Margaret Brownley (32 page)

“Yep,” Sharkey concurred.  “Our places are all spruced up.”

“It’s about time,” Logan growled. “Now maybe a man can get himself some uninterrupted sleep.”

Sharkey glanced at the others before he continued. “We have only one eyesore left.”

Logan looked up one side of the street and down the other. Every last building and every last fence and every last hitching post glistened beneath a coat of fresh paint. Somebody had even gone overboard and painted a rock that rested by the side of the dirt road. “I don’t see any eyesore.”

“We were referrin’ to your diggin’s here,” Sharkey said.

Logan stepped back. He was so astonished, he forgot to favor his leg and he immediately suffered the consequences. Growling beneath his breath, he rested his hand against a tree and shifted his weight. “My diggings? What’s wrong with my diggings?”

Big Sam pointed to the dreary shack in question. “It gives the town a bad name. Isn’t that right, boys?”

“I’m not allowing my house to become all sissified, and that’s final.”

McGuire, ever the diplomat, took charge. “Now before ya go getting’ yaself all in a stew, Ah think ya ought to consider something very seriously. Ya’re a godfather, ain’t that right?”

Logan frowned. “I don’t see that one has anything to do with the other.”

“Now hear me out,” McGuire said. “Look what’s right across the street. Ya little godson. And when he looks out his bright new shinin’ windows, what does he see? Does he see a town he can be proud of? Or does he see an eyesore?”

“He sees an eyesore!” the men yelled in unison.

Logan considered this. Preacher Genesis hadn’t said anything about a godfather having to fix up his house. He started toward his porch. “I don’t have time for this foolishness.”

McGuire stayed him. “Ya won’t have ta worry about a thing. Will he, boys?”

“Not a thing,” Big Sam agreed.

McGuire slapped Logan on the back. “Ya just give us the word and we’ll take it from there.”

Logan was torn between doing right by the boy and protecting his privacy. Finally, he relented, but mostly because he was outnumbered. “Not too sissified,” he warned.

“Wouldn’t think of it. Would we, boys?”

“And none of those calico curtains.”

McGuire looked less confident about promising this. “You’ll have to take that up with Libby.”

Forcing aside his reservations, Logan limped back into the house and slammed the door shut behind him. He told himself it would only be a temporary inconvenience. Besides, winter was about over. Just as soon as the ache in his leg subsided, he’d head up north to beaver country. He had traps to set.

First-class pelts or plews, as mountain men called them, were still in demand, perhaps because of the dwindling supply. Most trappers had headed for the gold fields leaving the field wide open for those left behind.

Word was that the north had never known such cold weather and bitter storms. This was good news as far as Logan was concerned. It might be May before beavers began to shed their winter coats. With any sort of luck, he might still be able to get enough pelts to see him through the summer. Maybe not prime pelts, but good enough to sell.

But that meant he’d have to leave sooner than expected, regardless of his still ailing leg. The truth was that if he hoped to trap any beavers worth something, he’d have to leave no later than early April. That was only two weeks away.

Meanwhile, the least a godfather could do was to see that his godchild had himself a decent view.

*****

During the next three days, Logan’s shack was practically rebuilt from the ground up. The miners cut out two square holes for windows, one on either side of his front door, before anyone thought to ask Hap about the availability of window glass. When it turned out that Hap’s supplies were depleted, Logan pretty near froze to death until canvas sheets were stretched across the frames and nailed in place.

Big Sam built flower boxes and matching shutters for the windows. Sharkey and Beaker tore down the porch and replaced it with one that didn’t sag.  New roof and paint completed the job.

Logan stood in front of his house and demanded to know why they painted it yellow. “Of all the sissified colors. It looks like a giant gold bar.”

“We ran outta whitewash,” Sharkey explained.

Logan was still staring at the house several minutes later when Libby walked out of her front door carrying Noel. “It’s lovely,” she called to him. She hurried across the street to join him. “What do you think, Noel? Did you ever see a prettier house in all your born days?” She held Noel up so he could see.

Logan gazed at her pink cheeks and lips. “Do you really like it?”

“Absolutely. Now all you need are some calico curtains.”

“Calico curtains would be nice.”

“And flowers in your flower boxes.”

“I don’t know anything about planting flowers.”

“If you’d like, I’d be happy to plant them for you,” she said.

“That’s mighty thoughtful of you.”

She glanced at his leg. “Would it be too much trouble for you to hold Noel while I fetch my gardening gloves and spade?”

“No trouble at all.”

“He’s getting heavy.”

He took Noel in his arms and bounced him up and down. “Indeed he is.”

“I won’t be but a minute,” she said.

“Take your time. My leg is much better.” It still hurt, but he had no intention of letting on how much.

“The hot baths must have helped.” She blushed prettily and dashed back to the house, her skirts all aflutter, hair flying in every direction. He couldn’t take his eyes off her until she had disappeared into the house. He lowered his head and buried his nose next to Noel’s sweet-smelling skin.

Noel delighted him with a dimpled smile that lit up his chubby round face. “Well, now…” Logan chuckled.

Libby came out of the house and hurried toward them, her face set with a sense of purpose. “I brought some cuttings from my garden,” she said. “Poppies and lupines. I never thought I would become an expert on wildflowers.”

“Don’t they have wildflowers in Boston?’

“Not really. Unless you drive out into the country.” She gave him a quick smile and set to work planting the flowers. She chattered freely as she filled the window boxes with soil.

