He was … brittle. On edge. Everywhere Joe had turned since he'd rode into Virginia City this morning had been couples—old couples, young couples, married couples, courting couples—and where there were no couples there were pregnant women. Seemed like the entire town was either expecting or out for a romantic stroll. (Except for you.) He tried to ignore it, but … it just wasn't a good day.
It didn't help when Lina informed him that his snack was called wedding cookies.
Of course they were. Why wouldn't they be?
Joe ate in silence, unwilling to let on just how out of sorts he was (though she had probably already figured it out). It wasn't a good day. He should probably just leave while he was ahead—if he opened his mouth, he was likely to say something he'd regret.
Despite their name, the cookies were good.
He snagged another, and drank his coffee, and let his mind wander. Lina worked silently on her next batch (she had definitely figured out his mood), and let him just sit. Be. Eat. Rest. She was a perceptive woman, was Lina Marquez—he'd learned quickly that she had a sense about these things. Alice had been a good listener too. His wife was a quiet woman, and Joe had often found himself telling her things he hadn't intended just to fill up the space. (He'd rarely regretted it afterward, and usually ended up wondering why he hadn't just told her from the start.)
"Alice would have liked these."
Joe's gut dropped like a stone. Why had he said that?
It wasn't a good day.
Lina smiled. "Alice Cartwright was a discerning woman, it seems."
He couldn't miss the double meaning, but he also couldn't accept it.
Alice had trusted him.
She had trusted him. She had given herself to him, into his care, and he had failed her. It didn't even matter that …
Joe stood abruptly, shoving the battered chair back into the wall. "I need to be gettin' back."
Lina blinked, startled for maybe the first time since he had met her. Joe felt a moment of regret for his rudeness—and he was, no question—but he needed the ride back home to clear his head. Lina, bless her, recovered quickly. "I am happy you came."
Every time. She was always happy to see him, no matter what kind of mood he was in. It was … reassuring. And it made him feel worse. Joe tipped his hat and started for the door, but the memories had already caught up, rushing in like a flood in a dry gulch. He stopped abruptly. He had let his guard down, and it was too late to beat them back …
"I know it's not my fault." He didn't turn back, but he knew she was listening. Lina always listened. "Everybody say it's not. Alice would say it's not. And it's not as if I could be with her every minute of the day, that would have been … crazy. We would have hated each other in a month." Joe clenched his fingers tightly around his black gloves. "But it still … feels like it's my fault."
She didn't respond, and he was glad.
The silence wrapped around him, warm and heavy, and Joe finally looked back. Lina held his eyes, and nodded. Joe returned a grimace that was meant to be a smile, then ducked out the door.
~.~.~.~.~.
"I think Pa is worried about Jamie."
The soft slap of kneading dough continued without pause.
"For what reason?"
"He … Well, I don't know for sure. Pa hasn't been tellin' me too much lately—probably thinks it'll make things worse." Joe managed a wry twist of the lips. "But I think it's because he's bein' so good."
"Ha. And 'good' is a problem?"
Joe took a long drink of coffee, trying to put some order to his scattered thoughts. He hadn't even noticed the way Ben was watching Jamie until just a few days ago—but thinking back, he realized it had been going on for a while now. "You gotta know Jamie. He is a good kid. But … he pushes back. If he doesn't like something he's not afraid to argue, and he doesn't always know when to stop. He and Pa have been fightin' about school, for instance, pretty much since we met him."
"And now?"
"Now he doesn't argue about anything." The cake, whatever it was, was good (like everything she baked—he wasn't at all surprised by the steady stream of non-guests in the Continental's lobby). Heavy and moist. He chewed thoughtfully. "He gets up on time, gets his chores done on time, leaves for school on time, does his homework without being told. Brings home better marks than ever. He's always … cheerful. Too cheerful … but he's also real quiet." It had taken him only a couple of days to see it, once he had started looking.
"Ah." She flipped the dough. A puff of flour hung for a moment in the warm, fragrant air. "You think this is his way of … trying to help?"
"Probably."
"Should your father be worried?"
That was the thing. He hadn't paid enough real attention to his little brother lately to know.
A vague, uncomfortable guilt gnawed at him. He hadn't paid attention to a lot of things lately. What else had been slipping past that he should have noticed?
"Maybe."
~.~.~.~.~
"I spoke to the Widow Hawkins on Tuesday. It seems she saw you in town last week."
"Yeah?"
He couldn't keep the caution out of his tone. Clementine Hawkins was a good woman and meant well … but her interest was usually a double-edged sword.
Lina's smirk wasn't helping things.
"Indeed. She spoke of you, the 'poor boy'."
Joe thumped his head gently back against the wall. "I bet she did."
She giggled softly. "I heard much about a stolen gemstone and a broken window and—"
"Is she still tellin' that story?"
"Oh, at great length." Lina grinned across at him. "And you weren't the only Cartwright she spoke of."
A hint of old amusement stirred. "She still after Pa?"
"To hear her tell it, theirs is a star-crossed love."
"Star-crossed?" Oh, he had no doubt.
The empanadas were right out of the oven, still so warm that he had to take slow, careful bites.
Her smile grew distant, dimmed. "My grandmother had a few books at home, which she used to teach me to read English. 'Romeo and Juliet' was a great favorite of hers."
"Sounds like my brother Adam."
He didn't know why he had brought Adam up—it wasn't as if he needed that ball of anger and worry on top of everything else.
"He enjoys 'Romeo and Juliet'?"
"He enjoys Shakespeare." Unless Adam really was dead these past couple of years, and not just falling down on letter-writing. Big brother had been downright meticulous about his letters, though, until just after … Hoss. Hoss. Why stop right when they really needed him? Joe welcomed the surge of annoyance, held onto it. It was easier to believe the second and be angry than to accept the first and grieve another brother. "Don't know about 'Romeo and Juliet' in particular." Suddenly, the Widow Hawkins seemed like a positively safe topic. "The widow's always had a soft spot for Pa. I think they could be friends if her interest wasn't so … obvious."
