The Trouble with Patience (5 page)

He felt genuine care for the older lady in spite of her attempts to interfere in his life, and he leaned down to plant a kiss on her forehead. She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you, and 'bye now.”

He just shook his head as he watched her bustle away to the bakery. Their conversation brought to mind his encounter with Miss Patience. There was something about her . . . and not just those enormous green eyes. His feelings confused him—baffled him, really. She certainly was not the type he was normally drawn to. Too particular and outspoken. Besides, he was still nursing old wounds, and he wasn't about to repeat that sad saga. Not after Mt. Joy. It wouldn't matter anyway. If Patience knew about some things from his past, she most certainly would have nothing to do with him.

He closed the door, returned to his desk, and swallowed the last biscuit down with coffee and satisfaction. Monty was right—he didn't think Hannah's biscuits could compete with Patience's—hers were lighter than a cloud.
Wonder how she learned to cook like that?

He picked up his Winchester leaning against the wall by his desk. Time to make sure he had everything together before the town came to life. He hoped the jail cells stayed empty because he intended to get some much-needed shut-eye tonight.

Moonlight filtered through the bedroom window curtains, the gentle breeze lifting them with a soft sigh. It was long past midnight, and Patience couldn't sleep. Too many jumbled thoughts filled her head. The sudden arrangement with the marshal, Hannah's rather transparent pretense at matchmaking a very unlikely couple, preparations for tomorrow's duties.

And, she admitted, she was lonely. Would it always be like this? She went over to the window and stared out at the finally quiet town. She thought back to Russell, how his eyes had danced with excitement at the prospect of having his own ranch
. I believed in him, but did
he believe in me?
She shook her head. It was all so very tragic, and the thought that he'd come to an awful death pierced her heart—one that was finally beginning to heal, she realized. She mustn't let the unfortunate memories get in the way of living. That's what her grandmother would say if she were here tonight. She sighed and leaned on the window sill.

She watched a tall figure stroll up the street toward her
boardinghouse. Jedediah. So he was up late as well. Where was he going? The man was ruggedly handsome in the moonlight, his shoulders straight, long legs moving purposefully, hat pushed back to reveal his features beneath the brim. He was a man to be reckoned with. She was sure of that. But certainly not her type with his brusque way of speaking and short temper. A man like that could never hold her the way she longed to be held, with tenderness and loving whispers, could he?
Don'
t be silly!

Just as she was about to move away from the window, he looked up, slowing his steps until she thought he was going to wave. But she quickly closed the window and pulled the curtains together with shaking hands. God forbid! He'd seen her in her nightgown! Her face grew hot, and her hands flew to her face, their coldness cooling her skin. What must he
think
of her? Hopefully he'd seen very little . . . although the full moon was bright tonight.

She hurried back to bed. After yanking the coverlet back and crawling in, she wrapped her arms around the pillow. With the wind whistling through the cracks in the window frame, she willed herself to go to sleep, knowing that she'd have to be up very early in order to have the lunches ready when Jedediah stopped by. Notions that he had the tiniest bit of interest in her flashed across her mind, and she almost laughed out loud at the very thought. The two of them mixed like a dark spot on a Sunday shirt!

Patience was ready when Jedediah rapped on the door at sunrise. His posse was lined up in the street behind his horse, saddlebags and guns strapped on their mounts, hats slung low.

“Mornin', ma'am,” Jedediah said when she opened the door. The mere bulk of him filled her small foyer as he stepped inside with a jingle of spurs. He made a formidable presence, outfitted as he was in a long black duster, a large bandana around his neck, his six-shooter strapped to his leg, and steely eyes observing her from beneath a brown leather hat
. Sure wouldn't want to tangle with
him if I got on the wrong side of the
law
, she thought. However, thinking about their earlier sparring made her heart beat faster. Had he held her gaze a little longer than necessary just now . . . or not?

“Morning,” she said, attempting to match his laconic tone. “The boxes are right here on the hall table,” she told him. “I'll help you carry them out.” But as she reached for them, his leather-gloved hand covered hers. “No need.” He turned in the doorway to the men. “Monty,” he called, “lend a hand.”

She recalled the cowboy named Monty from the day
Jedediah had arrested the attempted saddle thief. In a swift minute or two, they'd handed the boxes up to each rider. A couple tipped their hats to her.

“Much obliged, Miss Patience. Smells mighty good. Be seeing you before too long.” Jedediah joined his waiting men, said something she couldn't hear, then mounted his horse. He thumbed a signal to his posse, leading them in a trot down the street toward the foothills. Just then the morning sun broke across the purple mountaintop, sending shafts of light through the trees.

