Before the Larkspur Blooms (28 page)

Startled, Jake stared at his cards. He’d thought Rome was his competition in this hand, but he’d been wrong. He mentally calculated his winnings. He didn’t have enough to stay in the game. Ned would win this hand by default.

Rome whistled. “That’s a lot of money.” It was his bet, and it was obvious he was weighing the situation heavily. He swore under his breath and slapped his cards facedown on the table. “I’m out.”

Jake felt like cussing. The whiskey soured in his belly.
That pot should be mine.

Rome leaned over and glanced at his cards. Didn’t say a word but pushed his money over to Jake in invitation. “A loan. Worth ten percent.”

When had the room gotten so hot? Jake resisted the urge to pull at his collar for air. Sweat gathered on his forehead. One bead trickled down his temple, and he wiped it with the back of his fingers before it dropped onto his shirt.

Rome’s money was tempting. Full house, queens over kings. How could he lose? Ten percent was little to pay for such a pot. The men in the saloon quieted, sensing the tension in the air. Daisy watched with troubled eyes from across the hall.

Jake pushed Rome’s money forward. “Call.”

Time seemed to stop. Jake’s heart ricocheted around his chest like a bullet in a canyon. Rome’s beady eyes glowed in wicked excitement, even though he wasn’t the one playing for the pot. The railroad man smiled, and Jake suddenly felt unsure.

“I hope you can beat a royal flush, young pup. Because if you can’t, you’ve sure dug a deep hole for yourself throwing in with that devil.” Ned nodded toward Rome as a gut-wrenching laugh blasted through his lips.

Jake wasn’t sure he’d heard anything past
royal flush
. He sat dead still, staring at the cards he’d tossed faceup on the pile of money.

“Well, what’ve you got? The suspense is killing me.”

The tone stung. He was toying with him. The man sat back proudly, puffing out his chest while Jake felt like the biggest fool in the world.

Jake stood. “It’s yours.”

“The drinks are on me,” the burly man shouted. The room exploded in celebration. With his arm, Ned corralled the money and scraped it into his hat. Daisy took a step in his direction, but Jake stopped her with a scowl.
I don’t need anyone’s pity.
Angry, he headed for the door.

“Hold up there, my friend,” Rome drawled. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

T
uesday morning Thom dressed quickly and hurried out of his room. The sun had yet to top the mountains. He had a few chores he’d let go that he’d complete now before going to work. In the kitchen, he found Mrs. Hollyhock busy making breakfast and four place settings on the table.

“Mornin’,” he said.

“Came in pretty late last night.” She looked over her shoulder at him as she stirred her pot. “Seems that dog’s good for something.”

Thom patted Ivan on the head and shrugged. The dog had raised the alarm before Thom could hush him, and he’d wondered if he’d awoken his hostess. “We have guests?”

“Yes. Two. Men from the Union Pacific.”

“I thought the railroad men were camping in the festival grounds?”

“That’s true enough. I suspect these two are bosses. Looked like important people. They should be up anytime.” She pointed her oatmeal-covered spoon at Ivan. “Be sure that beast don’t hurt ’em.”

Ivan whined, then trotted to her side and sat down. Seemed she’d won his dog over, even if she pretended otherwise. Mrs. Hollyhock went over to the table, picked up his plate, and filled it with biscuits, bacon, and gravy.

Thom sat down and practically inhaled the food. It was good. Warm. Deadened the dull ache that usually woke him up around
three o’clock in the morning. Seemed the more he ate and gained weight, the more food he needed. He wiped his mouth and said, “I’ll get to your chores this morning, Violet. Fill the wash kettle, chop wood, fill your inside wood bin, clean out the chicken coop and stalls. Anything else you want to add to the list?”

She shook her head.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Thom pulled out two dollars and placed it next to his plate.

“What’s that?” Her tone was suspicion mixed with hurt. He would have to walk softly not to wound her feelings. She poured him a cup of coffee and looked at the money.

“Just a little something toward my keep. I know you’re buying a lot more food since I’ve arrived.”

Turning, she proceeded back to the counter and clunked the coffeepot atop the woodstove none too softly, then turned to face him. “Deal was your muscle and help for room and board.”

“I know. And it still is. You charge five dollars a week. Maude paid me a good amount to reroof her two buildings and that helped get me back on my feet. I’d like to pay something, now that I can afford it.” He stuffed the last strip of bacon into his mouth and chewed. He swallowed and took a sip of coffee. “Besides, you never have that much for me to do around here, and I’m feeling plenty guilty about that. Like I’m taking advantage of your goodwill.” Maybe he was laying it on a little too thick.

Mrs. Hollyhock picked up his dirty plate and slipped it into the water bucket on the counter.

He suppressed his smile. He’d won—for now. “When will those chickens start to lay?”

She smiled, and a warm look came into her eyes. “Well, I’m not exactly sure. Usually takes ’em five or six months before they start. Not knowin’ how old Rose, Iris, and Buttercup really are makes it a tad bit difficult ta know. Their combs are startin’ to turn, though. I’d guess ’bout a month, give or take a few weeks.”

