The Bride of Willow Creek(77)

Sam’s mouth thinned and his eyes went flat. He could guess what was coming.

“The condition is, he doesn’t want you as the builder. If you’re the builder, the deal’s off.”

“The new school was my idea.”

“It’s a good idea, and it’s going to happen. Isn’t that the important thing?” The mayor slid off the stool. “We can spend the next few months soliciting donations, hoping we get what we need. Or we can accept Govenor’s offer and start immediately.”

“You already agreed, didn’t you?”

“Taking Govenor’s offer makes sense.” He shrugged. “There was no way to justify turning him down.” The mayor placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Come fall, your girls won’t have to walk past the Old Homestead to get to school. That’s what matters, Sam.”

After the mayor left the saloon, Sam frowned at his beer mug and told himself the mayor was right. It didn’t matter who built the new school. If Herb Govenor wanted to pay for the entire package just to deny Sam the pleasure of being the builder, he couldn’t blame the town for accepting the offer. The project would go faster and smoother with only one donor to deal with instead of dozens.

But he had wanted to build the school.

Well, hell. There were a lot of things he wanted that he would never have. And now nothing stood in the way of doing what he wanted to do, which was devote all his effort to his best claim. Building the school would have required at least a month. That was a month he desperately needed up on his claim. Maybe losing the school project was a good thing. He flipped some coins on the bar and left the saloon.

He spent the afternoon digging in his mine shaft and thinking about Herb Govenor. He didn’t fault Govenor for hating him. Sam figured he’d hate any man who took advantage of Lucy or Daisy, and that’s how Govenor saw the situation. It was easier for Govenor to believe that Sam had seduced his daughter rather than to accept that Laura was willing. And now Govenor believed that Sam was trying to steal his granddaughters.

For those reasons, Govenor had promised to destroy Sam, and he was doing his best to accomplish that goal. The thought returned Sam’s mind to the fires.

He didn’t kid himself that he’d prevented Herb Govenor from burning down the Dryfus place. A determined arsonist would have gotten the job done no matter how many men Sam posted on watch. What he didn’t understand was why such a feeble attempt had been made instead of an all-out effort. What was different about the Dryfus project?

The only answer that sprang to mind was that Whittier and the union   could afford a loss, but Reverend Dryfus could not. Sam frowned. He didn’t like attributing a conscience to Herb Govenor. Didn’t like thinking that Govenor might set aside his personal agenda out of consideration for the reverend’s sparse pocketbook. He didn’t like thinking about Herb Govenor at all. He would far rather have devoted his thoughts to Angie.

She wouldn’t discuss the night of the grand opening. If Sam alluded to the amazing conclusion of the evening, Angie would blush violently and a little smile would play around her lips, but she wouldn’t acknowledge his comment or offer any response of her own. Last night, when they were sitting outside on the kitchen steps, he’d told her that he’d thought about everything, and she was right. Enormous complications would have resulted if Molly and the girls had caught them in bed together.

And he’d meant what he said. His daughters shouldn’t see him taking advantage of a woman he planned to send packing as soon as he could afford to do so.

Throwing down his pick, he pushed back his hat and wiped his forehead. The sun was sweating out the beer he’d had earlier.

What if he didn’t send Angie packing? Or, to phrase it more realistically, what if he somehow managed to convince her not to walk out on him again? This was a new idea and it surprised him. Maybe it shouldn’t have.

Most of the time they got on well. His daughters were gradually accepting her. And she was good with the girls. She was a wonderful cook, appeared to manage money well. She was settling into the community. He enjoyed her company. And Lordy, he wanted to take her to bed again, wanted that in the worst way.

On the downside . . . he couldn’t offer her any more than he’d been able to offer her ten years ago. It hadn’t been good enough then; why would it be good enough now? Moreover, she intended to marry that bastard De Groot. Worse, he had an idea that De Groot could give Angie all the comforts she deserved. Sam couldn’t compete unless he found his jackpot.

Keeping his daughters and possibly keeping his wife depended on finding gold. Frowning, he peered into the pit he was digging. This was a hell of a way to live—depending on luck to solve his problems.