The Trouble with Patience (8 page)

She waited for the coffee to boil. “I wasn't sure if Patience was going to be bringing you her delicious biscuits or not.”

“Unlikely, since she's not cooking right now. But those biscuits were merely a peace offering anyway. Nothing more.” Now the woman was starting to get under his skin again.

Hannah moved to the other side of his desk and sat down, much to his dismay. “Mmm . . . Well, what I really wanted to ask was, who were those wildflowers for—Patience?” Her eyes twinkled and she pursed her lips together, waiting.

He sighed. “They were, but I thought better of it. Did you hear that she fell off a ladder?”

Hannah sucked in a breath. “Oh, no, I hadn't heard. Goodness gracious—was she hurt?”

“A mild concussion, says the doc. She had no business being at the top of a ladder, trying to paint her place on her own.” Smells of coffee filled the room, and he walked over to the stove to slide the cast-iron lid over the grate, then pushed the pot to one side to stay warm.

Hannah harrumphed. “Well, I call that mighty industrious for a young lady,” she said, rising and bustling over to the stove with a mug. “She's being a responsible new owner for the boardinghouse. I tell you, I do miss her grandmother. Sometimes she'd come to the bakery for a dessert, and we would chat over a cup of coffee. Seemed like a fine lady, and so is Patience.” She handed the mug to him.

He plopped down in his chair behind the desk, took a sip of the hot brew, then pulled the basket over and selected a biscuit. He closed his eyes and savored the first bite.

“So, why were you taking her flowers in the first place?” Hannah had returned to the seat across from him.

“Miss Hannah—” he blew out a long breath—“can't you leave it alone? There's really nothing to tell, other than I saw the flowers as I was on my way to pay her for the boxed lunches.”

“And?” She cocked a brow.

I also cut
her corset strings with my knife last night.
But it wouldn't do to add that detail. “Patience was otherwise engaged with some cowboy called Cody, so I didn't want to interrupt.” He wrapped his hands around the steaming mug. “Want a cup? Help yourself.”

She shook her gray head. “No, I've had my morning coffee. You've hardly given her a chance, don't you think? How do you know for certain Cody's sparkin' her?”

Jedediah laid his second biscuit back down. “Chance for
what
? Did I say I was interested in sparkin' her? No, I didn't.”

“A man doesn't bring flowers to a lady unless he's interested in her. So why don't you just admit it.”

He sighed and, defeated, shook his head. “I did ask if she needed me to take her to supper since the doc told her to take it easy for a few days, but she flat turned me down.”

Hannah tsked a response. “I suppose that's your way of answering me about sparkin' her. I declare, Jedediah, you're about as thickheaded as a buffalo. If that's how you asked her, then that's the reason she turned you down. She wanted a real invitation, not you asking if she
needed
to be taken to supper. Don't you get it?” Hannah folded her arms. “A woman wants to be made to feel she's special in some way.”

He let her words sink in a minute.
So that's why she rebuffed me
last night?
“Listen, Miss Hannah, I don't even know if she's all that special—”

“Well, you're not gonna find out if you don't spend some time with her. Tell you what, there's a barn dance next Saturday night at the Hargroves'. Everyone's welcome. Why don't you ask her to go with you?”

Jedediah now remembered that Frank Finney had mentioned the Hargrove dance to him last week. He cleared his throat. “I'm not sure she has any interest in knowing me any better than making boxed lunches for my crew.”

Hannah picked up the empty basket. “I see customers lining up waiting for me to open,” she said, peering out the window. “As my late husband used to say, ‘Wanderin' around
like a pony with his bridle off don't get you to the end of the trail.' Think on it. I've got to hurry now.”

He couldn't help but chuckle as he watched her scurry out the door. He shook his head. “Thanks for the biscuits!” he called out to her retreating form.
And maybe for the advice.

A few days after her fall, Patience was back to her old self, and the bruise on her cheek had turned yellow and green. She tilted her bonnet to help conceal it, along with shading her face from the summer heat. She wanted to make curtains for the parlor, and since it was afternoon, she shouldn't have any trouble getting waited on at the general store.

She still felt chagrin that Emily and Cody had found her lying on the couch in total disarray after she'd collapsed and been rescued by Jed, and she'd had some explaining to do.

Emily had rushed to her side. “Are you all right, Patience?” she cried.

Cody eyed her with curiosity but hung back, and Patience was glad that he hadn't come too close. She finally was able to get herself to a sitting position and pulled her shawl more tightly over her. She patted her hair back into place with as much decorum as she could muster with the two of them staring down at her. Emily had straightened Patience's dress down around her ankles.

