Miranda could hardly believe how silent it had become in the immediate area. She could still hear laughter and piano music, but no one around the wagon moved.
“Sorry, mister,” one of them finally spoke up. “We thought you was bringin’ us a new woman. Ain’t a whore in town pretty as your woman there.”
“You’ve got it right. My woman! Now somebody tell me where one of the better hotels is in this goddamn town!”
Miranda peeked from behind the seat to see a short, dirty-looking, bearded man step forward. “Up at the other end of town. The International. You’ll be lucky to get a room, though. I know a woman runs a real nice boardinghouse only a couple of buildings south of the hotel, a Mrs. Anderson—yellow house with white trim and roses out front. Friend of mine just moved out. You might could find a room there. It’s nicer than the hotel on account of you can eat your meals all together at one big table, just like home, good food too.”
They all stood staring, and Jake leveled the shotgun. “Thanks for the information. Now get out of my way so I can get my wife a decent place to stay.”
They all hesitated. “Can you have her come out?” another one of them asked. “Just so’s we can have another look?”
“No disrespect, mister,” the bearded one told Jake. “Around here we don’t see many young, pretty women who ain’t…you know…we don’t see many proper ladies.” He removed his hat. “We just want to have a look, give your lady our apologies, that’s all.”
“Forget it!”
“Jake, it’s all right,” Miranda told him. “Maybe one of them knows Wes.” She climbed back into the seat, her cheeks turning crimson at the stares. Several more of them removed their hats.
“Sorry, ma’am,” the bearded man told her. He looked down and kicked at the man who still lay sprawled on his back. “Get up, Hoot, and apologize to the lady.”
The one called Hoot just groaned and rolled over. The other two men who had tried to climb onto the wagon stepped forward. “Sorry to upset you, ma’am,” one of them spoke up.
Miranda glanced at Jake, who looked ready to fire the shotgun at the slightest wrong move. She looked back at the rest of the men. “Do any of you know a Wes Baker? He came here almost two years ago from Kansas City. He has light hair and blue eyes and would be twenty-two now. He’s my brother. I came here to find him.”
They all looked at each other, shaking their heads. “No, ma’am,” the bearded man answered. “Fact is, men come and go so much around here that we don’t hardly ever get to know their names. Nobody really cares, I guess. A man is here today and gone tomorrow. You might have your husband there check at the mines. Most mine owners keep a list of the names of their workers.”
“Thank you.” She looked at Jake again. “Let’s go, Jake.”
Jake scowled at the crowd, climbing down and keeping his shotgun in his left hand.
“Hey, mister, you a lawman or somethin’?” one of them asked. “You look like you’re right good with them guns.”
“Good enough to kill any bastard who touches my wife.” It was obvious this town was packed with men from every walk of life, mostly the wrong side of life. Jake hoped he wouldn’t run into anyone here who knew him. The crowd of men parted, and he moved through them and headed up the street.
“Jake, that last remark was rude. They were perfect gentlemen once they realized I was your wife.”
Jake gave Miranda a dark look. “You think anybody in a place like this cares about somebody being rude? You can’t be too nice to men like that, Randy. You give them an inch and the gentlemen, as you called them, would turn right back into the animals that they are. I ought to know. I was just as bad.”
A prostitute called down to Jake then, making a lewd remark about his size and asking him to come up and show her if he was big all over. Jake glanced at her, but said nothing, and Miranda felt a burning jealousy over all the other women who had touched him. Again a lack of privacy traveling with the suppliers had kept them apart, as well as the agony of the desert and the bitter cold of the mountain storm. They were both weak and spent, Jake obviously irritable; yet the sight of the prostitute made Miranda yearn to have her husband beside her in a real bed so that she could make sure he knew she could please him as much as any of the women who hung around these streets. Most of those outside wore coats, but the one who had called out to Jake as well as a few others braved the cold just to display bare skin.
She thought how this place fit a man like Jake. If not for her, he would probably already be inside one of the saloons, raising hell along with the rest of them. She wished it was not so far into winter. A town like this could mean trouble for Jake, and it was obvious they would have to stay here now until spring. They could not risk the danger of going on to California when the worst of winter storms in the Sierras was yet to come. She wondered if there was a decent doctor in this town. She hadn’t told Jake, yet, didn’t want him to worry while they were traveling; but she was sure now that she was carrying his baby. She wasn’t quite sure how Jake would react to the news that he might have a child of his own. Just being married and thinking about honest work to support them was still new to him. Knowing his own childhood horrors, how would he feel about being a father himself?