The Trouble with Patience (6 page)

“How's life been treating ya, Jed?” She always got right to the point. “I heard you took the posse out. Anything I should know about? Robbers, criminals? You know I live alone here, and there's plenty o' no-accounts passing through.”

Jed laughed. “Why, Miss Hannah, I don't think you have a thing to worry about. In fact, I'm pretty sure you can handle whatever comes your way!” He took a bite of the roll and a swig of coffee, looking into the older woman's eyes.
She's a keen one,
that's for sure.
In this rugged country, women—
especially widowed women—learned survival skills or the worst could happen.

“To tell you the truth, we trailed that no-good outlaw until we reached the border of Idaho, then lost him. Just as well. Let the authorities there apprehend him.”

She gave him a serious look. “Can't say as I blame you there. You have plenty of drunks and minor lawbreakers to keep you busy right here in town. Seen any more of Patience?”

He finished his roll, giving him time to consider how to answer. “Why do you want to know?”

“I guess you need lookin' after, and I'm just the one to do it.” She gave him a wry smile. “Someone should.”

“Miss Hannah, don't worry your wise gray head about me. I'm not worth worrying over.”

“Now, don't say that, Jed. I know better. So, have you seen her lately?” She leaned forward expectantly.

“Well, yes and no. She agreed to pack boxed lunches for me and my men, but when I dropped by to pay her today, she was . . . well, otherwise engaged.”

Her brows knitted in a deep line above her nose. “Ya don't say? Tell me about it.”

“Can't rightly tell you. Some cowboy checking in as a boarder, I guess.” He flicked the crumbs he'd left on the table with his thumb.

“Mmm . . . That doesn't sound like she was otherwise
engaged
, Jed.”

He snorted. “If you could've seen her face, you'd understand what I mean.”

“You're beginning to sound jealous, but it doesn't surprise me none. Patience is a fine catch. She lives by the Good Book and when she can get there, goes to church—”

Jedediah's head jerked up and he slapped his thigh and forced a laugh. “That's just the problem, Miss Hannah. She's
too
perfect. Besides, I'm not looking for a woman, and she sure isn't interested in the likes of me.”

Hannah's eyes squinted. “You listen here, young man. You have plenty to make a woman happy, and a little religion rubbing off on you can't hurt you at all!” She began gathering their cups.

“Give it a chance, Jed,” she said in a low voice, “before you go making up your mind about how perfect somebody is. There's
no one
perfect in this world, and that's a fact. Even me.” She laughed at her little quip, then leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of his head. “I'm watching out for you.”

“Well, thanks anyway, but I don't need looking after.” He pushed his chair back, pressed a quarter into her apron pocket, and gave her a pat on the arm when the bell at the door's entrance jangled.

“For all that tough exterior you put on, I know there's a tender spot buried somewhere in you, and I aim to find it.” With a quick wink, she turned to greet her customers.

He greeted a few of the good townsfolk and stopped briefly to chat with the Larson family, who were in town for the day. The two youngsters hugged their father's pants leg while the mother's hip held their baby girl.

“Stop by sometime for Sunday dinner, Jed,” the woman told him. “No need for an invitation. Just stop by. We're always home after we get back from church on Sundays. You're welcome to come along to church too—just a short trip over to Virginia City. What do you think, Pete?”

Church again!
he grumbled to himself.
Glad we
don't have one in town or I'd be
nagged to death.

Pete Larson was nodding. “Sure, and we'd be right honored for you to eat with us.” He grinned. “If you can stand the noise.”

“I'd be glad to, and I appreciate the offer.” He tousled the two boys' heads and gave each of them a shiny penny. They grinned happily, pocketing the coins.

“What do you say to Marshal Jones, children?” their father prompted.

The boys shyly stammered their thanks.

“Go buy yourselves a stick of peppermint,” Jed told them. He reached over to the little baby and stroked her chubby arm. “My, she's growing up fast. And thanks for the invite. I better get going now.” He tipped his hat and headed for the office.

Later this afternoon
, he decided as he settled in behind the desk,
I'll go pay Patience
for the box lunches before I forget
. But he had a hunch the cowboy would still be hanging around.

After a dispute about a claim jumper was easily settled, the rest of Jed's morning went by fast. He settled back in his chair to read the newspaper after lunch. When he heard a high-pitched cry, he leaped up and ran out onto the boardwalk. Just as he feared, two doors down and high up on a ladder was Patience, paintbrush in one hand, pail in the other, tangled up in her skirts. She quickly lost her footing and fell, screaming and hitting hard on her back. Fortunately, the ladder careened the other way.

Jedediah had almost reached her when the man he'd seen
at Creekside earlier began to lean over her. But Jed charged straightaway to where she lay, very still. He pushed the cowboy to the side.

He knelt beside Patience. Her dress was torn, and the skirt was in some disarray. He pulled it down over her legs, knowing she would be humiliated beyond belief if she knew it was askew.

