The Bride of Willow Creek(47)
“Go on,” Angie urged when he stopped speaking.
“I wouldn’t agree so the Govenors filed suit. Marsh Collins isn’t a big-city attorney—hell, he isn’t even the best attorney in Willow Creek. But he was willing to let me pay as I could. And just when it looked like I was going to lose the girls, Marsh came up with a plan both sides could agree to.”
Angie clutched the shawl to her throat and strained to see him through the darkness. “Which was?”
“The whole outcome depends on Daisy’s operation. The Govenors argued that I wasn’t fit because I couldn’t provide for her surgery and they could. Marsh argued that winter was almost upon us, the worst time for someone in the building trades, but once spring came I’d be able to save money for Daisy’s expenses. So the Govenors finally agreed to give me a year. They figure they’ll get the girls anyway. And I figure I’ll be able to fix Daisy’s foot before October first.”
Angie sucked in a breath. “This coming October first?” Immediately she decided to pay for the girl’s new Sunday clothing, then put the rest of the hundred dollars into the surgery jar.
“One way or another, Daisy will get her surgery. That’s the only good thing in this mess, the most important thing.”
“Is it, Sam?” Leaning forward on the step, she struggled to see through the deepening darkness. “Yes, it’s important that Daisy has her foot straightened. But it’s also important that the girls remain with their father. If the Govenors could let that little girl . . . if they could tie her health and happiness to Laura leaving you . . . if they can withhold the operation she so desperately needs . . .” Anger shook her. “Then they cannot be allowed to raise your girls! It’s all control and manipulation with them.”
She sensed surprise in his silence. “That’s what I think, too,” he said finally. “They’d twist my girls in knots of guilt just like they did Laura. Maybe they didn’t mean to. Maybe that’s what they think all parents do. But Laura believed she couldn’t please them, couldn’t do anything right. Usually because she wanted something they didn’t approve of. After a while she quit trying to make them happy, but she never quit feeling guilty about it. I don’t want my girls to feel guilty about living their lives in whatever way makes them happy.”
October. A hard weight descended on her shoulders. “Sam, can you earn enough from your wages between now and October to pay for the operation?”
“It’s possible,” he said, his voice a harsh sound floating out of the night. “Just barely. If we eat beans for a few months, if my creditors would suspend payment demands, if I didn’t have to pay overtime . . . Hell, Angie, I don’t know. Every time I get ahead something happens to set me back.” Frustration shook his voice.
Like a wife showing up on his doorstep. No wonder he was upset by the idea of supporting her.
“My best hope is to find gold.”
“There’s something else I’ve wondered about. . . .” she said, drawing a breath. “About this overtime you’re paying. Do you own a construction company? Do these men work for you?” If he didn’t have to pay the overtime wages, they could put more money into the surgery jar. She waited. “Sam?”
“I’ll explain, but not right now, okay? Right now I need to go back up to Gold Hill and swing a pick for a few hours.”
“Now?” She blinked. “It must be nearly ten o’clock.”
“Don’t start.”
“Don’t start?” Her eyebrows lifted, then came down hard. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t come up with fourteen reasons why I shouldn’t go to the saloon or shouldn’t work on my claims until all hours or why I should be here instead of taking a watch at the Dryfus place.”
“Taking a watch at the Dryfus place? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She also hadn’t known there were nights that he wasn’t sleeping in his tent. Standing, she clutched her shawl and watched him walk into the light spilling from the kitchen. “If you’re not going to be here at night, you should tell me!”
“Why? What do you care where I am at night?” He stared up at her, his eyes in shadow.
On some level Angie understood that he was angry at the Govenors, at fate, at himself. But the anger spilled over onto her. And his anger triggered hers.
“I don’t care where you are,” she said sharply. “You could spend your nights at the Old Homestead frolicking with Miss Lily and her companions and I wouldn’t care this much.” She snapped her fingers. “But I would like to know when you plan to be gone all night. In case something happens. An emergency.” He owed her that much.