daisy glided around the room picking up empty glasses, delivering whiskey bottles, and smiling at the men. Blake tossed back another whiskey and studied his cards. Looked undecided. Wiped sweat from his forehead.

“Blake?” Rome prompted.

“Fold.” He stood, swaying dangerously to the side as he picked up his money. “I needs to get back to the ranch. Got four o’clock watch.” He waved his arm over the table. “Thanks, boys.”

The railroad employee clenched the toothpick in his mouth and pushed his money forward. “All in.”

T
he clock on the dining room wall chimed quarter past one as Thom slopped the mop into the water bucket for the last time and stretched his tired back. Earlier, he’d gone over to fetch Hannah back. They had sat down for a quick ten-minute meeting and had decided which three meals would be the easiest to make up in big batches. They’d settled on stew, cottage pie, and roasts for the beef and gravy plates that had been so popular yesterday. Hannah sent Susanna home, telling her to get rested for the busy day ahead. Since then Hannah had chopped and diced, putting together a large kettle of stew that was bubbling away on the stove and filling the room with a savory aroma. Fixings, ready to start another stew in the morning, sat covered and stored in the ice room.

Thom hefted the bucket, balancing the mop handle across his shoulder, and trudged through the propped-open kitchen door.

Hannah glanced up. “All done?”

“That’s it. How about you?”

“I think I’m finished. Ten batches of flour mixture premeasured for biscuits. Three dried apple pies, cooked and cooled.” She ticked off the items on her fingers. “Stew, enough to feed an army. Six roasts, roasted.” She laughed, but her eyes drooped as she slouched to the right. “Six pans of cottage pie. I don’t know. This may be heavy-handedness, but I’d rather be prepared than live through another day like yesterday.”

Thom leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.
She gets more beautiful every day. Even looking like a bedraggled little field mouse.
She went about storing the food for the next day.

“Thom?”

“Oh. I agree. And if it is too much, all of it can keep a day or two, making your job a trifle easier for the rest of the week.”

“It was kind of Jessie to send out that batch of oatmeal cookies and huckleberry pie. I’m going to see if Brenna wants to do some baking on a regular basis. I know she can use the work.”

“Brenna?”

“The woman who offered you punch at the town meeting on Saturday.”

Thom held his smile. “Oh, you mean
that
Brenna? Yes. That was very kind of her.”

Hannah gave him a disbelieving look, then plopped down in the chair at the table. A small giggle slipped between her lips.

“What?”

“You should have seen me before Susanna arrived a year ago. I’m ashamed to say that I was a horrible,
horrible
cook. Customers left the Silky Hen in droves. One time I actually spilled a full box of wallpaper paste into my biscuit mix by mistake and almost killed a man!”

Thom barked out a laugh and slapped his leg. “Really? No!”

Hannah nodded, an embarrassed furrow lining her forehead. “Don’t laugh, Thom. He actually broke off one of his teeth. It was awful!” Her mouth pulled down as she remembered. “Ferdinand. That was his name,” she added. “I still feel real bad about him breaking his tooth. He left town and never came back.”

She stifled a yawn. “If Markus had been older, he could have used the biscuits for projectiles in his slingshot. It was years before Albert let that one die. Still, every once in a while he brings it up, and I have to live through my humiliation all over again.”

They were so comfortable together, he and Hannah. It would be so darn easy to slip back into his old life here. Take her for his
wife. Have home and family again—
even Roberta
—to take care of and love. But he couldn’t. He’d not set her up for another dead husband and more heartbreak. He loved her more than that. If all they could have was friendship, then so be it.

He took her hand, looking forward to a good night’s sleep. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.” He trudged toward the coat tree with her in tow and took down her shawl. “Here you go,” he said, draping it over her shoulders. The silver key hung on the wall nearby, and he grabbed it.

She hesitated. “You don’t have to do that, Thom. I can manage. I’ve been making the walk for years.”

“You better get used to the idea that Logan Meadows is not the quiet little town you grew up in. Early evening is one thing, but not when it’s dark.”

After seeing Hannah to her door, Thom descended the steps of the house and stopped in the yard, taking in the festival grounds across the way and the growing throng of workers camped in the large open area. A bit disconcerted, he shifted his weight. A fire flickered, muffled voices. Well, they wouldn’t be there for long. Just until the depot was finished.

He headed to the livery to retrieve his horse. Inside, he led his mount from the stall, placed his saddle pad on the horse’s back, and threw up his saddle. Hannah and the biscuit story made him smile as he drew the cinch tight and fetched his jacket. A rustling sounded from the loft, and then the barn cat looked down, her yellow-slit eyes glowing in the dark. She jumped to a stall divider and then down onto the hard-packed earth, coming to rub against his leg.

Thom chuckled. She tried to brush against his gelding’s fetlock, but the horse stomped his hoof on the hard-packed dirt,
leaving a slight outline of his shoe in the soil. Thom stared at it for several seconds. The cat walked back and forth over the mark. Then, straightening, Thom went to the stall where Rome’s seal-brown gelding slept peacefully and opened the wooden half-door.