Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5) (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

S
o
this
is the Bright Nugget
, Hunter thought as he stood at his mule’s side, his hand resting on the animal’s prickly, warm hide. He took in the batten and board siding of the wide establishment. The place was in pretty good shape. Couldn’t have been but a year or two since a new coat of paint had been applied. Above the batwing doors was a narrow balcony that ran the length of the building.

A place where the women advertise their wares.

Dragging his gaze away, he glanced up and down the wide main street of Logan Meadows, noting the variety of businesses at which he could procure just about anything he desired. Men’s clothing, eats, general doodads, a sheriff (if one were needed to keep the peace), a hotel, a livery and forge, clean laundry, medical help—he thought of Malone’s broken nose—and a bank. As he’d come into town he’d even seen a train depot and a few more streets crisscrossing the landscape.

Home sweet home.

Hunter patted his pocket, and the unpaid note that entitled him to half ownership in the Bright Nugget saloon. He still couldn’t believe his luck, or lack of it, when Malone had said he was penniless and didn’t have the cash to pay him the balance of the salary he’d promised. Instead, the sniveling businessman had signed over the last of his property in place of the thousand dollars he owed Hunter. Years ago, Quincy had lent Kendall Martin, a friend of his in Soda Springs, a grubstake to get started somewhere new. The agreement was to send payment each month with interest, until the note was paid off. Quincy had been so rich back then that when his friend stopped sending payments, he’d shrugged off the loss and forgotten about it—until now. If Hunter wanted to be paid for the last year of service he’d spent taking Malone’s sister east, he’d have to get it from Martin.

Hunter turned back to the saloon. Hard to tell who’d gotten the better deal, Malone or Hunter. Still, he’d never owned anything before in his life. He’d always been free as a tumbleweed. Owning a business was an odd feeling, but one that was growing on him by the minute.

Stepping through the double doors, he spotted a man with a white apron tied around his middle, standing at the end of the bar, writing in a ledger book. Hunter guessed his age to be somewhere around fifty.
Kendall Martin?

He glanced up and assessed Hunter. “Howdy.” Setting down his pencil, the barkeep made his way to the other end of the glossy walnut counter and met him face-to-face on the opposite side just as Hunter lifted his boot to the bar’s kick rail. “Name your poison.”

“How’s your whiskey? Not rotgut, is it?”

His smile disappeared. “No, sir, it’s not.”

“Fine. I’ll take a shot.”

“That all?”

Hunter nodded.

The bartender reached to the shelf behind him for a bottle and glass, poured, and then pushed the tumbler forward. “New in town?”

“Just rode in.”

“I’m Kendall. Owner of this fine establishment.”

Howdy, Partner.

“Hunter Wade,” he replied, surveying the length of shelving behind the counter. The gold-plated mirror could use a good cleaning, but for the most part, the large rectangular room was just like a hundred other saloons he’d seen. In the shadowy rear portion of the area was a staircase that led to some rooms upstairs.

A woman in a knee-length blue satin dress watched from above. Black stockings encased her long legs. She smiled and raised her brows. Other than a single man standing at the middle of the bar, they were alone.

Kendall pointed to the woman and then to the man. “That’s Philomena, and that’s Dwight Hoskins.”

Hunter nodded at Philomena and then at the man. Now was not the time to bring up business. He’d come back tomorrow morning, have a private conversation with Kendall.

He took a small taste of the whiskey.
Not bad. But could be better.
Intending on nursing the drink, he set the glass back onto the bar, switched feet on the boot rail, and thought about the legal deed in his pocket.

A young fella pushed through the saloon doors.

“Jake,” Kendall called, his face brightening. “Good to see you. First drink’s on me, being it’s been a while since you’ve been in.”

“Good of you, Kendall,” the lanky cowboy replied, glancing at Hunter for several long curious moments. His gaze went from the long-fringed shirt to the gun strapped around his thigh. “Since I’m only having one, I’ll pony up. Don’t want anyone thinking I can’t pay my own way.”

“Suit yourself.”

Hunter was used to being stared at.
Especially by women.
He’d grown up wearing the distinct and durable buckskin preferred by Thorp Wade, the man who’d raised him. A wagon-train master by trade, Thorp had guided a group of pioneers headed west some thirty-five years ago. Hunter and his aunt and uncle had been part of that group. As a five-year-old, and the ward of his relatives, Hunter didn’t remember much about the trip, except for the day a band of Blackfoot Indians had attacked and killed his guardians, as well as others. The smoke; the hideous, high-pitched screams; and the flickering flames were scorched into his brain. He remembered the arrow that had pierced his leg all too well. The pain slicing its way through his small body. To this day, he could feel Thorp’s large hand shoving him over an embankment, where he’d rolled down into a gully. The action probably saved his life.

Thinking of Thorp brought a small smile. He’d been a good man, a hard man. A man who’d taken on a wounded boy with nowhere else to go.

“What’s the news with you and pretty little Daisy?” When Hunter surfaced from his thoughts, Kendall was speaking to the young fella called Jake. “I miss having that girl in here. She was one to catch any man’s eye.”

Jake slowly set down his glass, his smile gone. “Don’t talk about Daisy. She’s a good woman. I won’t remind you again . . .”

The look that passed from the younger man to the older left no question that he was prepared to back up his request.

Kendall shrugged off the threat.

“Get off your high horse, Jake,” the other patron called from down the bar. Dwight. The man must think the topic funny, as indicated by his smile. “Once a saloon gal, always a saloon gal. By the way, when’s the wedding?”

Jake’s face deepened in color, and Hunter could tell he was working hard not to let his temper get the best of him.

Hunter slugged down the last of his whiskey, then wiped his mouth. He’d get out of here before there was a brawl. “Thanks.”

Kendall nodded. “If you’re staying on, come back and see us.”