Patience shivered and hurried back inside, deciding to have her coffee before the boarders came down. She'd make a double batch of biscuits and fry up some potatoes and eggs in a bit. But since she was up a little earlier than normal, she made a list of pressing items around the boardinghouse that needed attention. Staring down at her ledger and the total at the bottom of the page, it was obvious that the needs outweighed her meager income. She chewed on her bottom lip and closed her eyes, as if she expected an answer to suddenly appear in a vision.

Sometimes she felt like giving up and going back home, but the thought of living with her overbearing mother quickly redirected her intent. The miners who boarded seemed to come and go as fast as an apple pie at a church picnic—whether off to work at the next strike on a nearby mine, or moving on to a new town with the hope of becoming rich. Still, she was grateful for the boarders she had. If she only had one more, she might have enough income to hire someone to put a fresh coat of paint on the weather-worn front facade. The pantry was getting low on staples, but the money she'd be receiving from the marshal would help pay for additional groceries needed near week's end.

She closed the ledger and decided to see about paint and supplies first thing tomorrow. A fresh coat would brighten the outside and might bring in business.
Yes, that's
exactly what I'll do
. Hearing movement overhead meant it was time to start breakfast. She hurried off to the kitchen.

“All right, men,” Jed said, pulling his horse up after nearly a four-hour ride. “Let's take a rest here, have our lunch.” The sloped meadow and outcropping of trees offered a respite from the trail. The sun was high in the sky now, the time well past noon.

“Be glad to.” Monty sighed, sliding off his horse. “My stomach is eating my backbone. Sure smells divine, doesn't it?” The rest of the posse mumbled their agreement, taking only moments to find a seat on the grass before attacking the food Patience had prepared.

Kit devoured the fried chicken, licked his fingers clean, and exclaimed, “Why, the woman even tucked a miniature apple pie in mine!” He was the youngest of the group, still wet behind the ears, but Jed had agreed to let him come along.

A ripple of snorts and guffaws pealed out from the group. “Don't feel too special.” Monty chortled from his place against a tree trunk. “We all have one in our box. Now if we just had a cup of fresh brewed coffee to go with dessert.”

“I'll second that,” Brady, sitting cross-legged on the ground, said in his Irish brogue between mouthfuls.

“Say, Jed.” Bob, a scrawny old horse breeder, turned toward the marshal. “Ever think about those times we had a few years back, hanging those road agents?”

Jed slanted a look at Bob, feeling the pie turn sour in his stomach. “Not lately,” he muttered. “It's best not to dwell on the past—can't change things.” The words sounded good, but they didn't change his lie into truth.

Quiet settled over the group until James, a wiry, short fella and the more outspoken one of the men, said, “Well, if it hadn't been for you and the Montana vigilantes, those agents would've continued robbing and stealing the countryside bare.”

Kit choked on his pie and coughed until James thumped him on the back. “You mean you wuz one of them vigilantes?” Kit said around another cough. “I didn't know that—why, you're a living legend! No one ever told me!” The young man was wide-eyed with amazement.

Jed clenched his jaw, not wanting this impressionable kid to put him on a pedestal where he certainly didn't belong. Even though he hadn't been here that long, most of the men already knew he never wanted to talk about those days. “Haven't missed much, Kit,” he said, avoiding the boy's appraisal.

“Wonder what ever happened to Ned?” Bob continued.

Monty grunted. “I heard tell he took off for Kansas. Said he'd had enough of Montana.”

Jed abruptly stood, wadding the sandwich paper into a ball, ignoring their stares. “Enough lollygagging. Let's get back on the trail. If we don't find what we're looking for, we'll head back to town before dusk.”

Late-afternoon sun danced across the worn porch, its nails pushing upward from the boards as Patience swept. She leaned
her broom against the unstable railing, shielding her eyes from the setting sun to glance down the dusty road. But there was no sign of Jedediah and his posse. Was that a good sign or bad? She didn't know, but she hoped everything had turned out all right. She couldn't stay out here sweeping much longer.

The next morning she set off to buy paint and supplies at Foster's general store. She had to push her way through the other shoppers in hopes of getting waited on. Finally she touched the sleeve of a scrawny young clerk who didn't appear strong enough to hoist the five-pound sack of flour balanced on his shoulder. But before she could speak, he said, “Sorry, ma'am, this will only take a few minutes.”

She pulled her list from her reticule, but he was already walking on.

“Hold on there, lad.” Patience heard a raspy voice from behind her. “Is that any way to treat a lady?”

Patience turned in the direction of a tall man moving toward them. His black hair beneath the fine black cowboy hat was so long that it brushed the top of his broad shoulders. He was smartly dressed in a paisley tan vest under his leather coat and sported a blue silk neckerchief knotted at the base of his throat. “Won't you take a moment to find out what the young lady needs?” He stood waiting, feet spread apart in well-heeled boots.

