Page 48 of The Prospector's Only Prospect
“Ha!” He barked out a reluctant laugh. “I’ll bet.”
Their gazes locked and held. His expression was warm with humor, hers likely reflecting the pride sparkling in her at having knocked a laugh out of him.
I’m glad you’re back, she wanted to say, but it felt too revealing.
“Oh. Lo siento,” Stoney said as he came in.
She blushed and said a flustered, “Excuse me, Stoney. I was about to make coffee.” She hurried out to the cookhouse.
Pablo, a hollow-cheeked, bushy-browed man of fifty, was there, sitting with his foot up on the bench while he peeled potatoes for Gristle.
“Pablo, how is your ankle?” Marigold asked as she stole some of the water Gristle had started to boil for the potatoes. “Is the poultice helping?” She’d made one from mustard, onion, and castor oil. She was fairly certain his ankle wasn’t broken, only turned, but it had been swollen for a few days now.
“Almost went into my boot today. Back to work tomorrow, I think, but I’ve been waiting for a chance to give you this.” Pablo struggled to stand up and dug in his pocket.
“You paid me already,” she insisted.
“No, this is…” He offered her a rock the size of a chicken egg, oval and smooth. It was granite-gray like Pablo’s hair and beard but had a streak of white and was still warm from his pocket.
“Um, thank you,” she said, bemused.
“It has a ring,” he pointed out. “My mama called that a wishing stone.”
“Will you look at that.” She rolled it to admire the way the white stripe went all the way around. “I’ll have to think long and hard so I don’t waste it.”
“I can always find you another one,” Pablo said with a shy shrug and sat down again.
She thanked him and dropped it into the pocket of her apron. They chatted a moment longer while she waited for the coffee. When it was ready, she used a pair of towels to take the hot pot back to the office.
Owen and Bing Sun had arrived, and they took over pouring the mugs while Marigold went across to pick up some hard tack and a can of peaches that she dished out for all the men, listening to Virgil as she did.
“I’ll be shocked if Steele isn’t elected governor,” Virgil was saying.
“Of what? We likely to be a state or a territory?” Emmett asked.
“The debate continues, but the point was made by me and several others that we can’t keep kicking this down the road. There’ll be another hundred thousand fortune-seekers arriving next spring, some honest, some not. We have to be able to elect our own marshal.”
“Will you run when the time comes, Virgil?” Stoney asked.
“I’d vote for you,” Ira said.
“Me, too,” Emmett said.
“I’m pretty busy with this mining company, in case you haven’t noticed,” Virgil said with a scowl.
“Steele came here to prospect. Now he wants to be governor,” Ira pointed out. “You think he’ll give up mining?”
“No,” Virgil said flatly.
“If he can work and lawyer and govern, you can, too,” Owen said.
“Jesus Christ,” Virgil muttered under his breath. “Let’s worry about who does what when it happens. For now, there’s a committee drafting a constitution for Jefferson State. It’ll be put to a vote in September.”
“Will everyone vote?” Emmett asked, pinning an intense stare on Virgil.
“Everyone. Or I’ll have something to say about it,” Virgil promised him.
“Women, too?” Marigold blurted, pausing in feeding Harley a bite of peach.
