Priscilla (The Widows of Wildcat Ridge Series Book 1) Page 6

  Priscilla sat on the end of the cot, removed her gloves and pulled her bandaging supplies from her bag. "All the women in town know about you now," she said, nodding to the barred window through which they could see women from church dawdling outside. "That is what you can expect every day you're here and remain unmarried."

  "Whew!" He grinned. "Looks like heaven."

  "So glad you're pleased," she spat. "Take off your shirt."

  He grimaced with pain as he pulled the shirt off over his head. "Wait. Why are all those women looking for husbands? Because theirs died up at the Gold King?"

  "Exactly," Hester said. "Wildcat Ridge is our home, Mr. Gamble. We don't want to leave, but the only way we can stay is to marry and reopen the businesses our husbands left us."

  Priscilla disliked the idea of that description applying to her. It made her sound so… needy. "At least, that's how it is for most of the women here," she muttered.

  He glanced outside then grinned at her. "Perhaps you and I should get hitched, Mrs. Heartsel. Then there'd be one less widow. After all, you saved my life. I owe you."

  "Hey, I'll marry you, missy," the pimple-faced youth called out.

  "You just added another two dollars to your fine, Henry," Etta told the boy.

  "Two dollars?" Henry said and sat on his cot. "Ma's never gonna be able to pay that much. I'll be here forever."

  "I sure hope not," Etta said.

  Priscilla ignored the boy and glared at Braxton. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Gamble. You owe me nothing, and I have no desire to marry anyone." She nodded at Hester. "This is our mayor, Mrs. Fugit. She came to talk to you."

  He grimaced again as she removed his bandage. "What can I do for you, Mayor?"

  "I believe I heard you were schooled as a geologist?" Hester whispered with an anxious glance at the boys.

  He bent and rested his elbows on his knees, giving Priscilla better access to his wound. "That's right, Mayor."

  "What do you know about surveying land?"

  He glanced at each woman, a furrow in his brow. Priscilla suspected he was trying to figure out why they wanted to know and how it concerned him. "My training included surveying."

  "Excellent." Etta stepped closer. "Can you legally survey land in Utah Territory?"

  "I don't know. There might be rules about who can survey land before it's purchased." Again, he studied them. "Are you thinking to buy this town from the mining company?"

  "No, Mr. Gamble. There is a section of land we'd like to lay claim to, however," Hester whispered. "I have applied for the claim, but the land must be surveyed before it's legal."

  "I see. I could help you figure out how much land you need for your purposes and make the best selection. Also, where to set your claim stakes. I can guess at the land's worth but not much more."

  The women exchanged glances.

  "What do you know about hot springs?" Priscilla asked, applying salve to his wound.

  He scratched his chin through what looked like a five-day old beard. He'd been clean-shaven when she found him, although he'd already had a day's worth of stubble then. "I know they're produced when geothermally heated groundwater rises from the earth."

  "Geothermally?" Hester queried, brows raised. "Can water warm enough to bathe in suddenly begin to boil?"

  "Unlikely. I'm getting the feeling there is a hot spring here somewhere."

  Priscilla debated the wisdom of telling him and saw her friends doing the same. As soon as his name was cleared, he'd probably move on to prospect somewhere else which would end his connection with them. Etta was always telling her she was too trusting, but Priscilla considered herself a good judge of character. If she didn't reveal the actual location, surely it wouldn't hurt to talk about Angel Springs. She glanced at Etta and Hester. They nodded.

  "Yes, up on the mountain," she said. "When the mine collapsed, it shook the mountains in this range. People felt it miles away."

  "And it caused a new spring to break free." A statement, not a question.

  Surprised, Priscilla said, "More than one, I think. It's hard to say. The water cascades into pools. They look like they've been there a long, long time, but I know they weren’t there before April 9th. Do you think they could have been in a cave behind the boulders that broke away?"

  "Sounds plausible. Can we go see it?"

  "It would be best if you stayed out of sight," the marshal said.

  He frowned, confusion in his eyes. "But folks already know I'm here."

  "Knowing and having access to you are two different things," Etta explained.

