Copper

  Copper

  Heart of a Miner Book Three

  Krystal M. Anderson

  Copyright © 2020 by Krystal M. Anderson

  All rights reserved by the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Though the author references actual living persons and places of the time, the characters and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, recording, by information storage and retrieval or photocopied, without permission in writing from Krystal M. Anderson.

  Cover design by

  Covers and Cupcakes LLC

  For my mother, whose selfless sacrifices have changed my life for the better, and without whom these books would not be possible. I love you.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Author’s Note

  More books by Krystal M. Anderson:

  About the Author

  One

  Silver City, Idaho - May 1876

  R iding as Silver City’s part-time deputy was wearing him thin, and it was a job the sheriff was hard-pressed to fill, dangerous as it was. It was all Mac Walley could do to sit upright in the saddle, the setting sun at his back and the familiar chatter of Jordan Creek guiding him toward the livery, which he owned.

  Though they’d gotten away this time, the Grisham Gang had caused enough trouble around the Owyhee mountains that there was no way any of the lawmen – Mac included – would cease searching for them. No sir, those men needed to be brought to justice; he just wished today could have been the day.

  Those ruffians can’t run forever, and their luck - like their stolen money - is about near out…

  Mac patted Red’s withers, knowing by the sag of the paint horse’s head and jarring gait that he was just as exhausted as his rider. “You did good, boy, just like always.”

  “Ho, Mac!”

  “Michael,” Mac grunted, swinging down stiffly from the saddle. The teenaged boy he employed to muck stalls and work green animals met him at the hitching post, the smell of fresh manure clinging to him like mud. He was always interested in the criminal goings-on around town.

  “Did you catch ‘em, sir?”

  How he would love to say yes. Mac loosened the cinch and removed the saddle and blanket, and Michael followed him to the tack room in the barn. “I’m afraid not. How were things here?”

  “Fine, sir. Been busy all day. Oh, and someone came by looking for you ‘bout near noon.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know, sir. She said she’d wait in your sitting room.”

  That perked him up right quick, for Mac wasn’t acquainted with many “she’s” … not intimately, at least. He scooped a handful of oats into a bucket and offered it to Red. “Thanks, Michael – I’m lucky to have you around. Why don’t you check the animals one last time and run on home.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Five minutes later, after giving Red a decent brushing and leading him to a stall, Mac crossed Morning Star Road to his front porch, pausing at the door. Who would he find waiting in his home? Maybe it was Florence Yates with news about her husband, George, or even Clara Horner asking whether the posse had caught Crooked Montgomery, her outlaw uncle, along with the rest of the Grisham Gang. Or maybe…no. It couldn’t be…could it? Had Eliza, the only woman he’d seriously courted, come to plead for his affection again? Bizarrely, the sound of children’s voices floated through the door, only adding to the puzzle.

  Slowly, Mac turned the handle and pushed the door open.

  “Uncle Mac!” Jesse cried, running head-first to wrap thin arms around one of Mac’s thighs. “He’s back, Noah, he’s back!”

  Little Noah was more wary of his father’s brother than Jesse, and with good reason, Mac supposed. Mac had never met the boy in person, though he’d sent a Christmas gift every year.

  Dropping to one knee, Mac enveloped Jesse with one arm and extended the other for Noah. “My nephews! What a wonderful surprise. Come here, Noah, and give your Uncle Mac a hug.”

  Turning wide eyes to his mama who gave him a gentle push, Noah walked stiffly to his uncle’s waiting arm.

  “Bear squeeze!” Mac grunted as he pulled them to his chest, earning a giggle from Jesse. Noah still wasn’t sure what to think.

  “Hello, Joan. What brings you to Silver City?”

  His sister-in-law brought her weary eyes to meet his and immediately Mac knew something was wrong. She looked thinner, and the way she worried the ends of her threadbare shawl with her fingers made him think of the nervous green-broke colt he’d been working with in the paddock across the street.

  “Where’s Harris?” Surely his brother wouldn’t send his family along for a visit alone.

  “Papa ain’t with us no more,” Jesse answered gravely.

  “Where’d he go?” Mac asked reluctantly.

  “In the ground, at home.”

  Mac sank into the armchair, staring at nothing. His only brother, strong and healthy as an ox last he saw. It hardly made sense. “How’d it happen? When?”

  When Joan finally spoke, her voice was soft. “Why don’t you boys go play on the porch; I’ll be along in a minute. Don’t go far now.”

  She stood looking out the window, her back to him. “One week ago today he got into a fight at the saloon.”

  The crease between Mac’s brows deepened and he drew his chin back. Harris died in a fight? “The saloon I can believe, but… a fight? Land sakes Joan, Harris is heavier than I am. It’d take a trio at least to bring him down.”

  “He picked a fight he couldn’t win. They had knives, Mac. There aren’t many men who can stand against steel, no matter how big they are.”

  The shock slowly dissolved into anger. Fool of a man, Harris was. Couldn’t he keep his mouth shut for once? Mac shook his head solemnly. His big brother had always been aggressive. But surely part of growing up, of becoming a man, meant controlling yourself – especially when there were mouths to feed at home. Evidently, Harris had to learn that lesson the hard way, and he paid for it with his life.

