Welcome back to pre-release week for the third Cowbird Creek historical romance, What Shows the Heart! I'll be posting the seventh excerpt the day before the book comes out on July 15th. Here's the third.
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Chapter 4
Mamie had been wondering when she’d be seeing Jake again. If she’d placed a bet, she’d have lost — it was only one day after the marshal left town that Trudi knocked on the office door. “That good-looking stranger who threw the cowboy out, he’s back and asking if you have time to see him.”
Jake had got good-looking, she had to admit. He’d shown signs of it even as a shy, weedy youngster, under his pa’s and grandpa’s thumb, tagging along after his big brother when his brother would let him. She’d given the brother, Ethan, a nickname too — Esau, because the Biblical Jacob had a brother by that name, and because he was supposed to be awfully hairy, and Ethan was a little on the hairy side. But he probably never knew about it, unless Jake had mentioned it.
Anyway, if Jake wasn’t a stranger to her, there was no need to mention it to Trudi or anyone else.
“Send him up, and I’ll find out how much time he wants. How would you feel about taking care of things around here for an hour or two, if it comes to that? It’d be instead of seeing customers.”
It could be that Trudi might have the makings of a second in command. She’d thought Amanda Jane would — if she’d lived, if she’d been as strong as Mamie had always thought her. Trudi might be tougher.
Trudi hustled down the stairs and came back leading Jake by the hand. Of course she would. Jake was looking at their hands and away again as if he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Mamie met them at the office door. “Thank you, Trudi. I’ll let you know whether I need you to help out as we discussed. Why don’t you go and see if there’s a customer for you in the meantime.”
Trudi let go of Jake and flounced away. Mamie sat back down at her desk. “Still here, I see?”
Jake didn’t quite snort. “Still here. For now. That’s part of what I was hoping to talk to you about. How busy are you? I could come back.”
It was morning yet, but getting on for midday. She had dinner at her desk most days — too damn often, actually — but she could allow herself a treat for once. “Tell you what — we could talk over some dinner.” In fact . . . . She laughed outright. “When was the last time you went on a picnic?”
Half an hour later, she’d passed the word around to tell Trudi — who she’d put in the small parlor, not her office — if anything needed handling, or to send someone to look for her down by the creek, near the big trees, if bad trouble blew up or blew in. She gathered the basket Cook had put together and then gathered up Jake, waiting in the kitchen and licking his lips at all of what Cook was packing. “Follow me.”
Jake bowed and whisked the basket out of her hand. “Yes, m’lady. Lead the way, m’lady.” She was mightily tempted to swat him, the way she once would have. But she’d need to get to know this older and different Jake before taking such liberties.
They walked down to a spot by the creek where the grass was thick and the rocks sparse. It was another scorcher, but a buckeye tree spread out its leaves to give them some shade. She waved toward a spot, and Jake obligingly set the basket down and opened it. Mamie pulled out the blanket at the top, unfolded it partway, and tossed one end to Jake. “Help me put this down.” After about a second, she added, “Please.”
Jake looked surprised when she pulled out plates. She stopped in the act of handing him one. “Of course, if you’ve got used to the crunch and flavor of ants in your dinner, I wouldn’t want to deprive you.”
He chuckled and reached for the plate. “I may as well try this fancified lifestyle you’ve got used to. And maybe a few ants will manage to join us after all.”
She emptied the basket, to give them the widest choice, and helped herself to a big wedge of cheese, a corn muffin, and a bottle of beer. She left the roast chicken to Jake, who seemed ready to appreciate it. She also left it to him to start on whatever he needed to talk about, though she could guess at the gist of it.
He was in no hurry to come to the point, for all that. He made it through two drumsticks and three corn muffins, washed down with water from his canteen, before he said through a mouthful of muffin, “I went to the station to see the marshal leave town. Quite a crowd there. Was he that popular, or are people here that bored?”
“Oh, folks liked him well enough. He did his job, and he never pushed people around for the fun of it.”
Jake rubbed his chin, the beard stiff enough that it barely budged. “I was wondering about that. About his job. What did he do all day? Sit on his behind with his feet on his desk? Walk around town looking up and down for anyone acting shifty? Nap?”