  Priscilla wanted to take him there. Wanted to know what he thought of them and how they could be used. Would it truly hurt? Maybe she could disguise him as a woman. The thought wrung a chuckle from her.

  "What are you laughing about?" Hester asked.

  "Nothing. What do you say, Etta? Can you take him?"

  She lifted her hands and let them fall. "I'd say yes, but I don't know when. I'm expecting a wire from Curdy's Crossing. Why not wait until the surveyor arrives? Then we can make one trip instead of two. The snow's still deep up there. I don't want to make that trip more than necessary."

  "Sounds reasonable." Hester glanced at the two boys in the other cell. "Etta's needed here in town."

  Priscilla rebandaged Braxton's wound, disturbed by how much she enjoyed touching him, and stood. "Hester. Mr. Gamble. I'm sure Marshal Fawks has coffee on the stove. Would you like some?"

  "Oh, I must leave," Hester said. "I have things to do." She hustled out the door.

  As Priscilla handed Braxton a cup of coffee, she noticed his poorly-fitted, blood-stained shirt. "Etta. Do you still have some of your husband's clothes?"

  "I haven't thrown anything out yet."

  "Good. I thought they might fit Mr. Gamble. Robert's are too small."

  The marshal looked him over. "I think you're right. Charlie's would fit him. I'll go get them."

  "Hey!" one of the boys yelled. "I could use some clean clothes."

  "I'll tell your mother when she comes to fetch you. Now mind your own business and keep your mouth shut," Etta told him and went out.

  After the door shut behind the marshal, Priscilla turned to find Braxton eying her speculatively.

  "Why do you refuse to use my given name?"

  "It wouldn't be proper." Bad enough she used it in her head.

  "And being proper is important to you?"

  "I'm a preacher's daughter. How would it look for me to be too familiar with a man not related to me?"

  Braxton chuckled, and she bit her tongue to keep from sticking it out at him. Goodness, what was happening to her that she would even think of acting so childishly? She needed to stay away from this man.

  "Sorry," he said. "Such rigid formalities seem outdated in this modern day. And you're not a preacher's daughter anymore. Or even a wife. You're Priscilla Heartsel, a woman in her own right."

  A woman in her own right. She liked that. "True, but it still seems impertinent and improper."

  "Stop thinking that way. It's my name and I've asked you to use it. There's nothing impertinent or improper about it."

  Taking his empty cup, she said, "I'll consider it."

  The man irritated her and at the same time fascinated her. Why couldn't she stop thinking of his joke about them marrying? He couldn't have been serious about something that preposterous. He should let one of the other women try her hand at winning his heart. Priscilla had cared deeply for Robert and didn't want another husband.

  Etta returned with two pairs of trousers and three shirts, plus underthings. Braxton put on a clean shirt. "Ah, that feels better." He rolled his good shoulder and stretched his arms. "I can breathe now."

  A little girl with tears trailing down cheeks pink from the cold burst into the office. "Marshal?"

  Etta knelt in front of her. "Yes, Annie, what is it?"

  "My daddy's hitting Mama. He's hurting her." She wore a ratty, too-thin coat and shoes much too big for her.

/>   "Don't worry. I'll stop it."

  "Come on." The girl raced out of the office and up the street.

  "I'll be back in a minute." Etta checked her guns, first the six-shooter she wore at her waist for easy access, then the rifle she always carried.

  "You need to hire a deputy," Braxton said.

  "Been thinking about it. You available?"

  His face went blank. "Me? A lawman?" He laughed, then sobered. "I could use the money."

  "Good. As soon as I clear your name, you're hired."

  "Temporarily, anyway," he said. "Maybe."

  Etta waved and hurried out.

  "Why in thunder do men beat their wives?" Braxton said. "I know it happens all the time, but I've never understood it."

  It pleased Priscilla to hear him say that. Too many men considered it all right to beat wives and children. "She's the gravedigger's girl. He denies beating his wife and she lies for him, but we all know he does."

  "I'd say it's about time someone gave this gravedigger a taste of his own medicine."

  Her pleasure over his attitude diminished when she realized, if he became a deputy and interfered in such a situation, he could be hurt.

  Land sakes. She was developing dangerous feelings for this man. Somehow, she must find a way to distance herself from him.