  “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, but… the truth is, me and the boys didn’t have anywhere else to go. Not that I’m complaining, but our shack in Dewey is decrepit; we have no food, no money. With Harris gone, I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “What about the mine?”

  “We haven’t gotten a dime from the Crescent for some time,” she admitted quietly. “Maybe I’d be better off selling it, if it’s worth anything at all.”

  He didn’t know things had been as bad as that. No wonder they looked like a trio of ragamuffins; the boys with their bare feet and patched trousers and Joan’s stained work dress suddenly made sense. Wiping a hand across his face, Mac rose and went to Joan, resting a large hand on one of her lean shoulders. “I’m sorry, Joan. You deserved better. You did the right thing, coming here. You and the boys are welcome to stay with me as long as you need.”

  “I’m grateful, but… don’t you think that’d be highly improper? You’re a bachelor, Mac. It’d set tongues to wagging. Besides, I intend to work and provide for my little family. It’d be unfair to expect you to welcome three more mouths to feed.”

  Mac shrugged. “I ‘feed mouths’ all day at the livery, Joan. It’s not an imposition. If it makes you feel be
tter, why don’t you and the boys stay here at the house and I’ll sleep at the livery. But I expect the house to be kept and a warm meal waiting for me at the end of the day - that’ll be your work. Agreeable to you?”

  He’d added that last part at her look of protest, more in the hopes she’d accept than any real preference himself. She mulled it over a minute, then nodded.

  “Alright, Mac. But you won’t be sleeping in a stall or something, will you?”

  “No,” he smiled thinly. “I’ve an office at the back of the barn. It’s small, but I’ll manage just fine in there. Don’t you worry.”

  Joan squeezed his fingers. “Thank you. The boys and I are grateful you’re so accommodating. This house will be cleaner than you’ve ever seen, I promise.”

  Mac nodded, knowing Joan was eager to please. She hadn’t had an easy life with Harris and his temper. Melancholy filled Mac at the loss of his brother. Even though Harris could have been a better man, he was still kin.

  I’ll take care of them, Harris. God rest your soul.

  That night, when the horses were fed and he’d watched the sky darken to deep-ocean blue, he ambled to the Idaho Hotel and took a seat at the bar where the barkeep greeted him with a furrowed brow. “Mac. What are you doing here? Somebody die?”

  “I’ll take two shots of whiskey, Wesley,” he grunted. One for me and one for you, Harris.

  Two

  “B ut that’s just it, Mrs. Walley. If you don’t re-marry, the partnership will dissolve and I’ll own the Crescent in full. I’m real sorry.”

  Joan dropped her head to her hands, allowing herself one moment of pity. The Crescent’s foreman and her husband’s business partner, Pete Tracy, shuffled uncomfortably. Was he telling her the truth? She didn’t know the man well enough to say, but she had her suspicions.

  “Let me make sure I understand what you’re telling me. You can’t transfer my late husband’s ownership to my name, and you are unwilling to buy it from him?”

  “I wish I could, Mrs. Walley, but I just don’t have the funds. Ever since the silver played out, we’ve been in bad shape.”

  “I know it. I must re-marry if I’d like to see any sort of return on that mine, is that right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Resignation to the unfortunate circumstance filled her. “How long have I got?”

  “One week.”

  “Alright. I will send word to you one way or the other. Thank you.”

  “Ma’am.” Mr. Tracy placed his hat on his head and let himself out, taking her hope for badly-needed funds with him. It made her uncomfortable, depending on Mac to provide for their basic needs. He’d always been kind to her and the children – much more so than her husband, sadly – but it felt manipulative to come to Silver City and expect that he take them in. Harris had put every penny into the Crescent; they had nothing left. I was counting on making something from the mine, and now that option is lost… What can I do?

  “Mama, I’m hungry,” Noah groaned, tugging on her skirts. His upturned face reminded her of a baby bird chirping for food from its mother. Bending low, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He reminded her so much of his papa with his serious hazel eyes framed by a shock of thick brown hair.

  “Would you like a slice of bread? I made two loaves this morning.”

  Noah nodded his little head and led the way to the kitchen, his toes peeking out from the hem of his trousers. Joan ruffled his hair when he took the slice she offered, then watched as he crouched onto the wooden floor to play.

  It would be an adjustment, living in Silver City with Mac. One of the first things she noticed was the stench; being so near the animals made sense for the livery owner, but that fact didn’t make the scent any more pleasant. Regardless of the fact he spent dawn to dusk at the livery – and sleeping hours, too – it felt like Mac was around much more than Harris had been. Was he upset they had fled to him? Joan couldn’t decide. He had tried to reassure her yesterday and she was touched he’d offered up his house to her and the boys, but if he was anything like his older brother, he could rage about the circumstance later this evening – especially once she shared the disappointing development concerning Harris’s mine. Yes sir, she’d be sure the boys weren’t within arm’s reach for that, just in case Mac was prone to tempers, too.

