The Colorado Bride
Next to her stood Prudence Weatherby and Olivia Farthing, each in calico and floppy sunbonnets. All three women stared at him in undisguised horror before they recovered and turned their backs to him.
Behind the counter Gene Applegate polished a glass jar. He was a tall man, and his white store apron, smudged with dirt and flour, hugged his round belly.
Cole strode up to the counter. He touched the brim of his hat and nodded to the gaggle of whispering women. “Ladies.”
Three jaws dropped. Each stared at him as if he were Lucifer himself.
Mrs. Applegate was the first to recover. She puffed out her large bosom. “Mr. McGuire.”
Cole turned to Gene. “I’m in the market for some new clothes.”
“We don’t offer credit,” Mrs. Applegate snapped.
“I pay cash.”
Gene glanced nervously at his wife. “We got all kinds of fabric and several sizes of ready-made clothes.”
“Ready-made.”
“We don’t have anything in your size,” Mrs. Applegate interjected. “I doubt we can help you.”
“We got a few items,” Gene said, ignoring his wife. Cole knew Gene didn’t care who he was as long as his money was good. “They’ve been on the shelf a good while but they’ll suit.” He ignored his wife’s angry harrumph and walked around the counter over to a stack of men’s denim work pants. The storekeeper’s practiced gaze skidded over Cole’s long lean frame. “I’d say you’re a thirty-two-inch waist in need of an extralong pants leg.”
“That’s about right. I’ll also take a couple of shirts, too. Those white one’s will do.”
“Sure.” Gene gathered the shirts from a pile stacked next to the pants. “Time was I had more clothes in stock, but with the mine closed, there ain’t been the demand for much more than I have.”
“What you have is fine.”
Mrs. Applegate strode over to them. “How’s he gonna pay?”
Gene shrugged. “The wife does have a point. Seeing as you’re not staying in town, I can’t open an account for you. Cash only.”
A bitter taste settled in Cole’s mouth. “Everyone’s so sure I’m leaving.”
“Well, aren’t you?” Mrs. Applegate demanded.
“Not anytime soon.”
“Well, you can’t just loiter around town with nothing to do,” Mrs. Applegate spat.
“There ain’t nothing to hold you in White Stone, Cole,” Gene said more calmly. “There’s barely enough work to keep the livery running and the sawmill is operating only four days a week now. If the mine were open, there might be something here for you, but the mine will likely never open again.”
Mrs. Applegate folded her arms over her bosom. “Do yourself and all of us a favor and leave.”
Cole ignored Mrs. Applegate and stared at Gene. “Why didn’t Rebecca ever sell the mine?”
“I imagine she still hopes that one day she’ll be able to reopen it. But the truth is, she owes so many back taxes on the place I doubt she could ever raise enough money.”
“So the town owns the mine now?”
“I suppose.”
“Then why not mine it yourselves?”
“It’ll take a good bit of capital to search for a new vein. No one in town’s got that kind of money.”
An idea flickered in Cole’s brain. “The old man always thought the richest veins were deeper in the ground.”
“That’s the rumor, but no one’s been able to see if it’s true or not.”
“Who would I talk to about buying the mine?”
“You?”
“Yeah, me.”
“Well, I suppose, it would be the town council. That would be me, Stan and George Haliwell.”
“Arrange a meeting. I want to talk to them.”
“Why are you even talking about something that’ll never be,” Mrs. Applegate mocked. “Cole’s got about as much of a chance of opening the mine as I got of going to the moon.”
Gene’s gaze skittered to Mrs. Applegate then back to Cole. “Even if the council agreed to sell, you’d have to come up with the money to pay the taxes and sink a new shaft.”
Gene was right. It would take a lot of money to get the Lucky Star operational—likely his entire savings. And then there was the matter of Rebecca. She wanted him gone from her life. “Set up the meeting. I’ve got the money.”
Gene’s fingers linked together in front of his fat belly. His eyes sparkled with excitement. “You really think you can make a go of it?”
“Yes.”
Gene grinned. “Well then, can I get you anything else? I got some fine boots over here, rifle shells and a host of food supplies for the trail.”
Cole nodded. “I need clothes for a boy.”
Prudence Weatherby’s sudden intake of breath caught his attention. “Why would you want clothes for a boy?”
Cole pierced the women with his gaze. Prudence jumped and retreated toward the door. The woman backed into a bag of turnips, sending them spilling out on the floor. She glanced down at the turnips rolling on the floor then back at Cole, as if torn between cleaning up the mess and leaving. She chose to leave.
Mrs. Applegate touched the lace-trimmed collar of her dress. “What size do you need?”
“I don’t know exactly. They’re for Dusty. Have you seen him around town?”
