Native Gold by Glynnis Campbell Read Free Book Online Page A

about to inquire yet again as to her husband’s whereabouts when out of one of the less dilapidated shacks stepped a nattily-dressed man.
    Dr. Harrison. It had to be. He was somewhat shorter than she expected, but he was well-groomed, as a physician should be, with a neat brown mustache and close-trimmed hair. His black coat was only slightly dusty, and the derby perched on his head gave him a jaunty air. She could see by the wrinkles about his eyes that he was a cheery man, a kindly man, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief.
    He raised his brows in greeting and tugged down his vest before stepping off of the makeshift porch.
    "Ah, ye must be Miss Mathilda Hardwicke then." The man’s brogue was as thick as Irish mist. "I’m Tom Cooligan, mum, pleased ta meet ye."
    Mattie hoped her disappointment didn’t show. So far, Tom was the only man who even slightly resembled the husband she’d sketched for herself.
    ‘Tis sorry I am ye’ve come so late," he said, his eyes taking on a melancholy cast, "but I hope ye’ll be likin’ my work."
    She frowned. What did he mean?
    He caught her by the crook of the arm and led her back toward the shack, chattering away. The rest of the town, apparently unwilling to be left out of the excitement, trailed after them.
    "Ye see, we’ve a shortage o’ real tradesmen here in the camp, so I’ve become the local barber."
    Ah, he must have given the groom a fresh shave and haircut in her honor.
    "Though, sad ta say," Tom continued, "my barberin’ talents are seldom called upon by this sorry lot."
    "Uh, Tom..." Swede interjected.
    "Well, all right," Tom allowed. "Swede here comes once a week, on Tuesday, ta have his shave, but the rest of ‘em—“
    "Tom!" Swede blurted out.
    The Irishman waved him away and opened the door of the little shed.
    "Ye know, mum," he confided, "we don’t usually go ta so much trouble, but what with ye comin’ an’ all, an’ tomorra bein’ Sunday..."
    He swung the door wide and ushered her in.
    "Anyway, I hope ye like what I’ve done with him."
    Mattie looked up and froze in her tracks.
    She could honestly say she liked almost everything about her husband-to-be. He looked remarkably like the drawing she’d made. He was good-sized, not too plump, not too spare. He had a thin, but freshly cut crop of chestnut hair and a tastefully scissored mustache. His face, though weathered a bit from exposure to the elements, was not overly ruddy, and his hands were suitable to his profession, pale and slender. He was attired in a black, embroidered silk waistcoat with a fairly clean white shirt, along with creased pants, a well-tailored cloth coat, and boots so shiny she could almost see her reflection in them.
    He was perfect. Tom had done an admirable job. In fact, the only thing she didn’t like about Dr. James Harrison was the fact that he was as dead as a doornail.

Chapter 3
     

     
    "Farm?" Mattie repeated, wrinkling her freckled nose as she beat the dust of the final trail to Paradise Bar from her skirts. "Are you saying my husband-to-be, Doctor James Harrison, has become a farmer?"
    She supposed she shouldn’t be astonished. After all, her long journey west by steamer and bungo, mule and riverboat, had been nothing but a series of surprises.
    Mr. Ezekiel Jenkins’ cornflower blue eyes pierced hers with an odd sort of bemused fascination, as if she were some creature the skinny old prospector had never seen before.
    His companion, a giant of a man called Swede, with a chest that strained his suspenders and a face so rosy it looked as if he scrubbed it a dozen times a day, irritably cuffed the smaller man, nearly knocking him down.
    "‘Bought the farm’?" he asked Zeke, shaking his head in disgust. "Ma’am, what my friend here means to say is the doc, well, he..." He raised the hand holding his felt hat to scratch at the blondest hair Mattie had ever seen. "That is, he..." He stared at her for a long while, hesitant to speak. "Well, shucks, ma’am,