Page 47 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
“You know I’ve got a sweet tooth.” Emmett took one, then jerked his head at Levi. “Come on, slingshot. We’re burning daylight. Unless you have news?” he asked Virgil.
“Yeah, I’ll put coffee on. Whistle up the rest of them.”
“We’ll finish our post, then you can have the rest of the day off,” Emmett told Levi as they headed back into the field.
Seconds later, there was a sharp whistle. One answered from a distance, then Emmett sent a couple of short ones in reply.
Virgil set Harley down, but the boy immediately started to cry as if he’d been abandoned by the side of a road.
“You hurt?” Virgil picked him up again and turned him sideways to look at his feet. They were shod in the leather moccasins Leyohna had made for all the children before she’d left. They were still big on him so his toes wouldn’t be pinched the moment he grew.
As Virgil lifted him, Harley immediately stopped crying. He grabbed at Virgil’s shirt, chortling.
With an exasperated noise, Virgil started to put him down again only for Harley to squawk and hold onto him.
“I think he missed you,” Marigold said.We all did.
“Kid, I have things to do.” Virgil straightened with the boy still in his arms.
Harley only burrowed his hand into Virgil’s shirt pocket and said, “Peas, Papa.”
“Ah, sh— When did he start saying that?” He was trying very hard not to let his pleasure show, but his cheek rounded beneath his scar as he pushed a reluctant smile into that side of his face.
“Just now, when he saw you in the wagon. I’ll make the coffee,” Marigold offered.
“Thanks.” Virgil glanced around to ask, “Where’d Nettie get off to?”
“I promised her a stick of jerky if she stacked cans for me,” Yeller said, pulling down the gate on the back of the wagon.
“Enlist Levi soon as he’s done with Emmett,” Virgil said, then carried Harley into the office.
Ira was at the table, writing in a ledger book.
“Virgil. Good to have you back. Mrs. Davis,” Ira greeted. “Ah, here comes trouble.” He shifted in his chair as Virgil set Harley down and the boy ran across. Ira picked him up and stood him on his thighs. “I hear a whistle for a meeting?”
“Yeah. Got time?” Virgil walked into the bunkroom and poured water from the pitcher into the basin on the stand.
“Sure. No, you can’t have my spectacles. We’ve talked about that.” Ira pulled his face back from the boy’s reaching hand.
“I’ll start the coffee.” Marigold picked up the cold, mostly empty coffeepot. “Do you want me to take him with me?”
“I’ll take him outside while I set up.” Ira stood with Harley in his arms and left.
Marigold hovered, caught by the sight of Virgil. He had hung his hat and was now bent over the wash basin, scooping water to splash his face and neck.
If the situation had been reversed, she would have accused him of leering, but only realized how inappropriately she was behaving when he straightened with the towel in his hands and noticed she was still here.
“Need something else?” He smoothed his beard as he dried it and ran the towel over his hair and behind his ears.
“You had a haircut while you were away,” she noted, overheating at how handsome he looked with his beard trimmed short, yet still wickedly dangerous with more of the puckered line of his scar showing.
“Cost me fifty cents.” He hung the towel and picked up his hat, settling it in place.
“I expect it would have been more if I hadn’t taken it down already.” She lifted the cap on the coffeepot to see how much was in it.
“You got an answer for everything, don’t you?” He sounded disgusted, but the corners of his mouth were deeply indented.
“If only there was a market for them. I’d be rich.”