It was her way to talk incessantly when she was anxious or fearful. That’s how he knew his presence was affecting her, by her nonstop chatter. Just as her presence was affecting him.

He wondered why he had allowed the two of them to grow on him so. Mother and son. He had no business feeling the things he felt for them. No business at all. He was nothing but a lowly trapper, with nothing of value to his name.

“There,” Libby announced at last. She brushed her hands off. “It won’t be long before you’ll have flowers.”

He should have told her right then and there that he’d never see those particular flowers come to bloom. He was leaving in less than two weeks. But the words wouldn’t come, and so he kept his misery to himself.

She gave him an uncertain smile and for a moment, but only a moment, he imagined things were different. That he wasn’t who or what he was. That his body was sound and his future bright.

“Here,” he said brusquely. He handed Noel to her.

Looking confused, she stared as Logan backed away.

“I have things to do,” he explained. He grabbed his gold rocker and heaved it onto his horse
. Why. God, why?
Why are you doing this to me?

All he had to his name was a leg that kept him from running—more than that, kept him from loving.

Libby spread a blanket on the ground next to the clothesline and placed Noel on his stomach. She then proceeded to hang her wash.

Noel rolled over and Libby dropped the wet garment into the basket and bent over to tickle him under his chubby little chin.

“My little man,” she whispered. He was growing so fast, she could hardly keep up.

She straightened just as Logan stepped out of his cabin and lumbered toward her.

He didn’t look happy.

She picked up a wet shirt and flung it over the line. It was Big Sam’s shirt and required an extra peg to keep it in place.

Logan walked up to her and she greeted him with a smile. “Noel turned over all by himself.”

He glanced at the infant and smiled. “Well, now.”

“Soon he’ll be crawling and walking.”

“I reckon so,” Logan said.

“The dress fits perfectly,” she said.  He had dropped it off the night before.

“Good to hear.” After an awkward silence, he cleared his throat.

“Cast-Iron asked me to talk to you.”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “That’s a surprise.” The man hadn’t said word one to her. “Why doesn’t he talk to me himself?”

“He wanted to but I wouldn’t let him. He called you a meddler.”

“Did he now?”

“Said he put up with all the building, painting and curtains, but things have gone too far. Some men aren’t doing their fair share at the gambling tables.”

She nodded. “Their saving their money so they can bring their families here,” Libby said.

“I’m only telling you what Cast-Iron said.” He hesitated. “You have something on your nose.”

She touched nose. “What?”

“A soap bubble. Right here,” He wiped it away with his finger.

“Thank you.”

She smiled and he stepped back.

“Was there anything else?” she asked.

He frowned. “Anything else? Eh…no.”

“Well you can tell Mr. Iron that it makes no sense for miners to throw their hard-earned gold away on the gaming tables.”

“It’s their only recreation.”

“When they bring their families out here, there will be other ways to occupy their time.”

He nodded. “I’ll convey your message.” He stood looking at her and saying nothing.

“Was there anything else?” she asked.

“Yes, eh, no.” He shook his head and spun around. “Forget it!”

“Logan…”

He stopped mid step.

“Why don’t you say what you really came to say?”

He turned to face her. “What makes you think I came to say anything that I haven’t already said?”

“It’s just a feeling I have. Now would you please stop beating around the bush? If you have something to say, then just say it!”

“I have no right to say what I want to say. Me being a rough, uneducated mountain man and you being a …fine lady.”

“That’s hogwash!”

“But you are a fine lady.”

“I meant your being a rough and uneducated mountain man. Why I’ve never met a man more knowledgeable …Macoa owes his life to you and so do I. You helped with Noel’s birth just like you were a doctor.”

“I never went to school.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not educated.”

“I know nothing about opera,” he said.

“I don’t know anything about wild animals.” She glanced away. “Sometimes I wonder…”

He closed the distance between them. “What? What were you going to say?”

She bit her lower lip. “I wonder how I can teach Noel about nature and wildlife. He won’t learn that in Boston.”

“Boston is still in Noel’s best interests,” he said, his voice husky.

She swallowed hard. “I know that. And I must think about his future.”

“I agree.”

“He’ll need other children his age. I’m sure…that’s what Jeffrey would have wanted.”

At mention of Noel’s father, Logan frowned. “Do you still think of him much?”

“Jeffrey? Yes,” she said. But nowhere near enough. “He was the perfect match for the woman I once was. I’m no longer that same woman. I’m stronger, more independent. If Jeffrey and I were to meet now, I’m not sure…”

Oh, but she was, she was. Jeffrey was a wanderer and at first she loved his sense of adventure, but that was before she knew her own heart, knew how much she wanted a home and family. As much as it hurt her to think it, she could no longer deny the truth; Jeffrey belonged to a woman who no longer existed.

Logan stood watching her, a look of regret and sadness on his face. “You were always strong, Libby. I’d bet on it. Maybe that’s why you came out west. Not just because of Jeffrey, but because of your own free spirit. Did that thought ever occur to you? Did you ever stop to think that maybe you wanted to escape Boston?”

She loved him for thinking her strong and free-spirited. But he gave her more credit than she deserved. “If that’s true, then I was deluding myself. Boston is my home. It will always be my home.”

“I know.” He glanced away. “When….when do you plan to return to Boston?”

“Thornton says I should leave soon. Otherwise, I’ll meet with bad weather.”

A muscle tightened at his jaw. “Thornton’s right.” He blew out his breath. “As Noel’s godfather, it seems only fitting that I help with expenses.”