In other words, she had no idea. “Buttercup?” He chuckled, drawing an irritated look from her. “What’d you name the rooster?”

She pulled out a chair and sat beside him, shaking her head. “That poor, confused creature, I ain’t never seen another like him. Thinks he’s a hen. Goes around with the girls scratching and pecking, and cuddlin’ close. Cockerels usually stay apart—thinkin’ they’re superior, jist bidin’ their time till the pullets come into their own, iffin’ you know what I mean.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down suggestively. “I hope he has it in ’im when the time comes. I’d like to grow my flock and sell eggs to the mercantile again, like I used to.”

“The name.”

She fidgeted in her chair. “Pansy.”

He couldn’t hold back and laughed from his gut.

“
Shush.
You’re gonna wake the others.”

He stood. “I better get to your chores so I won’t be late to Win’s.” He shook his head. The old woman had turned into a good friend, one he’d needed badly. “I hope Pansy doesn’t live up to his name.” He patted his leg. “Come on, Ivan, let’s get you out on your line.”

Finished at the Red Rooster and cleaned up, Thom rode down Main Street on his way to work. Two fellows, faces he remembered from the brawl he’d had the first Saturday in town, stood in front of the bakery and watched his approach. He reined up next door at the mercantile, ignoring their angry stares.

“Thomas,” Maude called from the window, feather duster in hand. She rushed over and wrapped him in an embrace even before he had a chance to remove his hat. Warmth crept into his face as she held him much longer than he felt comfortable. He
finally broke away, thanking her. “Good to see you, too,” he said, swiping the Stetson from his head.

“Thank you for helping Hannah in the restaurant yesterday. The three of you—no, the five of you—really had your work cut out. Markus is growing up so fast. It’s just wonderful that Mr. Peabody’s words are coming true. I’ve had three exceptional days here at the store, too.”

“Yes. It’s happening faster than anyone expected, I think.” Thom scanned the shelves as she went on. The bell above the door tinkled, and two unfamiliar ladies stepped in.

“Excuse me for a moment.” She hurried over to the newcomers.

Thom breathed a sigh of relief. He went to the wall and picked up the boots Hannah had rejected a few days ago. She hadn’t had a chance to come and get them yet, and he wanted to surprise her. He took them to the counter and waited for Maude.

The shopkeeper came around the counter and stopped. Smiled when she saw the boots. Pulling the pencil from behind her ear, she wrote up his tag. “Would you like this on your account?”

He nodded.

“Anything else?”

“A sack of flour.”

Maude’s gaze jerked up to his. “Violet feeling poorly? She usually picks up her staples on Thursday.”

“No. She’s fine.”

Maude harrumphed at having guessed wrong. “Must think you’re her personal slave.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Maude,” the shopkeeper corrected.

He nodded. “And some wallpaper paste. I didn’t see any on your shelves.”

Her eyebrow crooked up. “Wallpaper paste?”

Thom shifted his weight. He didn’t like fibbing, but there was no help for it now. “Uh, yes.”

When he didn’t offer a clarification, she asked, “Is Violet
finally
doing something with the interior of that rustic barn?”

The Red Rooster was hardly a barn, but he knew better than to get between two women. “Yes. She’s always doing this or that.”

She turned to fetch what he’d asked for. “Thank heavens for small favors,” she muttered, as she walked behind the long counter toward the back room. “That old place could use some loving care, I should think. Especially now, with all the new citizens that’ll be moving here. Ever since Dora Lee sold it to that country bumpkin…”

Thom couldn’t hear the end of Maude’s sentence as she disappeared through the alcove. He felt the presence of someone behind him, so he turned. The two ladies, one young and one older, smiled up at him, twittering. The young one looked away immediately, but the other—her mother?—nodded.

“Ladies,” he said, turning back to the counter. What was taking Maude so long?

“Here we are,” Maude exclaimed, hurrying back. She handed him a good-size cardboard paper box and a five-pound sack of flour. “Tell Violet that if she needs help picking out a pretty paper, I have many years of experience decorating. I’d be glad to help.”

Thom put his hat on and made for the door. “I’ll do that, ma’am. And thank you.”

“
Maude
,” he heard her call to his back. “Anytime, Thomas.”

O
nce Win had gone out to lunch, Thom pulled the big barn doors closed and hurried into the tack room, where he’d stashed the wallpaper paste and flour behind the stack of grain sacks.

The barn was warm. Sweat, generated from nerves, gathered on his forehead.
Am I crazy?
This just might be the lamest thing he’d ever thought of, but all the same, he had to try something. Opportunities like this didn’t come along every day.

He dumped the whole five-pound sack of flour into a bucket with a whoosh, his face and arms getting covered with a light white film. Dusting off, he added a small amount of water. When it was sticky, he added a good amount of the paste. Remembering Hannah and her recitation of her biscuit story last night made him chuckle. This was all guesswork and might end up as nothing more than a big mess to clean up.

Finished, he set the chalk-white mixture aside, haltered Rome’s gelding, and brought him out of his stall, tying him at the hitching post. He carefully picked pebbles and hay out of each hoof, now divested of any iron shoe.