“You! Go get the doctor!” Jed barked at the flustered cowboy, who paused, then took off at a trot. Jed turned back to Patience. “Patience, can you hear me?” His heart banged against his ribs. She wasn't moving. Had she injured her neck or head?

A few passersby drew close, forming a semicircle around them.

“Is she dead?” someone asked.

Irritated, Jedediah didn't answer but leaned in close to feel the pulse in her neck with his two fingers—something he'd learned during his years of chasing outlaws. He felt the pulse throb against his fingertips. He was close enough that her rosewater fragrance was perceptible, and he moved back, unsure of his feelings.

Yellow paint splattered her pale face, so he took out his handkerchief to gently wipe the traces of paint from her cheek. Paint also clung to her hair on the same side, now unwound from its pins.

He didn't want to move her until he knew how badly she was injured. Then he heard a weak moan and her eyes fluttered open, trying to focus. She took a deep breath, and her hand moved to press against her right side.
Thank God.

“Take it easy now. You might've broken something. I've sent for the doc.”

Her eyes opened and she blinked, attempting to sit up. He slipped an arm under her shoulders. “What—I . . . ?” she murmured, looking up at him, her face furrowed into a frown.

He shifted onto his knees, supporting her back, and patted her hand. Something had unexpectedly moved him when he saw her fall, rendering her helpless, frail, and unassuming.

Where in tarnation is that doctor?

Patience blinked until her eyes finally focused on the face hovering above hers. The pain in her shoulder and head made her feel woozy, disconnected.
Is
that
Emily
?

“Oh, thank God!”

Patience could see the anxiety in the young woman's face. “You gave us all quite a scare,” Emily said.

Patience tried to push herself up, but the throbbing in her head made her wince, and when she moved, her right side felt a sharp stab. Emily gently pushed her back against a pillow.

“What happened?” Patience asked, her voice sounding to her like it was coming from far away. “The last thing I remember is painting . . .” When she tried to look up at Emily, the room spun, and she felt slightly nauseated. She was in her bed, fully clothed minus her shoes. A quilt was draped across her legs. Late afternoon shadows fell across the room. How long had she been lying here?

“You hit your head when you fell off the ladder.” Emily's hand rested on her shoulder. “You stay right there. Let me tell Doctor Gordon you're awake.” With an anxious pat and a long gaze into Patience's face, Emily hurried out the door.

Moments later Emily returned with the doctor. He introduced himself and examined her—looking into her eyes, then listening to her heart. He asked if she had any pain, and she pointed to her side. He carefully felt around the area and stopped when she winced.

Finally he straightened after a pat on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. “You'll be fine with a few days' rest. You have a mild concussion and a few bruised ribs, but I'd suggest not climbing a ladder anytime soon,” he told her with a little chuckle. “Actually, no ladders at all for you, and only light activities for the next couple of days.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Patience mumbled in a daze.

“Emily, if she throws up or seems confused, please come and get me.” He snapped his bag shut. Turning back to Patience he said, “That includes any visual disturbances, all right?”

Patience nodded her agreement, but even the slightest movement of her head caused pain and nausea. She was sure she would have plenty of reminders about her mishap with her body's cautions to take it easy.

“I'm leaving some headache powder you can easily mix with water, to make your headache tolerable.” He walked to the bedroom door. “You were very fortunate, Miss Patience. I don't need to see you again unless you get any of the symptoms I've just discussed with Emily.”

Patience couldn't seem to think clearly. “Of course. Thank you for coming.”

“I'll walk you out, Doctor,” Emily said, following him from the bedroom.

When Emily returned, she carried a fresh pitcher of water. She poured a glass, then sprinkled the powder into it, giving
it a whirl with a spoon. She slipped an arm under Patience's shoulders to lift her slightly, then handed the drink to Patience. “I'm going to let you rest, and I'll tell the others that dinner will not be served tonight. The boarders will make other arrangements for a day or two.”

“But—but I can't let you do that.” She tried to protest before swallowing the bitter-tasting water. “I can't run the boardinghouse if I'm lying here, and I'll lose the boarders I have . . .” Her voice trailed off weakly.

“Don't be silly. They'll understand,” Emily said briskly as she pulled the curtains together. “They're boarding at the nicest, cleanest establishment in Nevada City,” she said as she turned back to the bed. “Perhaps it's best if you try to sleep. You'll feel so much better after you rest.”

“Thank you, Emily,” Patience said through a wobbly smile. Were those violets on Emily's dress? Hard to keep her eyes focused.

“Do just as the doctor said. I can help you as much as I'm able, except for the time I'm at the café, of course.” Emily pushed Patience's hair away from her eyes. “I'll come back in a little while, rustle up some soup or broth for you.”

Patience was suddenly too tired to say any more. Her eyelids closed, and she felt her body beginning to relax.

Painting the inn would have to wait for a while.

When Patience opened her eyes, there was a fire in the grate, and it was dark beyond the curtains. She couldn't believe she'd slept. Then it came rushing back—her fall from the ladder, and coming to her senses in her own bed.