She snorted. “Who could miss him? He’s forever getting in trouble. Why do you want clothes for him?”
“He needs ’em.”
“He’s got a father to take care of him.”
Cole reached in his pocket and withdrew a handful of rumpled bills. “About those clothes…”
She glanced at the money, then pulled out two sets of boy’s pants and shirts to match. “Course it stands to reason the two of you would take to each other. Both of you have a taste for trouble.”
“Gladys,” Gene shouted. “That’s enough out of you.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “It’s true. Let’s face it, once a bad seed, always a bad seed.”
Gene grabbed his wife by the arm and directed her toward the counter. “Ring up his purchases.”
“Don’t you order me about, Mr. Applegate.”
“If this man has got the money to open the Lucky Star he could be the answer to all our prayers.”
“I’m simply speaking my mind.”
“Gladys, do us all a favor and for once keep your thoughts to yourself,” Gene said, a long-suffering tone in his voice. “Mr. McGuire, I’ll set that meeting up for you. Come back by here in two hours.”
“I’ll do it.”
Cole turned from the two, shutting out their argument. When he’d first mentioned the Lucky Star, it had been a fleeting idea. But as he turned the idea over in his mind, it started to take root. He had just about as much chance of striking it rich with the claim in California as the Lucky Star.
And the Lucky Star had the added bonus of showing everybody in White Stone—including Rebecca—that he’d made good.
Chapter Eight
Bang, bang, bang.
Rebecca jumped and nicked her thumb with the paring knife. She dropped the half-peeled apple in her hand as droplets of blood dripped from the tiny puncture in her thumb. She glanced down at the large pile of green apples and muttered an oath. Tomorrow’s order would never be finished in time.
Bang, bang, bang.
The day was crystal clear, giving Cole the perfect excuse to start repairs on her roof. He’d been up there the better part of the morning, hammering new shingles into place. And for hours all she’d been able to picture was Cole—shirtless, with his powerful legs straddling the roof as he wielded his hammer. What the devil was wrong with her?
She wiped the blood from her thumb and cursed her foolishness. She had more work than she could handle and here she was daydreaming like a schoolgirl.
Cole had been at the inn six days now and he and Rebecca had settled into an uneasy truce. He spent most of his days in town while she tended to the children and to three gue
sts who’d stayed the last two nights.
She didn’t know where Cole went or what he did, but he had come to the inn each day for lunch and dinner energized, more comfortable with the town, and showing no signs of leaving.
What worried her most was that she anticipated his arrival each day. When she’d see him striding up the walkway, fear, relief and joy all collided in her. Each time, she’d have to calm her frayed nerves and return to her chores.
Giggles echoed from the corner and Rebecca looked up. Dusty and Mac played jacks. Mac followed Dusty everywhere now, begging endlessly to play. She was certain Dusty would have shooed Mac away by now, but he hadn’t uttered the first complaint. He seemed to enjoy Mac’s constant chatter.
Dusty’s skin was rosier and auburn highlights sparkled from his clean hair. The white shirt Cole had bought for him was already covered in dirt but it, along with the new pants, socks and brown leather shoes, fit well.
There’d been no sign of Judd and the child relaxed more and more each day.
Cole spent hours with Dusty walking down to Miller’s Pond to toss rocks, splitting firewood or riding horses. Dusty looked forward to their outings.
Mac had lost his fear of Cole and had begged to be included. So far, Rebecca had successfully distracted him each time he’d asked, but her task got harder every day Cole remained.
She’d not realized until this last week how much Mac needed a male role model. He still favored Rebecca when he was tired, but most times he wanted to play with Cole and Dusty.
Guilt plagued Rebecca as she stared at her young son. He had a right to a father.
Bang, bang, bang.
She sucked in an unsteady breath and prayed their lives would return to normal as soon as Cole left.
And yet, the idea of Cole’s departure did not comfort her as it once had. Dusty would be crushed when Cole left and she had grown accustomed to hearing his purposeful footsteps and deep voice in the house.
Mac’s head shot up. “Mama, I’m hungry.”
Dusty’s eyes lit up. “My stomach’s growling like a bear.”
Rebecca chuckled. “Lunch is only a half hour away. A snack will spoil your lunch.”
“Not mine,” Dusty said, crossing his arms over his chest like Cole did. “I can always eat.”
Mac copied Dusty. “Me, too.”
She nodded toward a gray square tin on the counter. “I’ve got cookies in the jar. Dusty, give Mac a cookie and keep a few for yourself.”
He scrambled to his feet. “I’ll dish ’em out.”
“How about a cherry red peppermint stick instead?” The sheriff’s voice surprised them all as it boomed from the other side of the screened door. Hinges squeaked when he strode into the kitchen.