A Claim of Her Own (32 page)

“I don’t know what it’s gonna take to get that man to listen.” Aunt Lou shook her head. “He’s killin’ hisself, plain and simple.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table opposite Mattie. “Barely eating, up at the pest house, down at the lumberyard, out in the street preaching, and all the time he’s mourning the dead while he tries to save the living.” She tore a hunk of bread off the loaf she’d placed in the middle of the table and popped it in her mouth.

Mattie looked down at the dinner plate Aunt Lou had piled high with mashed potatoes and roast something, then covered over with milk gravy. She shared some of Aunt Lou’s frustrations with Aron Gallagher, but not primarily because she was worried about Aron. Mostly she wanted to see more of him because . . . well, just because. She’d torn down the last of the wall of suspicion she’d kept between them, and now that it was gone, she realized she liked being around Gallagher. She liked it a lot.

“He doesn’t even stop by for supper these days,” Aunt Lou said, shaking her head.

“Let’s make him a picnic,” Mattie suggested. “I’ll find him before I turn in for the night and refuse to leave until I see him
eat
it.” If Aron needed an annoying sister to nag him into eating, she could do that. Dillon always said she had a talent for annoying. She smiled.
Dillon.
How good it was to remember him without dissolving in tears. How good it was to have Aunt Lou provide an excuse to check in with a certain preacher.

She reached over and squeezed Aunt Lou’s hand. “This town is so lucky to have you in it.” She gestured at her plate. “And I appreciate your inviting me to have supper with you. I like the solitary life up on my claim, but here in town there is absolutely no charm in staring at four walls and eating alone.” She took her first bite of potatoes.

Aunt Lou waved the praise away. “Ain’t nothin’ to setting an extra plate, honey. I’m glad for the company—and an ear to listen to my worrying over that reverend of ours. He seems to have forgotten that the Lord Jesus hisself took a rest now and then.”

Mattie smiled. “Well, maybe you should deliver the meal and remind him.”

“Maybe I will,” Aunt Lou said with a nod. “We can go together.”

And so, basket in hand, Aunt Lou and Mattie made their way up the street toward the job site at the Underwoods’, intent on seeing to it that Aron Gallagher ate a decent meal. As they approached the Underwoods’ back door they heard laughter, and looking in through one of the nice new windows gracing the west wall of what was obviously the dining room, they saw that the reverend was already eating a decent meal. With the lovely Kitty Underwood on one side and her twelve-year-old sister, Pearl, on the other.

“Guess he don’t need a picnic supper after all,” Aunt Lou murmured.

“Apparently not,” Mattie said, surprised at just how disappointed she was.

The two women did an about-face and returned to the hotel. Once there, Mattie agreed with Aunt Lou that it was wonderful that the reverend had finally stopped working long enough for a good meal. She even agreed that it was nice to see him smiling and enjoying himself.

Bidding Aunt Lou good-night, Mattie stepped out on the back stoop. She looked up at the sky, reveling in the cool breeze on this late August night. If she were back in Abilene right now, she’d likely be sweltering, patting her cheeks with a dainty hanky and hoping to transform the beads of sweat collecting on her brow and upper lip into a feminine glow.

A chicken squawked. Mattie slipped her hand in her pocket and grasped the butt of the Colt as she peered at Aunt Lou’s halfempty coop. She regretted leaving Justice up at the claim with the McKays. What had she been thinking?
You were thinking you didn’t
have time to housebreak a dog and run a store.
Which was true. Still, as she tried to see into the darkness, she decided to retrieve Justice.
As soon as you can convince Aron Gallagher to tear himself away from
Kitty Underwood and watch the store while you climb the gulch.

Aunt Lou came to the back door. “Everything all right out there?”

“Everything’s fine,” Mattie said. “The hens were squawking. Seems all right now.” As she bid Aunt Lou good-night and made her way toward the store, Mattie began to hum.

Jonas sat back abruptly, wincing when his backside hit the earth and hoping against hope no one was on their way out here to check on their squawking chickens. Gasping for breath, he stumbled to the corner of the hotel. He moved along the edge of the building . . . looked around the corner . . . trying to see—
there
! There she was! Finally. There was no mistaking that hair or that voice. It was Mattie O’Keefe he was watching as she unlocked the door to some business. He sat down in the shadows of the building and waited. Eventually he saw what he needed to see. Lamplight appeared in an upper-story window.