She struggled to sit up, then carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed. She sat very still, waiting for a wave of dizziness to subside. The door opened, and Emily entered with a tray and a cheery greeting. “Hello, Emily,” Patience said. Her side felt mighty sore. She supposed she was very fortunate not to have broken her neck since Emily had told her she was nearly at the top of the ladder.
My angel must've been watching
over me.
She couldn't help but smile at the thought. For years her grandmother had told her that Patience had her very own guardian angel. She liked to believe it was true.

“I thought you might be awake by now,” said Emily. “I scrounged around the kitchen and found some leftover soup and bread. I hope this will do.”

Patience's stomach growled in response, and they both laughed.

“I guess that was your answer.” Emily placed the tray in Patience's lap. Taking a seat on the bed, she removed the linen napkin.

As Patience began her supper, Emily told her what she knew about the incident. “It appears that one of the rungs on that old ladder was cracked, and your dress must've gotten tangled in a piece of split wood when you tried to step down. The marshal heard you scream and ran to you.”

“Mmm . . . I vaguely remember seeing someone, but I thought it was Cody. Maybe my mind's befuddled, Emily.” She took another bite of the bread, butter liberally spread on it.

“Well, Cody was there too, but the marshal took over and sent him to fetch the doctor,” Emily explained. “I heard the scream and got here just as Cody left.”

“Nice of the marshal to help.” She took another bite of
bread and looked over at Emily. “What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Oh, I'd say that the marshal was doing a little more than just a nice thing. I think he's interested in you,” Emily answered, eyebrows arched. “I saw his expression when he was feeling for a pulse in your neck—fear, then relief.”

“You must be joking. It's his duty to help. He was probably wondering if I'd be bringing him breakfast biscuits again,” she tried a little chuckle but quit when it hurt her side.
So it was Jedediah
who took care of me.

Emily was shaking her head. “No, it was more than duty, Patience. He carried you up here after the doctor said you could be moved. He was very attentive and has already come again to check on you. I told him you might be able to receive visitors in the morning if he wanted to stop by then.”

Patience felt warmth spread to her face. Jedediah's arms had lifted her, carried her right into her bedroom. “I'm sure he thought I was nothing more than a clumsy fool. Emily, I can't thank you enough for being my nursemaid. But I feel pretty good now that I've had something to eat.”

They continued talking, finding out they shared more than a few similarities. Patience told her new friend about her family and her near engagement to Russell, then his death, and Emily shared how after her parents had died from an outbreak of diphtheria she'd become the ward of her uncle, who gave her everything she needed growing up. She had the sense that Emily was about as lonely as she was.

“Oh, goodness! Look at the time. And I have to be up early.” Emily stood, lifting the tray. “Do you need help getting ready for bed?” At Patience's shake of her head, Emily said, “Fine then. If you need anything—anything at all during the
night—just give me a holler. I'm sure I'll hear you across the hall. I'll stop by in the morning before I leave for Longhorn's.”

Patience gave her arm a squeeze, then slowly stood and followed her to the bedroom doorway. “Emily, thank you again. I enjoyed getting to know you better, even if the circumstances were not the best. If there's anything I can do to repay you, please let me know.”

Emily shrugged. “It's what friends do for each other. Don't forget, you don't need to get up early to prepare breakfast—everyone has been forewarned.” She slipped from the room, and Patience closed the door to prepare for bed.

She soon found herself between the covers and allowed the warmth to envelope her like a cocoon. She thought about what Emily had said concerning Jedediah's interest in her. Her friend had seemed pretty certain about it, but Patience wasn't.
Jedediah?
Interested in me?
Emily must be mistaken. Still . . .

Jedediah had trimmed his mustache, splashed on a bit of toilet water along his newly shaven jawline, and donned a clean chambray shirt. Outside he spied a patch of blue bachelor's buttons growing alongside the stage depot. He looked around to see if he was observed, then quickly bent to pick a bunch. It was mid-morning by then, so he'd decided to check in on Patience. He did need to pay her for the boxed lunches, so he had a good reason for the visit.

He sauntered down the boardwalk past his office, but slowed as he neared the Creekside Inn. The cowboy—he'd forgotten what he'd said his name was—stood high up on a
ladder, slapping yellow paint on the outside of the inn. The same yellow that was matted in Patience's hair.
What in tarnation is he doing that for? Is he
a good friend of Patience?
Jedediah intended to find out more about the stranger. Why hadn't he offered to finish the painting for Patience? After all, that was part of their agreement.

Feeling silly with the wildflowers in hand and an observer up on the ladder, he turned back in the direction he'd come and saw Hannah sweeping the sidewalk in front of her bakery. He'd have to give Patience the money later—when Mr. Cowboy wasn't around.

“Mornin', Miss Hannah. Maybe you'll find a place for these,” he said, thrusting the bouquet in her hands. Her mouth dropped open as he strode on past her.

“Thanks, Jed, but where ya off to in such a rush?”

Jedediah heard the exasperation in her voice, but he didn't look back.