“So you really were sick. I was beginning to think it was my company,” Cody commented with a little chuckle. “Should I send for the doctor? Is it your head again?”

“I'm going to be fine. I got a little faint, that's all.”

“Thank heavens you didn't pass out and hit your head again,” Emily said. “One time is quite enough. Is there anything I can get for you? Water?”

Patience waved her hand. “Truly, I feel perfectly fine now.”

“Then I'll just be getting on up to my room,” Cody said. “If you should need anything, send Emily for me,” he said and excused himself.

Patience nodded and murmured her thanks, mortified that any of this had happened at all.

Emily stared at her friend. “Now you can tell me what
really
happened,” she said, taking a seat next to Patience.

Making sure Cody was safely out of earshot, Patience explained, “It's all because I was vain enough to think I could squeeze into last year's summer dress.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself. You look fine to me,” Emily answered.

Patience was grateful she didn't laugh at her. “Thank you, Emily. That's what I get for trying to impress Cody.”

“You were? I had a notion that you might like Jedediah.” Emily arched a brow.

“I do like him, but not in the way you suggest. We can't seem to get along for more than five minutes at a time.”

“I see. Well, Cody
is
handsome . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Yes, and he's already been a big help to me, but I don't think he'll be around much longer.”

“Why is that?”

“He's looking for a job, preferably on a ranch. He said he'd move on to the next town if he didn't find work soon.”

Emily shrugged. “It would seem to me you'd be more interested in someone with a steady job. I know I would.”

“True. However, we can still enjoy his company while he's here, can't we? I noticed he walked you home tonight.”

Emily blushed. “Hardly that! I think he followed along because Jedediah told me I'd better check on you.”

“He did?”

“Yes. Did he find you when you were sick, Patience?”

Patience debated on whether or not to tell her what actually happened, then decided there would be no harm it in.

Emily giggled like a schoolgirl after Patience told her that he'd cut the strings of her corset with his knife so she could take a deep breath. “I declare, my friend, you do seem to get tangled into the most unusual situations!”

“See what I meant by being vain? That's what it got me!” They'd both laughed and decided to enjoy a cup of hot chocolate before bed.

Patience was awfully glad she'd become friends with someone close to her own age, someone so
nice
. Finishing her reverie, she stepped inside the general store to make a beeline for the fabric. She enjoyed even its smell as she fingered the bolts of cloth lined up on the table.

She knew what she wanted—something fine and light, suggesting homey comfort to her guests. There was plenty to choose from, and her eyes fell upon a bolt of lovely purple brocade material that would make a beautiful gown for a special event. Patience fingered the beautiful material but sighed. No need for her to wish for something that would be a luxury—at least not until the boardinghouse was thriving.

Near the bottom of the bolts on the table, she spied what might be exactly the delicate cream-colored lace she was looking for. It would be perfect for her parlor, if the price was reasonable. She found matching thread and carried the entire bolt to the counter to wait for a clerk, but they were busy with other customers.

Glancing around, she realized she didn't know any of those milling about the cheerful store, and she suddenly felt a wave of loneliness. All had their own shopping lists and were taken up with finding the items. Since coming to live here, she'd met a few people—a few at church in Virginia City too, though most did not shop in Nevada City. Miners were so transient that every week it seemed new faces appeared . . . and disappeared. She was getting to know Hannah, she mused—but then her thoughts were interrupted by the scrawny clerk who'd waited on her before.

“Can I help you, miss?” His smile broadened in his freckled face, and his red hair curled down into his collar, beads of perspiration dotting forehead and upper lip.

“Yes, please. What's the cost per yard for this fabric?”

He openly stared at her until she wondered if there was something on her face, then remembered the faint bruise. He eventually picked up the end of the bolt and pulled the material away from its end, exposing a tag. “It's fifteen cents a yard.”

Patience chewed the bottom of her lip, adding the yardage in her head. She might have enough to pay for it. “I'll take ten yards, then.”

“Alrighty, miss.” He began to unroll the material, holding it against a yardstick nailed to the counter as his guide. When he finished, he cut the fabric and folded it in half. Looking
over the counter at her, he grinned. “There ya go. Didn't I help you last week with paint? In spite of that cowboy?”

“Why, yes—matter of fact, you did.”

“My name's Harold. Harold Osborn.” He thrust his hand across the counter toward hers and she hesitantly shook it. His palm was damp and his handshake limp.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Osborn. I'm Patience Cavanaugh, and I run the Creekside Inn. I've only been here a few weeks.”

“I'm so glad to know you. Please don't think me bold, but I wonder if someone is taking you to the Hargroves' dance next Saturday?”

“I'm sorry, but I know nothing about that.”

