Page 58 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
“That’s a long way to tell me to mind my own business.”
“You want the short version? It’s only two words.”
Emmett made a scoffing noise that matched the scrape of the knife as he pulled the blade toward him, lifting a curly cue of inner bark off the log.
“You’d be doing everyone a favor if you’d post your intentions at the cookhouse. The men don’t know if they’re coming or going.” Emmett paused his rowing motion, sending Virgil a sly look.
Did he want a prize for that pun?
“If they’re sticking around to see if they have a shot with her, where’s the incentive for me to declare myself?”
“The ones who think they’ve got a shot are taking it,” Emmett pointed out.
“That’s not front-page news. I’ve got a wooden bowl thatIdidn’t make full of bone buttons and pine cones dressed as owls. They’re like barn cats leaving dead mice at the door, but I’m the one giving her that door and the house behind it. I’m not threatened.”
“So it doesn’t bother you that I made the whistle?”
“That was you?” Virgil dropped the spud and clapped his hands on his hips, dumbfounded. And threatened. His chest nearly puffed up double its size with aggression while his head reminded him that Emmett was better looking and better mannered than he’d ever be. Marigold might prefer him. “You’re serious about her?”
“No. Owen said it would be funny. It is.” Emmett put his back into drawing the knife, mouth pinned closed while his lips danced as if he was holding something hot on his tongue. Another curl dropped onto the pile on the ground. “Harley like it?”
“You sadistic—” Virgil refused to laugh, even though a hard wave of relief hit him. “I was so fucking glad when he fell asleep and I was able to hide it.”
They worked in silence a few minutes with only the scrape of the tools and the distant clatter of the miners.
“I do like her, though,” Emmett said. “I’m not saying I plan to get in your way, but… She’s trying to make something of herself, same as the rest of us. It’s hard to build something on a foundation that’s not firm. You should at least let her know where she stands.”
“I’ll get there when I get there,” Virgil grumbled, even though Emmett was right. He and Marigold couldn’t go on the way they were.
Emmett pulled the knife. “So if anyone asks, you’re still undecided? Because I’ve been thinking to try my hand at a skin drum.”
“I can build this cabin myself, you know. You don’t need to be here.”
Emmett snickered and kept sweeping the blade across the log, but at least he quit running his mouth, leaving Virgil’s mind free to contemplate whether he should ask Marigold to marry him.
How simplistic he’d been, sending away for a wife, thinking he could marry a stranger and live out his years with her, content. His only experience had been with Clara, and they definitely had not been content. He’d started out with a lusty infatuation. She’d been sweet and eager to please. He’d managed to delude himself as well as her that his ambitions were the same as his ability when it came to providing the life they wanted.
Empty pockets put a lot of stress on a union, though. They’d argued plenty and regretted much. They’d both done their best by their children, and Virgil had never had cause to mistrust her, which was why her infidelity had left such a deep mark on him. He hadn’t seen it coming. At all.
Maybe that’s why he’d been willing to marry a stranger. He hadn’t wanted to feel anything toward his wife aside from basic regard. That way any betrayals on her part wouldn’t cut so deep. He had anticipated his new wife might want another baby or two, but he’d planned to be cautious about making any. He wanted the sex. God knew he did, but he had figured it would be like it had been with Clara—different times playful or quick and more satisfying than fucking his hand.
Not like something that felt powerful enough to make him cautious. That it had to be with one specific woman and would engage all of him, guts and heart and head.
Would he have wanted Pearl the way he wanted Marigold? He couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if he’d married Pearl and Marigold had turned up later. Would he have still felt this hunger for Marigold and wish he’d had the chance to pick her?
If that’s what he was thinking, didn’t that mean he ought to marry her?
He genuinely believed Marigold would be faithful, but there were those other prevarications and white lies that kept him from fully trusting her. If all he had at risk was his cock and his heart, he probably would marry her, but he had children. A company. Investment shares, a hoard of gold, and soon a house.
“Would you run for office?” Emmett asked. “If we get statehood?”
“Hmm? Oh. I don’t know.” It was another facet he had to consider. Marigold would make a damned good politician’s wife with her pleasant manners and ability to put things in order. Hell, with her education and ability to side-step telling the truth, she was better suited to running for office than he was.
“Why wouldn’t you?” Emmett prodded, pausing in his work to frown at Virgil.
“Sounds like there’s a lot of paperwork.”
“I’m being serious.” Emmett peeled another skim of bark. “I keep thinking about what Marigold said about how you can’t consent to a government you have no voice in forming.”