Mamie dabbed her lips with her napkin and lay back on the blanket, watching a breeze shove the leaves around and change the patterns of the shade. “I never troubled much about how he spent his time, so long as he wasn’t giving me and my girls any trouble. Some lawmen do, you know — treat whores as if they’re all thieves, out to cheat customers or pick their pockets, or to lure husbands away from wives. The marshal wasn’t bad, that way. He expected free service now and then, and I’m not fool enough to have said no.”
Jake frowned and muttered something under his breath, then looked her in the eye. “I wouldn’t. If they offered me the job and I took it. I’ve no interest in cheating a businesswoman. And whatever they’d plan on paying me, my needs are few enough, so I wouldn’t be needing any favors.”
Mamie sat back up and rolled her eyes. “Favors, is it? That’s a highfalutin’ name for it.”
He broke off a piece of muffin and tossed it at her. “You know that’s not what I was meaning.”
She caught the tidbit and popped it in her mouth, chewed it, gulped it down, and patted her stomach. “Thank you, sir. That was just what I needed to finish up.”
Jake stood up with a little groan and stretched. “And after that meal, I need something else. To get moving, I’m thinking.” He turned slowly around in a circle, as if looking for something to race or wrestle with, and stopped, looking at the tree.
“That’ll do just fine!” He grabbed a big branch and swung himself up into the tree, climbing up hand over hand like some sort of monkey until he was halfway up. Then he leaned out and grinned at her.
She chose to take it as a dare. Grinning back as if the pair of them were nine years old again, she grabbed her skirts and and tied them in a knot. Then she walked quickly around the tree to the lowest sturdy limb, grabbed it, hoisted herself up enough to lay across it, and clasped it with her legs like a lover. That let her haul herself up to a sitting position, scoot to where the branches forked, lean back, and finally look up to see what he made of it. He was bent over laughing ‘til she thought he’d fall out of the tree. She could have joined in, but instead she settled herself as sedately as if she were sipping tea, and asked, “Now what were you saying about the marshal job?”
[. . .]
“What sort of other work might you want, if you agreed to be marshal but it wasn’t enough for you?”
He whacked the trunk with the branch he’d been holding and threw it to the ground. “That’s the trouble. I don’t see any coal or copper mines hereabouts, even if I wanted to go back to that work, and you’ve already got a blacksmith.” A crooked smile, more bitter than any smile should be, came and went on his face. “And I assume you’ve got a town preacher.”
When she’d mentioned what she would’ve guessed he’d become, she hadn’t had that notion in mind. He read her expression and gave a snort of laughter no more cheerful than the smile had been. “Of course, I’ve got no religion, and haven’t for some years. But I don’t reckon a preacher really needs it. Might be better if they knew they didn’t, instead of telling themselves they believed all that guff and not living up to it when it counts.”
The picture of young Jake, skinny and earnest and believing everything his daddy did, floated up like she was seeing double. “So you’ve left it all behind? Jesus, and heaven waiting, and the flames of hell licking at us, and Bible stories?” His name, and how serious he used to take it?
He actually spat, away from her and into the tree. “All the pretty stories. And the ugly ones. Plenty of those, there were. No, I decided long since that life isn’t about trying to make God love you more than your daddy could. Or reward you for letting people knock you down and trample you for the fun of it.”
There’d been a time when part of her wished he could make her believe life was something better than a cheap swindle. “So now you know that life is . . . .”
He shut his eyes like something was paining him. He wasn’t so far from his old self that he didn’t care. “Now I know life is getting through. Not letting people hurt you when they’ve no right to. Not letting bullies have their own way without paying for it. Leaving a mark, even if it fades as quick as a bruise on the bully’s face. And finding pleasure if you can’t find joy.”
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What Shows the Heart can be read perfectly well on its own, but if you'd like to get to know Mamie and the other returning characters first, and you have some time to read over the next few days, you can find the first two books -- What Heals the Heart and What Frees the Heart -- at this series link.
Tomorrow's excerpt: Mamie sees a (significant) personals ad. Until then!
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