He was as weak as a kitten. His legs trembled with the effort he’d made just to follow her this far. Forcing himself back to his feet, Jonas stumbled toward the hillside that rose behind the hotel. He crawled the last few feet to the hiding place he’d found behind an outcropping of rocks. After all he’d been through, and the minx had been right here in Deadwood all along. Obviously she’d learned some tricks from all the years working for him. Building a general merchandise store was a wise move for someone like her. Someone with money to spend and a past to hide. Who, he wondered, was the
Garth
of Garth and Company Merchandise?

Jonas’s mind raced even as his body reeled from hunger and exhaustion. Wonderings and imaginings wove together until, when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of hideous smallpox-scarred women and platters of succulent food, of pest tents and gambling halls, of bags of gold dust and emerald rings, all of them part of the endless quest for Mattie O’Keefe.

Freddie was sick of yowling, spitting cats. He’d been helping his mor out on the trail for over a week and couldn’t wait to get back to Deadwood. The fuss the cats put up every time he fed them was almost scary. He sure hoped no one he knew in Deadwood ever found out that he’d gone hunting so he could feed a bunch of cats. People already made fun of him enough.

“Tom,” he said as they were riding together one day, “do you think those cats are a good idea? All the other freighters are laughing at Mor. Even Red Tallent thinks she’s crazy this time.”

Tom didn’t answer right away. Instead, he raised his rifle to his shoulder, took aim, and fired at a jackrabbit. Fired and missed. With a shake of his head, he lowered the rifle. They rode along for a few more minutes before he finally said, “Well, Freddie, it’s like this: Your mother isn’t like any other woman I’ve ever known. She’s strong. Determined. And smart. She was right about that ugly fabric. I didn’t think we’d sell any of it, but there isn’t so much as enough left to make a comfortable.” He smiled without looking over. “So if I was a betting man—which I am not—I would bet on Katerina Jannike every time.”

Freddie had almost forgotten Mor had a name besides Swede. Katerina was a nice name.

Tom chuckled. “Maybe she’ll trade in Swede for a new name.”

“What kind of name?”

“Kat,” Tom laughed. And with that, he nudged his horse into a lope.

“You got yourself a problem with them cats, Swede.” Red Tallent hitched his thumb toward the wagon he’d helped Swede transform into a cage.

“Vat kind of problem?” Wrinkling her brow, Swede got up from the campfire and walked over to inspect the load. For once the cats were quiet. Most were asleep. Others were grooming themselves.

“That one.” Red pointed at an undersized tabby. “Ain’t gittin’ enough to eat is what.”

“It vill be fine,” Swede said. “Ve are almost to Deadvood.”

Tallent fiddled with his long beard. Finally he muttered, “I could watch over it fer ya.”

Swede bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. “Yah, sure. Only mind you don’t lose five trying to get de one out.”

By sundown, Red was lying on his back by his campfire with a contented smile on his face. His brawny forearms were marked with scratches, but he didn’t seem to mind. As for the undersized tabby, it lay curled up on its new owner’s chest, Red’s thick beard serving as a pillow.

Tom leaned over and nudged Freddie. “You think those cats were a good idea?”

Freddie smiled. Red had insisted on paying Mor
twelve
dollars for the cat he was calling Schatz, which Tom said was German for “dear.” Freddie nodded. “Yes. The cats are going to work out just fine.” And maybe Tom and Mor would, too.

Aron Gallagher let himself in the back door of Garth and Company just as Mattie was sitting down to eat her breakfast.

“Have you eaten?” she asked. When Aron said he hadn’t, she pushed her plate at him and stood up. “Help yourself. I haven’t touched it yet. I’ll make myself some more.”

“How about you sit and eat, and I’ll make my own?”

Mattie sat back down. “There’s coffee, too.”

“I think the aroma of your coffee would have lured me here even if it wasn’t my day to play storekeeper while you turn into Matt the Miner.”

It hasn’t lured you over any time in the last nine days.
Mattie shrugged. “I’m just glad you didn’t forget, what with your schedule lately.”