It was an awkward change, but she accepted it easily.
"She was so very kind to me when I first arrived in town." Lina slid another tray into the oven. "She is the reason I have this job, truly."
"Mrs. Hawkins?" He couldn't seem to make the two fit together.
"Indeed. I came to Virginia City alone, and of course needed work. I went first to the general stores, the Emporium, such places." Lina shrugged, an oddly self-conscious gesture. "I knew that I would likely end up serving in some tavern, but I … wanted to at least try."
She moved on quickly, too quickly for Joe to do anything more than register that Lina had truly believed she had no other options.
Had she?
Probably not. It wasn't fair, but it was … the way things were.
He felt a sudden rush of unexpected affection for Clementine Hawkins.
"She was in the Emporium while I spoke to Señor Keller. She overheard—"
Joe snorted softly. "I bet she did."
Lina flapped a towel at him, both reproving and amused. "She overheard when I listed baking among my skills. When Señor Keller said that he could not hire me, she approached and told me of Señor Hirschel's wish to begin a bakery here." Because of course the Widow Hawkins knew about that. She knew everything, no matter how Virginia City grew. It was impressive, no question. "The next morning she brought me here." Lina shook her head, amazement still clear after so many months. "She didn't know me. She had never tasted a thing I made, yet she brought me here herself to ask Señor Hirschel for a chance at this position."
"Well." Joe wasn't surprised, not at all. The widow had her quirks, but she was also a good woman with a kind, fearless heart. "Clementine Hawkins is a discerning woman, too."
Lina dimpled, and returned to her dough. Joe took another careful bite.
Somehow, the little reference to Alice didn't hurt like it used to. Anyway, she would have been pleased to share the title. His wife, for reasons never fully explained, had adored the Widow Hawkins.
He had almost forgotten that.
~.~.~.~.~
He had never seen Lina so agitated.
She unlocked the door for him, at least, but that was about it. No greeting, no coffee. No smile or description of whatever cake or cookie or unknown pastry she was concocting this time. Lina only slapped a couple of sugar cookies onto his usual spot (he had never seen her treat any baked good so carelessly) and went back to her dough.
Joe edged cautiously inside, giving himself time to think.
It took time, these days—though at least his ability to focus for longer than about a minute seemed to be slowly coming back to him.
He sat in his corner, stretched his legs, and kept his mouth shut. Lina pounded away with her rolling pin, more like she was killin' a spider than rollin' out cookies. Finally, Joe ventured, "You got somethin' against sugar cookies?"
Dumb question, yeah, but it might at least tell him whether -
She snatched up the half-formed dough and hurled it into a corner. Joe gaped. The rolling pin clattered onto the wooden floor. Lina turned her back and leaned heavily against the far counter, gripping its edge hard enough that her knuckles turned white.
"My late husband," her voice came out muffled, "required a daily batch. Always, and heaven help …" Lina cut off, then shook her head. "I never wish to make another sugar cookie again."
For the briefest instant, his brain seized. Everything in those few short sentences …
Her husband.
Her late husband.
Required.
And heaven help …
Disbelief and a cold trickle of anger cleared his thoughts.
'My own hurts rest in the heart of an old washer woman …'
A shaky breath brought him back into the room, to Lina's hunched shoulders and the sugar cookie dough lying like a dead thing in the corner. Joe rose. He picked up the rolling pin and placed it safely on the counter, then drifted closer until he stood right behind her. Lina sighed and wiped at her eyes.
"He was … not my choice."
She had never even hinted at a marriage before.
Seemed like she had reason.
He wasn't sure what to say to her—what to do. Lina was a woman who valued attentive silence, but he couldn't just …
"Why are you makin' them, then?"
A teary sniff greeted that question. "People like sugar cookies. We sell many." Lina waved one hand, cutting off any response. "I am sorry, I am … not good company today."
In other words, go.
Joe hesitated, then gripped her shoulders gently. "People don't need sugar cookies, Lina." He squeezed once, then released her and ducked out into the alley, leaving his cookies uneaten.
~.~.~.~.~
He wasn't used to finding other visitors in the little bakery—and especially not this one.
"Hop Sing very grateful. Will get much use from these."
Joe hovered in the open doorway, gawking like an idiot as the Cartwrights' cook offered Lina a bow.
Lina beamed as Hop Sing tucked the paper away. "De nada, Señor. And please, do come at any time—I am so excited to learn your sachima and almond cookies."
"Happy to teach. I come next week, maybe."
"Gracias."
They both noticed Joe as Hop Sing turned toward the exit. Lina offered a cheery wave, but Hop Sing scowled like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. So to speak.
"Number three son like Mexican baking much these days." Well … he had brought a few things home from the Continental lobby over the past weeks, yes. "Hop Sing find Little Joe source, get recipes and tips. Good to try new things."
He would always be 'Little Joe' to Hop Sing. That was okay.
"And Hop Sing will show me Chinese desserts as well." Lina gave a satisfied little bounce.
They both looked so pleased with themselves that Joe couldn't help a grin. "Well … sounds good for everybody, I guess."
"What good for Hop Sing is to get home." The little cook nodded back at Lina. "Miss Catalina."
"Hop Sing."
Catalina?
How did he not know that?
Hop Sing pushed past, patting Joe's elbow on the way through. When Joe turned back, Lina—Catalina—was tossing ingredients into a mixing bowl with her customary abandon.
"So?"
She looked up, lifting an eyebrow. "So?"
"Which ones did you give him?"
"Ha." Lina smirked. "You will just have to wait and see."