Page 31 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
She had a profound urge to set her hand on his chest and maybe her head as well.
One of the children shouted, and she glanced guiltily to the door.
Virgil cleared his throat and picked up the soup. Marigold scooped up her dough, told her heart to settle down, and followed him out into the fading light.
Only three men waited. They’d added log rounds as seats near the fire, but the fire had been allowed to burn down to bright embers so the flames wouldn’t scorch the meat.
“There she is.” Owen rose and flashed his too-handsome smile. He was the only one clean-shaven and reminded her of Ben with those boyish good looks he seemed to know how to use to his advantage.
“It’s nice to see you again, Owen,” Marigold said politely.
The biggest man she had ever seen, bigger even than Virgil, stopped wrestling the older children by the log pile and set them on their feet. When he stood over her, he loomed like a mountain.
Virgil said, “This is Stoney.”
He tipped his cap. “El gusto es mio, Senora.”
She felt like a child as she offered her hand and watched it get swallowed up in his big one. “It’s nice to meet you, Mister…”
“My mamá called me Salbatore.” He rolled the “r” while gently squeezing his callused grip over hers. “But Stoney, por favor.”
“We don’t fuss with last names here,” Virgil said.
“Of course. Thank you, Stoney,” she murmured.
“And Emmett.”
“Ma’am.” Emmett stood. He was tall with a wiry frame and flashed a wide grin. He removed a battered, brimmed hat, and his black, tightly curled hair immediately sprang outward in frayed wings.
“Peas?” Harley said, reaching up.
Emmett plopped his hat on Harley’s head, and they fell into what appeared to be a familiar game of,You wear it, no, you wear it.
It was sweet and reassuring. These men must be decent enough if Virgil entrusted them with his children.
“Bing Sun is eating with his camp. Same with Tom,” Owen informed her, jerking his chin toward the Ute camp. “Ira doesn’t eat meat unless it’s life or death, and someone had to stay back to mind the vault.”
“You have a vault? I wondered where you kept the gold. I presumed a safe.”
“Too easy to steal.” Virgil nestled the soup pot into the coals at the edge of the fire. “We dug a hole beneath the floorboards of the office. Stoney lined it with bricks, gave it a metal lid and a couple of padlocks. This bunch sleeps on top of it, and we never leave it unguarded.”
“I see. Well, I’m sorry I’m not meeting everyone tonight.” She was relieved beyond measure, truth be told, that it was only the three of them. “At least now I won’t worry that I haven’t made enough food.” She smiled with welcome. “Thank you all for coming.”
The men nodded, and there was an awkward silence.
It struck her that they were waiting for her to sit down. Silly her, she hadn’t realized this was the governor’s mansion.
“Virgil, will you hand me that cup, please? I’ll take a little of the soup for Harley before it gets too hot for him.” She lowered onto a log with her bowl of dough in her lap.
“I’ll do it.” Virgil scooped the soup himself, then picked up Harley and sat with him on his knee while he helped the boy drink it.
“Children,” Marigold called to where Levi and Nettie were chasing each other in the growing darkness. “Do you want to roast your biscuits?”
They ran over and took up a pair of sticks. She showed them how to twist dough around the end and hold it over the fire to bake. Owen and Stoney used the other two sticks, moving aside a little of the meat to find a spot with some heat.
The “steaks” had been laid out on a grill of greenwood saplings set across a triangle frame of bigger branches.
“I don’t know what I expected, but this meat doesn’t smell very different from beef or venison, does it?” Marigold noted.
