The Trouble with Patience (4 page)

Jedediah was not of a mind to wait for the coffee to brew. He reached into the basket and picked up the lightest biscuit he'd ever seen, then sat down and took a bite of pure pleasure. He swiped a hand across his mouth and grinned at her.

“You might like to try a bit of sausage with your next bite,” she suggested. He nodded agreement and soon savored the flavors of the sausage and biscuit together in his mouth. This breakfast—and the one who'd brought it—was like the fresh air he enjoyed when he went into the mountains on a spring day. He looked at her over his biscuit, at her pretty green eyes and that sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks. She remained quiet as he finished the biscuit and picked up the other sausage link.

“Miss Patience,” he said, shaking his head, “the truth is, I don't think I've ever had a more delicious breakfast. Monty was indeed correct,” he added. “Why don't you share this last biscuit with me?”

“I—oh—” And then she sprang from her chair and rushed to the stove, where the coffee was boiling over. Grabbing a
dishtowel, she lifted the coffeepot and placed it to the side, then partially closed the oven's damper to lower the heat from the fire.

Jedediah was at her side in two strides. “See what happens when a man gets distracted with good food and a pretty lady?”

She went perfectly still. “I've never been called pretty . . .” Her voice trailed away and her gaze remained toward the floor.

He shifted on his feet and took the towel, his hand brushing against her knuckles, and placed the coffeepot back on the heat to finish brewing. She seemed more reserved, maybe even bashful, than when they'd first met. Was she simply putting on a front to win his favor? “Well, you should've been. Didn't your ma ever tell you that?” he said from where he stood near the stove.

“I don't recall her saying much of anything complimentary,” she said quietly as she moved back to her chair. “I'd rather be called intelligent though. Anyway, I only came here this morning because I wanted to apologize for the way I intruded in your duties the other day. I had no right.”

“No. You didn't.” He grinned. “Apology accepted.” The air was thick with silence. He filled two mugs and brought one over to her.

“However, you're not completely off the hook,” she said from behind him as he returned to his chair behind the desk.

Why do women
always have to have the last word?
He sighed. “Well, I'm sure—”

“You obviously think I'm empty-headed just because I'm a woman,” she hurried on. “Why, I run a business that will soon be quite successful, just as it was before my grandmother died. Though I am struggling to make ends meet, with repairs and all, and needing supplies—”

“Woman, do you ever know when to quit talking? How can I get a word in edgewise with you nattering on?”

She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin as if to say something else, but she must have decided against it.

“I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he said into the silence. “That was not my intention, but if you'd let me finish, I have a proposition for you.”

“Whatever do you mean?” She shot to her feet, set her mug on the desk with a bang, and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “I'm not in the least interested in your ‘proposition.' I'm not that kind of woman!” She stared at him angrily, then marched across the room toward the door.

His laughter no doubt could be heard down the boardwalk. He recovered, but she looked back at him as if she'd just eaten a lemon. She grabbed the door handle, her lips in a tight, thin line. Miss Patience was a strong-willed woman.

“Are you quite through?” she shot at him, adjusting her shawl tightly about her shoulders.

“Hold on,” he said, stretching his hand out toward her. “Don't go getting the wrong idea. Sit back down and drink your coffee. I'll explain.” Her brows knitted together, but she moved back to the chair and picked up the mug.

What was that fragrance he'd gotten a whiff of as she passed? Pleasant, but not too strong. Some kind of flower—or
flour
? He almost laughed aloud at the thought that the flour she made her biscuits from might have an aroma, but she seemed in no mood to be trivial, so he didn't ask. “I'm listening,” she said, though her expression didn't match her words.

———

“Here's how we can help each other,” he said, watching her sip at her coffee. “I have a posse of five men riding out
with me tomorrow at daybreak, looking for a man wanted for murder. Do you think you could make us up some of your box lunches? It'd sure beat hardtack and beef jerky.”

“Well, I don't know if I'll have time, with running the boardinghouse an' all—”

“I'd be paying you, of course, but you'd need to throw in a piece of chicken or meat. Maybe you could do that occasionally for us, but it might often be on short notice. You know, like an arrangement. I could help you with your earnings, and you could help me with better-tasting lunches. What d' you say?” He watched as she seemed to consider it.

“Maybe . . .” She gazed across the room. “I have to fix large meals anyway—the extra money could help me.” She paused, then said, “Are you handy with a hammer or paintbrush? I could surely use someone to do a little patching up on the roof and such. What about it? You know, when you're not in pursuit of criminals.”

He crossed his arms while he thought it over. “I think I could manage to find some free time. If not, maybe one of my men can help out.” He reached out a hand, and she stood to shake it. “I think we have an arrangement, Miss Patience, one that's good for both of us.” As he shook her hand, he was surprised at her firm grip. And her calloused palm—another surprise. He didn't think he'd ever met anyone quite like her. Maybe all the more reason to keep his distance.

“Fine, then. I must be going,” she was saying. “You can stop in for the boxed lunches tomorrow before you leave with your posse—I'll have them ready.”