  "I have to go." She pulled on her gloves and gathered up her supplies.

  You need to marry, Priscilla.

  No, I'm not ready for that.

  Maybe not, but what will you do when Mortimer kicks you out of the rectory and you have nowhere to go?

  Chapter Eight

  Priscilla avoided the jail the next day. She had no need to attend to Braxton's wound and he was going to the springs with Etta and the surveyor anyway.

  Yesterday, she'd walked to Dr. Spense's office and asked him to take over care of Braxton's wound and he'd agreed. The change left her feeling relieved and disappointed at the same time.

  With nothing else to do, she went to visit Thalia and talked her into going to Tweedie's Mercantile to look at patterns for a new dress. Priscilla promised to sew one for her if the woman would choose a brightly colored fabric.

  They called greetings to a couple of other women as they walked.

  "Priscilla," Thalia said. "Have you noticed no one talks anymore about… you know… that day?"

  "I think everyone feels it's been talked about enough. That's all we did for a month after it happened, discuss it and cry together."

  "I know." Thalia glanced skyward as if she hoped to see Jeffrey in heaven. "It simply feels odd no one ever speaks about it or their lost loved ones anymore. I still miss Jeffrey, and we weren't even married yet."

  Priscilla slipped her arm around her friend. "I know what you mean. I think of Robert often, but it hurts less if I concentrate on other things. Besides, if we're to remarry soon, we have to put the past behind us."

  "You're right, but saying it is easier than doing it." Thalia paused for a minute. "I'd like to go to the cemetery again. Most of the snow should have melted by now."

  "Yes, we should do that, first chance we get."

  They reached the mercantile and spent the next hour pouring over pattern books. Finally, they selected a simple design with a drape over the skirt in back, another in front, and a button-down bodice with a pointed waist.

  "Oh, Priscilla," Thalia said. "I love this blue and pink stripe."

  Priscilla fingered the bolt of fine cotton Thalia held. The colors were less bright than she'd hoped her friend would choose, but far better than what Thalia usually wore. Tiny roses decorated the pink stripes with ribbons draping over across the blue stripes. "It's good fabric and would look lovely for the bodice and drapes over a plain blue or pink skirt."

  "Blue, I think." Thalia picked up another bolt of blue cotton. "A dress with short sleeves since summer will soon be upon us."

  After selecting buttons and trim, they walked down Front Street where they found Duncan Moon asleep on the boardwalk against the Two Bits Saloon.

  "Oh, Dinky." Thalia rushed over and tried to wake him up. "He's out of jail less than twelve hours and he's drunk already."

  "Drunk as usual."

  Thalia glared at her. "He has alcohol sickness. He can't help it."

  Priscilla studied her. She'd seen Thalia pay special attention to Duncan before, but was there more to it than curiosity or pity? "Do you have feelings for him, Thalia?"

  "Of course not." The woman pushed to her feet and marched away.

  Priscilla caught up and stopped her with a hand on her arm. "You do, don't you?"

  "He's a married man, Pris. How could I have feelings for him?"

  "The heart doesn't care whether a person is married or not. It chooses, and it's up to you to decide whether to go where it directs."

  "Don't look at me with that pitying expression," Thalia pleaded then buried her face in Priscilla's collar. "What am I to do, Pris? I love him."

  Priscilla wished she could curse. She hadn't seen this coming and had no idea how to respond. "How long have you felt this way, Thalia?"

  Thalia drew away. "I developed a crush on him when I was younger. You know my father was Duncan's typesetter before Papa died in the explosion. I used to help him and thought Duncan was the handsomest man ever. Then he married Claramae, and I became engaged to Jeffrey. But I never stopped caring about him. Now his wife has run off with another man and Duncan's free. Except that he's addicted to drink.

  "What are you going to do about it?"

  Thalia shrugged. "What can I do?"

  "Hm. We'll have to think about that." Taking her friend's arm, Priscilla began walking again, leading her farther away from the drunken man. "Before you can do anything, you have to get him sober."

  Thalia gave a sad laugh. "I haven't seen him sober in months."

  "I know. Forget about it for now. We'll figure something out when the time is right."