Although the young clerk's face flooded bright red, no doubt taken aback at the man's intrusion, he stood his ground. “In time I will, but she has to wait like everyone else, mister.” He gave Patience a curt nod, then hurried away.

The man shrugged. “I tried, but how he could pass up an opportunity to serve a comely customer such as you is beyond me.” His blue eyes twinkled.

Patience felt her face grow warm.
Comely—me?
“Sir, I appreciate your efforts, but I can see the clerk has more than enough to handle. I shouldn't have prevailed upon him to assist me. Thank you all the same. I'll wait my turn and, in the meantime, see if I can locate some of these items myself.” She stared down at her list.
Perhaps if I don't look up
, he'll walk away.
But he continued to stand there.

She couldn't remember seeing him about town, but with so many coming and going daily, she'd be hard-pressed to remember every face—except for the fact that she wouldn't likely forget his handsome face or his deep, raspy voice.

“I could help if you'd like,” he offered.

“That won't be necessary. I'm sure you have better things to do.” She looked directly into his eyes, which crinkled at the corners. A slight smile parted his lips. Was he flirting or just being helpful?

He took a step closer and held out his hand, and she reluctantly placed hers inside his big, strong fingers. “Name's Cody. Cody Martin.” He shook her hand firmly, holding her eyes with his.

She gave him a curt nod. “Patience Cavanaugh,” she said, pulling her hand away.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I have nothing but
time. To tell you the truth, I just got into town. I'm looking for a job, so I'm completely free and at your service.”

“Well, that's all good and well, and I do hope you find employment. But from your manner of dress, I'd say you're more suited to ranching. Am I wrong in my assessment?” she asked primly.

He arched an eyebrow but smiled. “Matter of fact, that's all I know, but I haven't been lucky enough to snag employment in that field yet. May I?” he asked, motioning to her list.

Patience wasn't sure if he really wanted to help or was only toying with her. Her experience with the ways of men was very limited. But somehow after a moment she found herself handing the list to him.

“Ah,” he murmured as he quickly scanned it. “I see you're planning on doing some painting.”

“Why, yes. I own Creekside Inn, and I intend to spruce things up a bit.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is that so? It just so happens that I'm looking for a room to rent, if you have any available. And I do know how to paint.”

She shook her head. “Oh no, I couldn't ask you to do that. I do have vacancies, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to pay you for your services.” She took the list back.

His chuckle reverberated from deep within his chest. “It was an offer to help you while I find a job. I can pay for the room and board. I'm also pretty good with a paintbrush. You learn to do everything when you're not out cattle punchin'.”

Patience was hesitant. She wondered how he'd be able to pay rent. “I see . . . Well, I can certainly rent you a room, and as far as the painting, we'll have to see.”

“Right! Now, let's see about finding the right paint and brushes, then you can lead the way to your inn.”

He was so friendly and energetic that suddenly she was giving in to his offer to help gather the items. Within a short time, she'd picked out suitable brushes and a paint color and, after a short wait in line, paid for it all.

Patience led the way down the boardwalk in the direction of Creekside. Her heels tapped a singsong rhythm against the boardwalk with Cody beside her, swinging two buckets of paint. It was a fine, sunny morning, and their pace evenly matched. Suddenly she was in good spirits, anticipating an improved boardinghouse filled with boarders. The man next to her was at least partly responsible.

“I'm determined to improve Creekside Inn to make it more appealing,” she told him. “I'm envisioning pale yellow paint out front to welcome boarders, then a fresh coat of paint for the parlor, along with new voile curtains that I can make myself to give the place a feeling of home and coziness.”

“I'm sure your ideas will improve everything. I'll just be glad to have a place to lay my head tonight.”

“I believe the more my boarders feel at home, the longer they will reside. By the way, I serve breakfast and dinner for an extra fee. You're on your own for lunch, and it's up to you if you want those two meals included.” It was only half a block to Creekside, and soon Patience was swinging the front door open. “Mr. Martin, just set the paint pails here in the foyer for now.”

“Please call me Cody—my friends do.”

“Does that mean I'm your friend?” Patience caught herself, removing the silly smile from her face.
I sound like a flirt!
For goodness' sake, what was wrong with her—acting this
way toward some man who came along and paid her some attention!

“I certainly hope we can be. I've enjoyed talking with you and helping select paint,” he chuckled. His handlebar mustache nearly covered his upper lip, and it twitched with his smile. “Is it all right if I call you Patience?”