The front door flew open, and both of them turned as Hannah from the bakery entered, a basket on her arm. “Well, Jed,” the older woman said with raised eyebrows, looking
from one to the other, “I had no idea you had company this early in the morning. I've got your breakfast. Just like usual.”

Jedediah cleared his throat. “Morning, Miz Hannah. Have you met Patience Cavanaugh?” The older lady had more or less taken him under her wing since he'd arrived. He didn't mind, even though he wasn't much used to anyone fussing over him. But it felt nice in a motherly sort of way. Occasionally, though, she could feel like an irritating thorn in his flesh.

Hannah beamed at Patience. “Why, yes, I have. It's nice to see you again, Patience.” But then she caught sight of the biscuit nestled in the napkin on Jedediah's desk. “What's this?” She almost gasped. “A biscuit?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Patience said. “I made them for my boarders this morning and brought a couple to—to the marshal.” Patience seemed a bit intimidated. “I had no idea that you regularly supply him with biscuits.”

Hannah didn't say a word, but reached over to pinch off a bit of the biscuit and put it in her mouth. Tilting her head, she looked at Patience. “These are better than mine, and I thought I made the best biscuits in these parts. Why, it's light and delicious!”

Quite an admission, he thought to himself, considering her obvious pride in her own baking. He watched Patience's face as a tinge of pink brightened her cheeks and her green eyes sparkled.

“Oh, I daresay they can't hold a candle to yours, Hannah,” she murmured.

“Sooo . . .” Hannah turned to Jedediah with twinkling eyes. “You won't be needing my biscuits any longer?”

“Oh, no, Hannah!” Patience hurriedly interjected a
response. “This was a peace offering for my . . . well, my ill-advised public lecture to the poor marshal.”

Hannah laughed. “I can't see a young lady like you having to apologize, but your offer seems as good as any to get to know a fella better. But that's all right.” She gave Patience's arm a pat. “I've heard it said that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. You'll make someone a good wife, Patience,” she added with a sly glance at Jedediah.

Jedediah chuckled. “If that ol' wives' tale was the truth, you'd be the one courting me, now wouldn't you, Miz Hannah? In fact, Miss Cavanaugh and I just reached an arrangement of sorts where we can help each other out.”

The older lady eyed the two of them, looking rather skeptical. “I see. Well, give these to your prisoner then, Jed.” She held her basket out.

“I would, but he was released yesterday. Got only a firm warning from the circuit judge since Shorty didn't actually manage to steal anything.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I'll ask what you can do about the potholes in front of my establishment. It's such a muddy mess, and isn't good for business. All those wagons getting stuck in front of my bakery, and . . .”

As she prattled on, Patience murmured, “I'll leave you two to discuss this.” She retrieved her basket, the last biscuit and sausage remaining in the napkin on the desk. “Good day, Hannah. I'll see you later, Marshal.” She gave them a wave and quietly left.

Hannah stared at Jedediah after Patience was gone, tapping her hand against her folded arms.

“What?” But Jedediah already knew what was foremost in her thoughts, wagering that it wasn't about whose biscuits were the best.

“Patience seems like a very nice woman, don't you think?” Her eyes held a mischievous gleam that made him uncomfortable. He was used to her scrutiny, but he wasn't about to play into her matchmaking scheme.

“Can't say I've really noticed.”
Not true and you know it
. “I know very little about her.”

“Well, I can tell you that she is a wonderful woman. I've gotten to know her when we've shared a livery buggy to get to church over in Virginia City. We've—”

“Look, Hannah, I've had very little sleep and have a lot to do before the day gets rolling. So if you'll excuse me, I'd like to finish eating, then get cleaned up.”

Ignoring his grumbling, she continued, “A pretty lady like Patience? I'm not fooled, Jedediah Jones. I have a feeling the ‘arrangement' you made with her is going to work out very well.”

Jedediah stuck the sausage into the biscuit and took a bite. Hannah wasn't going to be easily put off, so he might as well settle in for a while.

“Perhaps you could ask her to the church picnic over in Virginia City. It'd be a nice little ride with her—”

He nearly choked on his mouthful. He swallowed hard and washed it down with a swig of coffee. “Picnic? I rarely get to either church or a picnic. You know all I've got to do around here.”

“Then there's no time like the present to get started. Just promise me you'll give it some thought. You do believe in the Good Lord, don't you?” Hannah picked up her basket to leave.

“Of course I do—it's just that my duties . . .” He didn't try to explain further.
And I don't like pretending to be
a nice churchgoer just so folks will think better of
me.

Hannah flicked a napkin against his forearm. “No work is more important than the Lord's work, I'm sure, so that's no excuse.” The expression on her face told him there would be no arguing that point. “Well, I must get back and open up the bakery. Why don't you drop by later on this week, and I'll save you one of my cinnamon buns fresh from the oven?” She winked at him.

He took her elbow and walked her to the door. “I promise to take you up on that.”

“And to consider church, or at least the picnic?”

He rolled his eyes and opened the door to the morning chill without answering.

She reached up and pinched his cheek. “I'll stop nagging now so you can get back to work.”