  "Have I told you I adore you, Priscilla?"

  Heat rushed to Priscilla's cheeks. "I feel the same for you, Thalia."

  "Oh, the stage is coming." Thalia pointed to the far end of town.

  "We might as well wait and watch the passengers disembark." Priscilla wondered if the surveyor would be on board.

  "Yes, I always like seeing who's come to town," Thalia said. "Maybe it will be a handsome man who'll sweep me off my feet."

  "Well, you can dream, I guess. Look, Hester and Etta are coming with Mr. Gamble." Priscilla had to speak up to be heard above the rumble of the approaching stagecoach. She forgot Thalia hadn't heard yet about Braxton.

  "Mr. Gamble? Is he the prisoner Etta mentioned in church yesterday?"

  "One and the same. Etta took him out of jail, so he can help them survey the springs."

  "Hm. I wonder if they're expecting someone to be on the stage?" Thalia mused. "Do you think the county sheriff has come to take Mr. Gamble away?"

  Priscilla hoped not but didn't answer. She lost herself in observing the way Braxton walked in a sort of lanky swagger she found masculine and attractive. Only strong, confident men walked in such a manner. Her heart began to speed up as he grew nearer. Already, his gaze had focused on her and she felt her knees weaken at the expression on his handsome face. He looked at her the way she'd gaze at a chocolate torte with strawberries and whipped cream on top.

  Looping her arm through Thalia's, she walked forward. Etta nodded. Braxton grinned.

  "Hello," Hester called out. "Today's the big day."

  Thalia glanced at Priscilla. "What big day?"

  "Didn't Pris tell you?" Hester toyed with a curl peeking out from under her hat. "The surveyor will be on today's stage, and we'll be taking him up…" Her voice trailed off. "Lawsy, Lawsy, we agreed not to discuss this, didn't we?" An attractive blush flooded the mayor's cheeks.

  "Discuss what?" Thalia's gaze went from face to face.

  "I'll tell you later," Priscilla said, hoping her friend would forget about it.

  The noisy arrival of the stage
prevented more conversation. They watched the driver jump down and come around to open the door. A thin, white-haired gentleman with a pipe in his mouth climbed down to the street and directed his attention to the people waiting on the boardwalk.

  Hester stepped forward. "Mr. Stanislaus?"

  "Yes. That is me." He removed his pipe from his mouth and held out his right hand.

  Blushing, Hester accepted his handshake. "Please, let me present Mrs. Fawks, our marshal, and Mr. Gamble, who is also a surveyor and a geologist." She turned to Priscilla. "And this is Mrs. Heartsel, who discovered the, uh, land we're going to see."

  Priscilla glanced around, terrified someone might have heard, then mumbled a greeting. Hester introduced Thalia and the group moved toward the Ridge Hotel while Hester regaled the newcomer with stories of Wildcat Ridge.

  Uncomfortable beneath Braxton's steady gaze, Priscilla said, "Please, excuse us. Thalia and I have plans for this afternoon. I'll come by later, Hester, to find out how it all went."

  They said their goodbyes and she turned away, mortified to feel Braxton's intent gaze on her back.

  Halfway down the street, Thalia nudged Priscilla. "I believe that Mr. Gamble is smitten with you. When did that happen?"

  "You'd have to ask him." She hurried a little faster, eager to escape the man's view and her friend's too-personal questions. Or was she running from her own tangled emotions?

  Thalia glanced back over her shoulder. "They've gone inside the hotel."

  "Good."

  After returning to Thalia's house, Priscilla took measurements and marked the pattern pieces until Thalia's teasing comments and questions drove her to give in and explain about the springs and the reason for the surveyor's visit.

  "Oh, my," Thalia said. "Amazing. I'd love to see them."

  "I imagine everyone will eventually. Right now, they're difficult to find and reach. I'm going home and start sewing."

  That evening found Priscilla too restless to sew. Her inability to stop thinking about Braxton and how he'd looked at her today irritated her. Why couldn't she stop thinking about the man? The fact that she kept wondering how many women had visited him at the jail that day and if he felt drawn to any of them appalled her. Stupid. She didn't want him so what did it matter? She didn't care.