We’ll be seeing a lot of each other come tomorrow. For now, I’ll make camp out in the meadow I spotted between the train depot and the town.

“I’ll be back,” he replied and smiled. May as well soften him up. “I like your place. Has a good feel.” He glanced at Jake. “My grub’s getting pretty low. I suppose your mercantile has what I need?”

The young fella cocked a thumb over his back. “Sure will. Maude or Beth’ll be happy ta help.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Jake.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jake.” He glanced at Dwight. “And you too, Hoskins.”

Hunter might not read especially well, but one thing he
was good at was remembering names. Thorp had taught him as a lad to memorize an acquaintance’s name to his face first thing, landscapes and trails traveled too—and the Indians they’d run across. For a wagon-train guide, a quick recall was an important quality, one that could save lives.

As he ambled to the batwing doors, he tipped his hat toward the balcony. Philomena nodded and smiled.

She reminded him a bit of Dichelle Bastianelli. Maybe if he invited Dichelle nicely, the lovely Italian songbird would leave Soda Springs and come work for him in Logan Meadows for a while. She always said she wasn’t one to let the moss grow under her slippers. She wanted to be discovered. To do that, she had to get around. Ned would be none too pleased if he lost her. But Hunter couldn’t worry about Ned. He had a business to think about, and grow. And truth be told, he’d miss Dichelle if he never saw her again. If he were ten years younger, just maybe . . .

I don’t have much to offer a woman. Just worn-out boots from miles and miles of trail under my feet. When it comes to settling down, women want security, roots, family, social standing—money.

He stepped out into the sunlight. Proceeding down the boardwalk, he entered the mercantile. A display of cans with pictures of large colorful peaches on their labels brought moisture to his mouth. He’d get a few of those to hold him over until suppertime.

Edginess crept into his bones. He was used to a life spent outdoors, but this was the second building he’d entered today. Hunter breathed in, thinking of the camp he’d see to next. A little space would help. He proceeded down the aisle, just looking. Would he adjust to living in a room above a saloon? He’d been guiding wagon trains his entire life. Then the transcontinental railroad had been finished, and offers dwindled. Since then he’d drifted around, taking work when he needed money. He never stayed in one place long enough to find out if he liked it or not.

From the other side of the store, an old woman raised her head from whatever she was doing behind a shelf. Her eyes brightened. “I’ll be right with you, young man,” she called. “Beth, break time’s over. Come finish this while I wait on our customer.”

“
Yeeees,
Maude. Be right there,” a voice whined from the back room.

The woman came around the aisle corner wiping her hands on her apron. Her face was a mass of crinkles and lines. “That means
today
, Beth,” Maude said over her shoulder. “The deep cleaning should have been done months ago. If the merchandise isn’t enticing, who’ll want to partake?”

She approached Hunter with a smile. “I may be old, but I’m not dead yet. She thinks I don’t see these things.”

He chuckled.

“Now, how can I help you? I’ve never seen you in Logan Meadows before, have I?” She stood very straight and sturdy for someone her age, but still she had to tip her head back to look into his face. “Did you arrive on the morning train?”

“No, ma’am.” From anyone else the questions would have annoyed him. But not from her. “I rode in a few minutes ago. Cross country from Idaho Territory.”
I may as well open up. Folks’ll be curious about their new en-entrepren-eur,
he thought, stumbling over the difficult word he’d learned from an Ohioan he’d guided west, intent on opening a restaurant in California
.
The man’s wife hadn’t shared her husband’s enthusiasm for the adventure, especially since Thorp had just forced several wagons, including her own, to lighten up. She’d been teary eyed for a week over leaving her piano behind for anyone to plunder.

“Your first time here?”

Before Hunter had a chance to respond, the mercantile door opened and a woman breezed in, a sense of purpose in her ramrod stature and uplifted face. She wasn’t a girl—a venerability shone in her eyes despite her pretty features.

“Afternoon, Maude,” she called out without really looking at anyone in particular. With single-mindedness, she marched over to the far side of the room and began scooping something from a wall bin into a small cloth bag that she carried in her hand. “Hope you don’t mind me helping myself to some tea. I’m in a hurry. I had no idea I was out until I went to make a cup. Jessie’s waiting on me at the bookshop and—”

She turned. When she saw him, her mouth snapped closed. At her interested perusal, his cheeks grew warm.

“Don’t mind a-tall, honey. You help yourself to anything you’d like.” Maude turned back to him. “What was it you said you was looking for? Did you ever say? I can’t remember.”

“A couple of those cans of peaches I saw when I entered the store.”

Her face took on the expression of a pleased child. “Dandy! I also have some canned beans, if you’d like to try ’em. My customers rave right and left about how tasty they are. I like ’em as well. Would you like to try a can or two?”

“Sure, why not?” Until he worked out the saloon arrangements with Kendall, he might be camping for a while. He wasn’t counting on it, but one never knew. Especially if a livelihood was at stake. Sliding his gaze to the left, he admired the woman’s back as she waited at the counter to pay.

“Anything else?”

He shook his head. “No, ma’am.”

“Fine then, I’ll meet you up front. Did I mention that since you’re a new customer, I’m taking five percent off your purchase? It’s a promotion I’m trying. Does that make you happy? Make you want to return?”

“Absolutely, ma’am. Thank you very much. Every little bit helps.”

Now behind the counter, the old woman stretched her neck toward the back room. “See, Beth! I told you so. He likes the idea and he’s gonna come back.” She looked around the woman waiting in front of him. “Soon? Will you come back soon?”

He nodded.

“He’s coming back soon.” Focusing her attention on the woman in line, she picked up her cloth bag and bounced it in her hand several times to gauge its weight. “That’ll be ten cents, Tabitha. Did you want this on your account?”