Page 25 of The Promise
"Because," his gaze met hers, his eyes full of pain, "my father owned the Promise."
7
"Ifeel like the whole world has turned upside down." Patrick twirled the shot glass with his fingers, the amber liquid swirling along with it.
"Ain't surprisin'." Pete swallowed his whiskey with a single gulp and picked up the bottle for more.
Patrick glanced around Owen's saloon. Dust danced in the sunbeam streaming through the open door. The Irish Rose never closed, and the place was always packed. With the mines working day and night, there was always a steady stream of men either just getting off their shifts or just going on. And it seemed a man wanted a shot to start the job, and then a few more to hold him over until he was up the mountain again. Just at the moment Patrick was inclined to agree. He turned back to Pete, fighting the sick feeling in his gut. "Michael didn't kill our father."
"You know that and I know that, it's just that Amos Striker seems to have missed out on the fact."
"Amos Striker's no better than a — "
"True enough, but ain't no good yellin' it out for the world to hear." Pete jerked his head in the direction of the other patrons of the saloon.
Patrick felt himself go hot, a combination of anger, alcohol and embarrassment.
Pete lifted his glass, pondering his whiskey for a moment, obviously choosing his words. "On the positive side, Owen promised to ride shotgun on the man. You heard him."
"Yeah, for all the good that'll do." Patrick knew he sounded sullen, but he felt like he was hamstrung. Everybody telling him how to think, how to feel.
Pete raised his bushy eyebrows, his steady gaze meeting Patrick's—waiting.
"It's just that it seems to me that Owen could have stood up more for Michael."
Pete contemplated his glass again. "Well, now, Owen likes to sit on the fence until he knows which way the wind's a blowin'. That's how he's made a success of himself."
"But we're talking aboutMichael."
"Don't make no difference. Patrick, I know you and Owen are close, but you've got to see the truth of it. He ain't got the family loyalty you think he does."
"That's ridiculous, Pete. He and my father have been together almost since they came to this country. He traipsed all over the California gold fields with us bankrolling my father so that he could discover the next mother lode. Hell, Owen was the one who raised us."
"Rose was the one who raised you. Never forget that, boy."
Patrick felt his face grow hot. "You know I didn't mean any disrespect to Mother. But Owen's always been there for me." He met Pete's steady gaze. "He was there for me after Mother left. Father sure as hell wasn't." He downed the liquor in the shotglass, a shudder rippling across his shoulders. It was still hard to talk about his mother's desertion.
"You see what you want to see." Pete shrugged and filled both their glasses.
"Mornin' boys. Did I hear talk o' the mother lode?" Arless Hurley sidled up to the bar, his cheeks already showing the rosy glow of a bit too much alcohol. "Sorry to hear about yer Da, Patrick."
"Thanks, Arless."
Pete signaled the barman, who set a glass in front of the miner. Arless filled it to the rim and swallowed the contents with a single gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Ah, that'll bring a man to his senses all right." He cocked his head to one side, and eyed Patrick speculatively. "Any word on where exactly Duncan found the silver?"
"What do you know about it?"
Arless grinned good-naturedly. "No' much. I heard word 'round town, the night Duncan met his maker. He wasn't being none too quiet about it, if ya take my meanin', but I figured he was just bletherin'. So, I didn't give it another thought." He paused and poured another round, obviously enjoying himself.
He leaned forward conspiratorially. "But then, this mornin' I found meself in need o' a little female companionship." He burped. "So I headed over to Corabeth's. She don't charge a man his life's savings like them fancy girls over at Belle's. Why I remember?—"
Pete held up a hand, cutting him off before he could wander off the subject. "Corabeth, Arless."
"Oh yes, fine girl. Knows how to make a man feel like a man." He grinned and downed the whiskey.
"What does Corabeth have to do with my father?" Patrick inserted.
"Right, well ya see when I got there, Corabeth was full o' the news that Duncan had struck it rich."