  Mac’s home was a single-level rectangular dwelling with two bedrooms in the back, a kitchen and sitting room in front. It was sturdy, practical, and well-maintained, though it was plain it hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned in sometime. Joan put her hands on her hips, determined to forget Pete’s bad news for a few hours by putting her hands to work. Spinning in place, she catalogued the jobs needing doing: scrub the floors, organize the entire space, clean the bedding… and the kitchen. It begged for feminine attention. And oh, she’d love to add curtains and a braided rug, maybe a few cushions or pillows for the chairs.

  She rolled her sleeves up to the elbows and tackled the organizing first, helping Noah each time he interrupted. Jesse came in soon after, breathless with excitement over a frog he’d spotted in the creek. After a slice of bread, he too settled with his brother, conjuring entertainment from nothing like little children have the ability to do. Thank heavens they have each other.

  Two hours later, Joan placed her hands at the small of her back to stretch. The sitting room and kitchen were fresh and clean, and she was sure the floors had never looked better. Maybe if she worked hard enough, Mac would be pleased with the transformation.

  Joan slipped out to the front porch to watch the boys play, but they had wandered across the street to Mac’s livery. Her stomach dropped.

  “Jesse! Noah!”

  Quickly she dashed over, mortified that they were inserting themselves where they surely weren’t welcome on their very first day here. Their backs were facing her and they were standing just inside the barn door, gazing at something in the first stall. Jesse giggled.

  “See? He likes when I rub him right behind his ears,” Mac’s deep voice rumbled. “Do you want to try?”

  As Joan approached, Jesse climbed onto the gate of the stall, reaching his hand to stroke an old gray pony.

  “How about you, Noah?” With wide eyes, Noah shook his head.

  “Are you sure? This pony loves little boys and girls. They are just the right height to look him in the eye.”

  “Come on, Noah. Juniper is really soft,” Jesse persuaded, but his little brother said nothing.

  Joan put her hands on Jesse’s thin shoulders and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry the boys interrupted you, Mac. I need to talk with them about bothering you at work.”

  The corners of his eyes creased as he smiled, giving his face a boyish look. “I don’t mind having them around, Joan, not as long as they avoid entering the stalls or corral. Do you think you boys can remember to stay out of those places?”

  “Oh, yes, I promise, Uncle Mac. Say, maybe I could help you around the livery. I’m real strong.”

  Joan opened her mouth to interfere, closing it again when Mac put a hand to his chin and crossed his other arm over his body. “Hmm. Let me feel your muscles.”

  Proudly, Jesse puffed up his chest and flexed his arms, maximizing every feature of his seven-year-old body. Mac squeezed the boy’s upper arm, the sight of his large hand on Jesse’s small frame only emphasizing the growth Jesse still needed to become a man.

  “You are pretty strong. I’ll think about some jobs I could give you. Michael mucks stalls and works the animals, but he might have an idea of something you can help with. Talk it over with your ma and come find me tomorrow, alright?”

  “Okay Uncle Mac.”

  When Mac ruffled Jesse’s hair fondly, Joan swallowed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. How could this Walley be so different than the other? He isn’t… you just haven’t spent enough time with him to have seen his mean side…He probably has horrible manners, or drinks too much, or… or spends his nights with soiled doves. There must be something… />
  “Let’s head on back to the house, boys. We’ll see Uncle Mac soon enough for supper.”

  “Yes. See you then.” Mac raised one hand in farewell, watching them in amusement.

  She put a hand on the shoulder of each of the boys and turned them to the street, anxious to put some space between herself and her brother-in-law.

  “I don’t know why we can’t at least visit Juniper,” Jesse grumbled to his brother. “He’s just my size! He’d probably let you ride him, too, Noah. Maybe we could both ride him!”

  Noah shrugged but turned to look back at the pony, whose head was just tall enough to peek over the top of the stall.

  “Uncle Mac is very busy, Jesse, and we need to remember we are guests here. I know the livery is only across the street, and he said you could come by, but please ask me before you go. And remember the rules. Alright?”

  “Yes, mama.”

  A few hours later as Joan bent to pull the roasted vegetables from the oven, she heard heavy boots on the front porch. Jesse greeted his uncle first, his little legs taking three steps to every one of Mac’s, whose hulking form filled the framed entry to the kitchen.

  “My, it smells delicious in here. And boy, does it look clean.” He let out a whistle, his eyes exploring the floors, countertops, and furniture. “I didn’t think you’d accomplish so much in one day. You’re incredible, Joan.”

  Heat rushed to the tips of her ears at his sincere compliment. “Thank you. Jesse, why don’t you and your brother go wash up with your uncle. Supper’s almost ready.”

  “Sure, ma.”

  She filled the table with the result of the previous hours’ labor, taking extra care to use the finest dishes she could find and arranging the food nicely. She tried to convince herself that she did so because Mac had such a fine home – it would be a pity to neglect all it had to offer – but deep down she recognized the desire to impress her brother-in-law, to show him she was serious about doing what she agreed to do while living under his roof.