“You do now. I thought . . . well . . .” His Adam's apple bobbed and his hands shook holding the material. “Maybe you'd like to attend. It's a big affair here every year, and Mr. Hargrove spares no expense. It could be a good way for you to meet some of our town folk, since you're new.” He pressed her for an answer while he wrapped her purchases in brown paper and tied the package with twine.

Patience handed him the money. He seemed somewhat younger than her, but not so young that he minded asking her to the dance. He may be a nice man who at least had a steady job, but she felt no appeal for him whatsoever. “I appreciate the invitation, but I hardly know you.”

“Then this could be your chance to do that.” His freckled face heightened with color.

She picked up the package, not wanting to hurt the young man's feelings. “Thank you, but I must run. I—I have a lot to do.” Patience scurried out the door, passing two older ladies who turned to stare after her.

“Maybe I'll see you at the dance,” he called.

Patience decided she had time for a cup of coffee at The Star Bakery this afternoon. She liked Hannah with her cheery disposition—and the woman seemed to genuinely care about Jedediah. Someone needed to tame him—that was certain. Patience had always been gratified by the fact that she normally was very tolerant, but somehow she became less patient when Jedediah was around.

Hannah was pouring batter into muffin tins when Patience greeted her.

“Good afternoon, Patience,” she said, wiping the batter from her fingers. “You look fit as a fiddle, so you must be over that awful fall from the ladder.”

“Oh, yes, ma'am, I am. I thought I'd stop in for a cup of coffee and maybe one of your famous cinnamon rolls. I could smell them from the sidewalk.”

Hannah reached into the glass case, picking out the largest roll. “Come have a seat and I'll pour us some coffee.” She hurried from behind the counter to a small table by the window with the roll on a plate. “I need to slide the muffins in the oven, and I'll be right with you.”

Patience took a seat, glancing out the window as she waited. Her heart lurched. Jedediah was across the street chatting with a pretty, dark-haired lady rather flamboyantly dressed for daytime. She wore a large black hat with a tall black feather and a cream bustled dress with black stripes—very stylish but a bit much for Patience's taste. She didn't remember seeing her around before, but then she didn't know everyone in town.

“Here we are.” Hannah carried two beautiful rose tea
cups with steaming coffee over and took a seat opposite her. “Cream and sugar right here if you use it—I like mine black.” Hannah followed her gaze beyond the window. “Ah, Jedediah with Millie. She's a widow. I believe her husband left her with a king's ransom, and she lives extravagantly for the likes of Nevada City.”

“Mmm” was all Patience said. She added cream and sugar to her coffee, then took a bite of her cinnamon roll. “Delicious, Hannah.”

“I'm glad you like it. Jed's favorite, you know.”

“No—I didn't know.”

“Well, maybe you should get to know him better. He's softer than he comes across.”

“I'll believe that when I see it.”
Although he did
rescue me from making a fool of myself on the
sidewalk.

Hannah laughed. “He needs a woman's gentle touch on his heart, I wager. Maybe he'll ask you to the Hargroves' dance.”

“Humph,” Patience responded. “I rather doubt that.” She wanted to change the subject. “Hannah, did you know my grandmother?”

Hannah put her cup down. “Yes . . . yes I did, and we were good friends. She never had an unkind word to say about anybody. You're a lot like her. Even resemble her.”

“I could only hope to be as wonderful as she was. I . . . oh, never mind.”

“What, dear?”

“My grandmother was much more like a mother to me than my own.” Patience stared down at her coffee.

“How well I know. Your grandmother wondered what she did wrong that your mother turned out to be so self-centered. Oh, I shouldn't have said that.” Hannah pursed her lips.

“It's true, so don't worry. You haven't offended me. I do miss my grandmother and wish I could've spent more time with her.”

Hannah paused and looked directly at Patience. “A young woman like you should be out there enjoying life, surrounded by friends and suitors!”

“I don't think that'll happen. I'm already twenty-five, and no suitors have come calling.”

“I've seen you with Cody. Don't you enjoy his company?”

“We're friends, that's all.” She glanced outside again and saw Jedediah parting from Millie.

“Are you sure you're not interested in Jed? I've seen how you look at him.” Hannah lifted a brow.

Patience's heart fluttered. “Even if I was, he doesn't seem interested in me.”

“Oh, no, dear—that's just Jed's way. I've told him by the time he makes his mind up to do something, it's always too late. I think his self-confidence suffers. You're younger and attractive, and he thinks you wouldn't like him that way.”

“Attractive?
Me?
” Patience was flabbergasted. No one had ever told her—that she could recall—not her mother, or even Russell. “Uh, well . . . thank you.”