My, he was bold! She hardly knew what to say—she'd just met him! “I, uh . . . I think that would be all right.” She felt her face go warm, and her tongue was thick, but Cody only smiled.
What on
earth would Mother say?

“I'll just need you to sign your name on the register, right over here, and I require the first night's fee.” She removed her cape and laid it aside, then walked behind the small wood counter. She flipped open a green ledger, hoping she looked like a professional businesswoman. She heard someone clear his throat and was surprised to see a man sitting just inside the parlor open to the foyer.
Jedediah?

“I didn't see you there, Jedediah.” Patience nervously fingered a button on her blouse. “Have you been waiting for me? Or are you here inquiring about a room?”

Patience could see Cody watching Jedediah as he rose and made his way to the front door, then paused. “It can wait. Looks like you're a little busy at the moment,” he said, his gaze on the paint cans by the door. “Go ahead with your customer. I'll be back a little later.”

“If you're sure,” she responded, feeling awkward and flustered.

He tipped his hat at them and quickly closed the door behind him without another word. She turned back to the ledger.

“Now, show me where you want me to sign,” he said. “I'm
used to sleeping in hard bunk beds surrounded by a lot of snoring cowpokes.”

“I'm sure you will be comfortable here during your stay. Did you decide whether you want to stay by the day or week?”

“Since no employment has miraculously appeared, I'll pay for the week and then go from there. Maybe something will come up.”

“Very well. The front door is locked after ten o'clock in the evening,” she told him, keeping her tone as businesslike as she could, “but you have your own key to your room. If you want me to clean your room, that's extra. But I can supply fresh bedding, even laundry services, upon request, for an additional charge.”

She pondered briefly why this man seemed to make her so . . . so discombobulated! He paid the amount she quoted for the week and accepted the room key. “I'm going over to retrieve my bags from the train depot where I left them,” he told her. “Thank you for your charming company. We'll talk later about getting started on painting the outside. I can help with that at least until I find work. It'll give me something to do.”

“You're most welcome, and I appreciate your willingness to help me . . . Cody.” Her tone was matter of fact, but she fumbled with the register book and quickly looked away.

———

It wasn't the first time Cody had had that effect on a woman, but he was no womanizer. It'd been a while since there was a woman in his life. He spent too much time going from ranch to ranch the last few years.

But she was attractive in a down-to-earth way. Nicely put together—not some frail slip of a girl who couldn't lift a mop
bucket. Sensual, though, without realizing it—an even better attribute when a woman wasn't aware she had it all. She had a quick mind, he could tell from their brief time together, and he liked that.

He sure was curious about the man obviously waiting for her when they'd returned from the mercantile. “Jedediah,” she'd called him. Was he a suitor? He looked at her in some way that made his visit seem like it was more than simply to call on some kind of business matter.

Actually, the man seemed familiar somehow, not so much his looks, but maybe his voice? And the man was wearing a badge—the town marshal?

Well, anyway, he mustn't get tangled up with a woman . . . or with a marshal. They both usually spelled trouble. Besides, he didn't plan on being in Nevada City that long. Best that he stick to finding work and continue with his plans.

Jedediah's thoughts perplexed him as he left the Creekside Inn. Patience had seemed a little shy while she'd been chatting with her customer. It was surprising, but appealing. The two seemed to know each other, by the sound of their conversation. Well, it was none of his business. But he wondered what it would take for him to cause her to blush so prettily?
Easy now . . . She
's too rigid and perfect for someone like me. I
can't be hemmed in like that—even if she
'd want to be!

A hint of cinnamon wafted on the breeze. He headed down to The Star Bakery, his belly rumbling in response. Fragrant mixtures of cinnamon and other spices filled the tiny bakery and made his mouth water. Hannah was busy at her wooden
table, kneading a big batch of dough he knew would be fresh bread by noon. Behind the glass-fronted counter were all those baking delights to tantalize his senses.

“Howdy, Jed.” Hannah paused to wipe her hands on a cloth, then hurried over.

“Morning, Miss Hannah. I would love to have one of your cinnamon rolls. But,” he bent to peer through the glass at the shelves, “I don't see—”

“My earlier customers wiped me out, but I always save one for you just in case.” Her round face beamed at him like he was her son.

“Aww, Miss Hannah, you didn't have to do that.”

“I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to.” She reached under a linen cloth and placed the cinnamon roll on a piece of paper. “Want me to wrap it or you gonna eat it here?”

“I think I'll take it with me and make myself some coffee. I always have work I should be doing.”

“No need to make your own. I just made some fresh. In fact, I'll take a break with you, now that it's finally settled down around here this morning.” Ignoring his protests, she poured two mugs of coffee. She carried them and he picked up his roll and followed her over to one of the small wooden tables.